#kino loy fanfic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tarabyte3 · 2 years ago

Text

I Want You to Show Me Weak

Fandom: Andor

Pairing: Kino Loy/F!Reader

Chapter 22/27 (16.1k words)

->start at chapter 1<-

<- Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 ->

Summary: You're pretty sure Kino Loy hates you. He screams at you, grabs you, and shoves you against the wall, and it's becoming a problem because, well...it shouldn't fluster you as much as it does.

Warnings: Explicit rating, Smut, Prison, Prison sex, minor non-graphic injuries, Dom/Sub, sexual tension, dirty talk, praise, hair-pulling, choking, unprotected sex, oral, angst, orgasm denial, humiliation, slut shaming, references to domestic abuse, discussion of domestic abuse, minor violence, discussion of violence, description of violence, very light ass play

A/N: Hey, y'all! Did you miss me?? I promise I never stopped writing (as evidenced by the 16.1k word count). This entire chapter was a test of my skill, my patience, and my sanity. I swear it never ended up going in the direction I was intending, so I was constantly reeling and trying to figure out what the FUCK I was writing. So I'm sorry it took as long as it did to write, but whew boy. Enjoy! Work title is from "Poison" by Vaults. Chapter title is from "Crush" Cigarettes After Sex. Chapter navigation above.

AO3 Link

Chapter 22 - Can't live without your love inside me now. I'll find a way to slip into your skin somehow. I wanna fuck your love slow.

By the time you step into your cell, you've practiced your apology at least three times in your head. You aren't looking to get out of any punishment, you just feel bad you hadn't at least considered telling him your plan first. You likely would have gone through with it anyway, but he deserved consideration. Deserves it in the future. You spin to face him as he takes a step inside.

"Kino, I'm so sorry!" You say in a rush. "I didn't think. Again. I just saw Taybus and Vage standing there, and I wanted my friend to be happy like I'm happy. He's so young, it isn't fair that he's —"

Kino holds out a hand to stop you and then reaches out to gently clasp your arms. "I know."

"Oh." You deflate slightly because you'd been prepared to apologize or be chastened, even get defensive, but you hadn't been prepared for that. You look at him expectantly, waiting for a 'but' or for him to say more. Instead, he just pulls you slowly towards him, and your feet move, unsure. "Are you angry with me?"

"Furious," he growls, and you wince. Then he gathers you into his arms with a sigh and he rubs his hands along your back in a soothing manner. "But I also know what you're willing to do for the people you care about, so I shouldn't be surprised."

"It's only been this one thi—" you start to protest, but he interrupts you.

"You lied about bumping into me to protect Taybus, you defended me to table 4 without thinking, you worked to get Edii out of his shell, and now you're testing the cell sensors so your friend might find even a fraction of the happiness that we have. Which was after you already helped him get to that point. And let's not forget risking your hand to save your table a headache and some trouble." He raises an eyebrow at you, daring you to argue with him. "Am I forgetting anything?"

"...okay, I suppose that is more than once." You give him a grimace of a smile. "I was just trying to do the right thing," you utter, feeling awkward. Because you hadn't really thought of any of those things as a sacrifice or going out of your way. You simply…acted.

"I know," he whispers, and places a kiss on your temple, the roughness of his beard a comforting scratch along your skin.

"Am I…" you hesitate. "Am I going to be punished?" For the second day in a row, you think to yourself. A new record.

"Not this time." He rumbles quietly into your hair as he nuzzles the tip of his nose through the strands.

"Why not?" You're stunned. Because you were certain it was a done deal. You changed the entire dynamic of the shift. You put yourself at risk. They could have activated the whole block after they got the notification if it hadn't worked. What you did was objectively…well, it wasn't great.

"I don't want to discourage that part of you when there's no harm done, no matter how much it frustrates me. I don't want it to lessen who you are. That's never my goal. Because what you did today was reckless and stupid," you flush in embarrassment at the exasperation in his voice, "but it was also selfless and kind. We haven't had enough of that in here for too long. And I can't argue that having one small joy doesn't improve morale or motivation. I've seen the proof in you and the people around you."

"You're far more than a small joy to me," you mutter, finally laying your head on his shoulder and giving in to the hug.

"All I want—all I ask," he continues, "is that you exercise a little more caution. I want you to make sure you're actually helping and not making something worse by not thinking it through. Do you understand?"

You know he's right. You've always skirted by on dumb luck right up until you don't. You nod against his neck and say quietly, "Yes, Kino. I understand."

"Because it won't always work out for the best. The risk will catch up with you eventually and I don't want you to get hurt," he says softly, the worry evident in his voice.

You pull back again so you can look at him properly. "Despite how it seemed, it really was a very calculated risk," you insist, "but I promise I'll be more cautious. I'll especially make sure I consider you or talk about something like that first because you deserve that level of respect. I should have done so today, and once I realized I didn't, I regretted not doing so immediately. I really am so very sorry, Kino."

"Thank you. I'll hold you to that. Because in the future, I may not be as benevolent if we have to have this conversation again." There's an edge to his words. A promise. You tense slightly against him in worry and anticipation. "So be sure to try and behave."

"Yes, Kino," you agree in a husky voice, already shifting from navigating your newest fuck up into arousal.

"Good. Now that that's settled." He surprises you by capturing your mouth in a hungry kiss. You let out a squeak of shock in your throat, but quickly surrender and melt against him in relief.

That first meeting of lips after a long day without him is always bliss, like a glass of water when you're parched or a deep breath of planet atmosphere after being on a ship for too long. More so when the way he kisses you back betrays that he feels the same way. That he is just as eager to lose himself in you.

He gropes down to your waist and takes a moment to squeeze and rub where it meets the curve of your hips. As if he's reveling in the way you fit into the span of his grip and how he can hold you there. Then he drags his palms down to cup your ass, to pull you up and closer to him. You're forced to your tiptoes, and your lower stomach is drawn against his quickly stirring member, trapping it between you. He growls into your mouth at the contact. You respond with a moan and arch against him, working into where you're pressed together and letting the friction of your bodies harden him further.

Soon he's fully erect, his length digging almost painfully near your hip. He's also kissed you so thoroughly that you're making needy sounds into his mouth. You lift your leg and hook it around his waist, seeking that same friction to alleviate the heat between your thighs. You're unsteady on the balls of just one foot despite his grip on you, but you're hoping he'll get the hint and lift you up so you can wrap both of your legs around him. Can properly rock against him in a desperate hunt for your orgasm.

For now, you clumsily and impatiently set your core against the bulge of him through both of your uniforms. It isn't difficult to reach, but it is difficult to get the angle right and keep your balance on one foot. You manage enough to roll your hips and slide firmly along him, whining at the drag against your folds and how incredible he feels already.

And then he's pulling his lips away from yours, breaking the kiss like he's been shocked from a stupor.

"Wait," he gasps, nearly breathless.

"What is it?" You pant against his mouth, concerned you've done something wrong.

"This isn't…" he hesitates, like he's uncertain or nervous, his chest rising and falling against yours, and your interest is very piqued.

"What?" You search his face for some indication of what he's about to say. You've never heard Kino Loy sound nervous.

"This isn't what I wanted tonight because I was thinking," he carefully brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "that we could slow things down. Take our time with each other since we ended up here early. Then afterwards...I could stay. Here. With you."

"Really?" You gasp in disbelief, caught off guard by it and almost afraid to accept that you might get this. "You aren't worried about the rest of the shift?"

"I think they're going to be a bit distracted this evening," he chuckles. A smile always makes him look several years younger, and your heart skips a beat. "As long as there are no disruptions, no, I'm not worried."

"Then," your voice is suddenly thick with emotion, "I would like that very much."

"Yeah?" He leans in close and angles his face towards yours. He takes in the look of relief and longing in your expression, lets it soften his own, but he doesn't kiss you—likely to prevent himself from getting carried away again. "Then let's move this to the bed."

You go to turn, to take the few steps towards the raised platform of your bed, eager to be tangled up with him, but he puts a firm hand on your shoulder to stop you. You look up at him, confused.

"To be clear," he says carefully, "I don't intend to fuck you."

"Oh. Alright." Your shoulders slump a bit and there's disappointment you can't hide fast enough in your voice. Because he made it sound as if that's exactly what he intended to do.

"Hey." His hands find your cheeks, framing your face between them, and he cradles you tenderly in his palms. Your heart starts to speed up at the gentleness of it as he leans in to place a light kiss on your lips. Then he looks into your eyes with determination. His are so blue and stormy, like an early autumn sunrise when the clouds are parting to hint at the light sky beyond while everything is still hazy and grey with rain. The way he's looking at you is just as weighty and breathtaking.

"I intend to make love to you," he whispers, low and rough.

"Oh ." Your knees go weak, and you put your hand on his chest so you can lean into him for support. Because fuck, he can undo you with a single sentence, but that sentence in particular? It sets both your heart and your sex throbbing.

"If you aren't opposed to the idea." He sounds worried, as if there is the possibility you are.

As if you hadn't ached for any of this. As if saying no to him is ever an option.

As if you aren't in love with him.

Your mind is racing, every thought tangling with the next until you can't find anything to say to ease his fear other than sobbing, "Kino" at him. So you tilt your face forward to capture his lips again. To slide your tongue enthusiastically along his to communicate just how okay with it you are. Your hands find the front of his uniform and grip the fabric to give you a little stability as you tremble against him. And to pull him closer to you.

Because suddenly he isn't close enough.

He breaks the kiss again before it can go any further, and he rests his forehead against yours. "I take it you aren't opposed, then." He lets out a breathy chuckle.

"No," you whimper. "I want it."

"Good," he pulls away and smiles at you.

But you can see beyond the smile to the forced, tight curl of his lips. The tension that wrinkles the corners of his eyes and the creases of his forehead. The way he glances down to the floor.

Underneath that smile is vulnerability.

Anxiety. Relief.

Something more.

Then he looks back to you, and oh. You can see it now.

He thinks about you and your well-being, even when he isn't here with you. He looks at you in adoration and awe. He talks about you. He gave you an affectionate nickname. He made the first time you had sex special. Because…

Kino Loy is in love with you.

It's right there in the way he's looking at you, as plain as if he had said it out loud. Shouted it across the block, even.

And you're a fucking idiot.

How could you have doubted it—him—for so long? How could you have been so fucking insecure that you were willfully blind and missed what was right in front of you, even when other people pointed to it and told you to look.

But you were so afraid. Every sense of yearning, every ache in your chest, and every need that left you breathless was new and almost overwhelming at times. You've never felt this way before. Never actually been in love.

Trusting him with your body and your life is not the same as trusting with your heart. If you had given it to him, only to find pity and apology? If you had to go on living with the anguish that your feelings were unrequited? That had the power to destroy you in a way bruises never could. So it made you a coward.

You let it make you a coward.

Now you would carve your heart from your chest and pry it from the stubborn fingers of your ribcage if he asked it of you. Even if he didn't, you would still lay it at his feet in surrender, to prove to him your devotion and your love. You may as well. It belongs to him anyway. Every second it beats within your chest is now borrowed. That you continue on at all is at his mercy.

That should still terrify you, but as you greedily take in the expression on his face that you can now see with clarity—that you've wanted so desperately and can no longer deny—the fear is gone. Because you have Kino's heart and everything else is white noise.

He moves his hand to gently hold your chin as his thumb strokes against your bottom lip. "I just want to feel you."

"Then you'd better take my clothes off," you murmur before kissing the pad of his thumb.

He releases you, but only for a moment. Then his hands are at the hem of your shirt and he's lifting it, unhurriedly, over your head. You raise your arms for him and he slides it off with care, as though you're delicate. As though you hadn't had your arms wrenched and tied behind your back the night before. After he tosses your shirt away, he pauses for a moment—rakes his eyes over your now naked breasts and stomach.

"God, you're beautiful," he says in hushed awe.

You flush under his appreciative gaze, can almost feel the weight of it on your skin, and goosebumps prickle your chest and arms. But you don't wait for him to finish staring. You want to bare all of yourself to him, to give him more to admire, so you slide your own pants down your hips. Once they're to your thighs, you let the weight of the fabric pull them the rest of the way to the floor. You step out of the heap, toeing them off and nudging them aside, until you're fully nude before him.

He groans as his attention moves lower to where your slit is still concealed between your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you're tempted to part a knee. To bare your sex to him, too. To run your fingers through your folds and spread your lips to expose your damp entrance. Enticing him to bury his face between your legs and plunge his tongue inside of you.

But first.

You lean in and kiss him, just a quick press on his lips, and you purr, "I want to feel you, too." Then, to his surprise, you sink to your knees in front of him. "All of you," you sigh up at him.

"What are you doing?" He sounds apprehensive.

"Appreciating you." You push up his shirt, letting your palms and fingers roam through the fuzz on his belly with a moan as you do. Letting your nose and lips brush over his hair and skin with faint kisses. "Feeling you," you breathe against him.

After a brief hesitation, he wordlessly runs his fingers through your hair and pushes it away from your face, giving you unhindered access to him. Giving you permission. You look up at him in reverence as his hands gently settle on the sides of your skull. Not to push or force you, but to massage your scalp and feel the way you move beneath his touch.

You carefully pull his waistband far enough down below his hips to expose his erection. It bobs free of the fabric, thick and flushed, already leaking in anticipation—and god you love his cock. Love the way it curves ever so slightly to the left, the velvety slide of his foreskin, the faint salt and musk of him on your tongue. Love the way it presses inside of you.

You whimper as you think about what comes after this, once you've provoked him and wound him up just a little tighter. Not enough to break his self control, but to bend it just so. Enough that when the time comes, he aches to sink into you.

His eyes are transfixed on where his hard length is jutting towards you, just inches from your mouth. Any other night you would wait or tease him and hope that one day you could make him beg you to suck his cock, but not tonight. You wrap a hand around him to steady him and coax his foreskin just a little further down and past the tip of him. Then you look up at him as you wrap your lips and tongue around him, too. He groans above you and his hands tighten into loose fists in your hair. You know he's resisting the urge to plunge his hips forward. To fuck into the moist heat of your mouth.

Part of you wants him to because the thought makes your arousal pulse and flood with wetness.

Your mind races with it briefly. You imagine yourself on your knees. Him pinning you against the platform of your bed while he braces forward on your mattress with one hand, and mercilessly thrusting all the way to the back of your throat. You know he would make that sexy grunting noise and tell you how good you feel as he pulls your hair. Praise you for taking his cock so well. Tell you he's going to choke you when he comes down your throat.

Fuck.

Maybe next time. Because you know tonight is more than that. It's an exploration of something newly realized, and you have to navigate it carefully until it's no longer fragile.

Instead, you keep your attention on his face as your lips and tongue move sensually around him. You lap flat, broad strokes over every ridge and swell of him, and each drag of your mouth is long and slow—not intending to draw his release from him, but to savor each dribble of precome, slide of foreskin beneath your lips, and twitch on your tongue. You want to cherish him. To show him how much you enjoy feeling him and bringing him pleasure, too. How much you love every inch of him.

And he watches, eyes lidded and enraptured at the way he disappears past your lips. His own lips are parted as he sucks in breaths and gasps curses into the open cell. Even your inner thighs are starting to grow damp now from the sounds he's making. You do your best to work them from him, tease and milk the swollen, exposed head of his cock, eager to hear more. Eager to hear him whimper your name and furrow his brows in anguish as he continues to fight his own instincts to take.

When his hips start to jerk forward to meet you, you know it's time to stop before he's too far gone. You take him as deeply as you can into your mouth one last time, swallowing around him to force him deeper still, then you languidly pull him from your hollowed cheeks. He lets out an unhindered groan above you, his hands reflexively tightening in your hair as though he's resisting the urge to keep you there or to drive your mouth back down. The brief sting is thrilling enough that you moan around him in response, which earns you an almost pained hiss. After you ease him from your lips, you place a kiss along the sensitive underside of his length, wrenching a shudder from him. You sex quivers and you resist doing it a second time.

With some reluctance, you rise to your feet. He releases your hair to offer you a hand up, and you take it, if only to bask in the roughness of his palm and how his larger fingers close around yours. The strength in his hand makes you feel almost small, and it's thrilling to know just how much power you're teasing and flirting with on a regular basis.

Once you're standing, he gives you a dazed look, his blue eyes unfocused with arousal. He opens his mouth as though he wants to say something, but he pulls you in for another kiss instead, and the words are lost the moment your lips meet.

His hands roam down your naked back as he explores your mouth, spurred on by the taste of his own saltiness still lingering on your tongue. A reminder of being inside of you. Of his building climax before you stopped. His length prods your belly before being pressed firmly against it as he grabs your ass and pulls you closer. When he shifts, he leaves behind a smear of your own saliva on your skin, and you feel another throb of moisture at your nearly dripping folds.

You could do this all evening, bask in caresses and kisses—if you were a more patient person.

But you want him. Badly. And right now you're close to jumping into his arms and wrapping your legs around him just to bring his cock closer to your entrance. So it's your turn to break the kiss by pulling back. Just far enough that you can look into his face with all of the devotion and passion you have for him.

"Kino," you whisper against his parted mouth. "I'm yours. Make love to me."

With a groan, he quickly scoops you up—eager after hearing that and not caring that his pants are still around his thighs—and he walks you over to the bed. There he lays you carefully down onto the mattress. Your head is the last thing he releases, and he runs the backs of his knuckles along your cheek before he pulls away. Then he's taking off his own shirt without any of the caution or tenderness that he showed you.

You push yourself up to your elbows to watch as he reveals his sturdy hips and belly, softening with age, but still firm with strength underneath. Then he slides the top over his head, baring his shoulders, which flex without effort, and more of the greying hair on his chest. You itch to run your fingers through that trail of fuzz, to grope your way along the full length of his abdomen, around to his waist and ribs. Because you love how thick he is. Love every curve that hardens into muscle, and how you can grab onto him and feel certain that he would never budge or break.

He lets his uniform top fall to the floor. Then immediately his attention shifts to his pants, which are still miraculously clinging to his upper thighs. He pushes them down the rest of the way, bending to maneuver them past his knees since his aren't as loose as yours. When he straightens and steps out of the fabric, his heavy erection sways enticingly from the movement.

You're glad you're laying down because fuck, you will never tire of seeing Kino Loy naked in front of you. Ready for you. Wanting you. He's so fucking sexy that it's overwhelming every time.

Before he joins you on the bed, he looks down at you in adoration. Your heart stutters at the expression on his face, as naked as the rest of him. He brushes your hair off of your shoulders, letting his fingers skim along your neck. It's a phantom of a touch and it tickles. You writhe and tremble under his fingertips, trying to withstand it without cracking—and failing.

"Kino!" You put a hand on his forearm to stop him before he continues further and makes you giggle, ruining the tender mood.

"Yes, pet?" He whispers down at you.

"I need you," you urge. You draw your knees up, bending your legs until your feet are planted flat on the mattress, and then you let them fall slowly open. "Please take me."

There's a glint of hunger on his face as he glances down to your parted thighs. Then he's climbing between your legs, pausing only to let out a pained groan when he notices that your sex and inner thighs are glistening from how wet and ready for him you are. He settles onto his knees and sets his hands to either side of your ribs, bracing himself to hover over you. Not pressed against you yet, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him.

He leans down and kisses behind your ear, your jaw, down your neck, along your collarbone, dragging his lips and scruff over every sensitive dip. You whimper and squirm from the attention. It's almost too much again, straddles that line between balm and pain. It's maddening. Then, before you can call out, he's making his way back up your throat, pausing to kiss and nip under your chin, and finally reaching your lips once more.

He lowers further to his forearms so now parts of you are touching, but not enough. He also keeps his mouth moving against yours, and you're dizzy from the attention. It's almost as though he's trying to dissolve you into a heap of nothing but want and need. Though, you have to admit, it doesn't take much—at least where he's concerned.

A hand grasps the crook of your knee, and he guides your leg to his thigh. You obediently wrap your leg behind his, not needing to be told or asked. Then he runs his touch up your waist before gripping you tightly. As the pressure of his thumb digs and pits into the flesh of your stomach, you realize he's holding you still for him.

You tense in anticipation because you can sense what comes next, but you still jump with a gasp when his erection brushes against your swollen folds. He's so close to being where you need him. So close to filling you, but still he doesn't. Instead he slides his other arm under you and hooks his hand over your shoulder, keeping you even more firmly in place.

With all this preparation, at first you think he wants to hold you steady because he's getting ready to slam into you, and it's a tantalizing thought. But as he gently prods your opening with tiny thrusts, you realize the opposite is happening. He's going to take his time entering you. And he knows it's going to drive you wild with impatience. That you're going to try and press yourself onto him. Do everything you can to have him inside of you, and he is going to do everything he can to force you to wait.

You groan loudly in understanding and frustration. He knows, then, that you've worked it out because he grins against your lips. You want to pull away, to plead with him to please just fuck you already, but then he angles his hips forward and enters you. Barely. No more than the head of his cock, but it still pulls a wanton moan from you because, fuck, you've needed something.

Then he holds his position inside of you, giving you no additional pressure or friction, and goes back to kissing you with enthusiasm. You could weep in desperation already, and he's only just started.

After what feels like an eternity of waiting, but is likely only a couple of minutes, he edges forward again—slides further inside of you. But you're so slick and hot, that he slips a little deeper than he intended. So then he's pulling back instead, slowly dragging his length along your walls until he's satisfied with his new position within you. He greedily laps up the whines and noises of irritation that spill out of your mouth and into his at the sensation.

That is how he continues stretching and filling you. It's torturous. Deliriously slow. Whenever you adjust and quiet down, he presses in another inch, which sets you off into another fit of desperate keening. You don't know how he's keeping it together because you're ready to scream and beg and bargain with him or any god that will listen. You try to lift your hips and rut against him, but his grip on your waist keeps you from making any progress. You knew it would, but you had to try anyway.

When he's almost entirely inside of you, he finally moves his mouth from your lips to kiss along your cheek and jaw.

"Do you know what you do to me?" He gasps against your skin, and at last you can tell how bothered he is by his own teasing.

"Tell me," you plead because you love hearing him talk while he's inside of you. You want to hear the low rumble of his voice and feel the vibration in your chest.

He pushes his hips forward one last time, slow and deep, until he's pulling at you with his hands and pressing against the backs of your thighs—trying to get deeper still. Then he stops, completely sheathed inside of you, and you moan in satisfaction at being fully stretched and filled with him.

"I never want to leave this cell. I would stay right here, buried inside of you for the rest of my life if I could." His voice is tense and gravelly as he nuzzles his nose against your jaw.

"Oh god, Kino," you sob.

"Before you, all that mattered to me was getting out of this place. After you? I'm weak. You make me weak." He places a firm kiss on your neck, pressing so hard that his nose smushes near your pulse and his beard pricks your skin. Then he growls, "Because you're all that matters to me now."

Your heart lurches and then begins to pound violently in your chest. You can tell he's working up to something important. An admission. Is dangerously close to saying the words that change everything by changing nothing. Because every moment together, every action you've taken, and every touch, gentle and bruising—all of it has been done with love and trust this entire time. It's why labels were never important. You've both said plenty through action—choking and wrenching, kneeling and grasping, humiliation and submission. Every bit of pain and pleasure.

You've already told him you were falling in love with him a dozen times over.

And so did he, you realize now.

You need to hear it anyway.

"Look at me," you say helplessly. Overwhelmed by both his cock and his confession, barely able to speak, but still needing to see his face.

He doesn't look at you, though. Instead he rolls his hips, shifting inside of you as he leans in even closer.

"Do you know why you make me weak?"

"Say it." It's nearly inaudible. Not even a whisper.

"Because I love you," he exhales against the shell of your ear. "God help me, I have wanted you and loved you from the moment I first touched you."

You want to cry. And you want to laugh in glee and hysteria. Bury your face into his neck. Plead. Scream. Straddle his lap, grip him with your walls, and ride him. Wail until your throat is hoarse. Snuggle up next to him in bed. Fall to your knees in prayer. Contort your hips and force him deeper within you. To fuck him. Tear your own hair out. Your insides are churning with a hundred different conflicting emotions at his declaration, but all you can do is lie there. Pinned. Paralyzed. Burning with the intensity of it all.

Because I love you.

You can feel the echo of his words in your ear and his breath against your skin, reverberating over and over in your mind.

You once compared him to a sun—a benevolent and blinding warmth—but he's a supernova. Beyond blinding. Searing past your skin, deep into your flesh. Into your meat. Imprinting himself upon your very cells. You felt the heat of him before you saw how consumed you really were. Now, even if you wanted to get away, you wouldn't dream of it. Wouldn't move an inch unless it was to dive further into that oblivion. Because you have a love that peels you bare and reveals the truth of you. That leaves you undone and broken, even as you trust it with every atom of your being to breathe life back into you afterwards.

"Kino," you weep as he finally moves—thrusts into you again. Then more urgently, "Look at me!"

He slowly lifts away from your jaw to meet your eyes. You can tell he was ravaged by his own revelation because his face is a wreck—his eyes are shiny, his nostrils are flaring, and his lower lip is in a pout, quivering slightly. You want those full lips on yours, trailing between your breasts, circled around your clit, everywhere—

"I love you, too," you choke out. You finally get to say the words out loud to him. And you find that they're so significant and such a fundamental truth of you now, that they're ripped painfully from your chest. The relief is so great that it hurts to say it. "I love you so fucking much. Please." You push on the back of his thigh with your calf, urging him to move. To continue rocking into you. Then you grab his face in your hands and hold him there so he can't look away this time. "Say it again."

You need to see it. You need to see the way his lips shape the words. You need to see his face as he says it. You need—

He arches his back, his hand splayed along your hip and poised to thrust into you again, but keeping his eyes on yours.

"I love you," he groans, rugged and guttural, and you let it hang between the two of you. Then he plunges into you, and you are so full of him—your core, your head, your heart—you can barely breathe.

Burying himself inside of you draws a sound from him that is half mirth and half lament, and the expression on his face, somehow at once a smile and a sob, is a reflection of that same contradiction. As if saying it out loud, making himself so vulnerable, brings him both pain and joy. A sentiment you can relate to because it's what he does to you as well. Crushes and holds. Breaks and soothes.

"Fuck," you whimper.

If he's barely holding on by a thread, then you are untethered. Adrift. You aren't sure you will ever stop falling. Ever stop being sucked in by the gravity of him.

"I should have told you sooner," he sighs, regretful. "I wanted to. I wasn't sure—"

"I know," you whisper up to him, your voice thick with the threat of tears. "I should have, too, but I was so afraid."

"Of me?" There's a brief flash of heartache on his face, and you urgently place a hand on his stubbled cheek.

"No!" You gasp, horrified. "Not like that, anyway." Your cheeks flush in shame and you glance away from him. "I was afraid you wouldn't feel the same way about me," you murmur.

"Look at me," he commands. You immediately obey his tone and look up into a hard expression of determination, a familiar one which thins his lips and deepens the lines on his face. "I will never leave you doubting how I feel about you ever again," he says, rough and fierce. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Kino." Your breath hitches and you let out a shaky exhale.

"You will always know that I love you," his voice waivers, still overcome with the weight of saying it. And you've found a new way he ruins you because everytime he says he loves you, you feel as though you could burst into flames.

"Show me," you beg.

He thrusts into you again, deep and steady, but still slow and gentle. And god, it feels good, but it also feels wrong.

This isn't how the two of you should be in this moment. This isn't how you love.

"Wait!" You put a hand on his shoulder and he stills above you. "Kino...is this really what you want?" You rasp. "Something tender? Or is this what you think you should want?"

"What…" he hesitates and frowns down at you. "What do you mean?"

"You said you wanted us to take our time with each other tonight, and I understand why, but what do you really want to do to me?" You push up with your elbows so you can get close enough to brush your lips against his. "Show me how you love me. How you feel about us."

His next thrust is harder, meets you with enough force to shift you along the mattress, and it sparks something inside of you.

"Fuck!" You throw your head back with a moan. "Just like that."

"You think I don't want tender? That I could just fuck you after I tell you I love you?" He growls, nearly spitting the word "fuck" out in disgust. But you aren't fooled. You know how he aches to let go.

"I think fucking me is loving me. I think you've always been making love to me." Then, feeling bold, you groan up at him, "And I know you want to."

"Is that so?" His voice is low and dangerous, and it sends a frisson through you.

"Yes," you purr. "I think you've been holding back all evening." You growl back at him, "Don't."

His grip tightens, sharpens with pain where his fingers dig into you and you hiss in pleasure. He pulls his hips back. You expect him to stop when the tip of him is all that's left inside of you, but he doesn't. He completely removes himself from you, leaving you empty and twitching.

You make a noise of protest and look up at him in confusion. But before you can ask what's wrong or consider that perhaps you misjudged the situation, he growls and slams full force back into you. Your vision blurs in satisfaction and your words turn into an obscene moan. Because you were right.

"Is this what you want?" He grits through his teeth as his lips pull back into a snarl. "Is this how you want to be loved?”

"Yes!" You whine back at him. "Please, fuck me, Kino."

And then you're being split open as he finally lets go—pounds mercilessly into your slick center. There's the slap of flesh on flesh everytime his hips meet yours, and the lewd, wet noise of his cock sliding in and out of your drenched opening. The sound of that alone is enough to leave you gaping and moaning, but he's also grunting in your ear with each thrust, driving you wild.

"You feel so fucking good on my cock," he growls. "God, I love fucking you. I could spend a whole day buried inside of you. Making you come."

Your entire body jolts as he rams you into the thin mattress. Even though your breasts are pressed to his chest, they still shake against him from the force of it. Occasionally his rhythm gets interrupted because you're being slowly pushed away from him along the bed, and he has to yank you back into position. So you hook your other leg behind his thigh and hold on tightly to stop yourself from shifting around beneath him. You don't want any of his momentum wasted. Want it all focused inside of you.

Once you're braced against him, it finally gives him the leverage he needs and each thrust somehow feels deeper than the last.

"I want every step to hurt tomorrow, Kino," you pant. "I want to think of your cock inside of me and how much you love me every time I move. Every time I sit. I want to ache with you."

Faster than you would have thought possible, he removes his hand from your shoulder and grabs your jaw with a growl. "You're shameless, you know that?" Then he pulls your face closer. "I should have fucked that filthy mouth."

"I know you wanted to," you grit out, your words slurring slightly from the force of his fingers and thumb on your cheeks.

"Yeah?" He jerks his hips hard against you, forcing a little yelp from your throat. "Is that why you were sucking me so beautifully? To get me to lose control?"

"I wasn't even trying that hard, but I thought about it. About you fucking my mouth." You smirk up at him as much as you're able. "And I can do better," you promise in a husky voice.

"Fuck," he grunts. "That's why you're so wet for me.”

"Yes," you purr against his lips. "I love when you take, Kino. And I love sucking your cock."

"You should see yourself when you're on your knees," he murmurs. "The way your pretty lips look wrapped around me."

He releases your face and threads his fingers through your hair. You whimper in anticipation, eager for the sting in your scalp, and he smirks at you. Makes you wait for it another minute while he pounds into you. Makes you wait until you begin to squirm and whine. Then without warning, he jerks your head away at an angle, exposing your neck to him as you cry out in pain and relief. He places hard, open mouthed kisses along the bare curve of your neck. His hot, wet tongue, lapping and dragging and searing where it passes over your skin.

"The way you swallow me, god,” he snarls. “I’ve never done anything to deserve how good your mouth and cunt are.”

"No." You try to pull away from his hand, even though he has your hair held fast in his grip. "Never say that," you hiss, still writhing fruitlessly against him. "You're fucking incredible, Kino Loy."

His hips stop moving and he lifts his head to look at you in surprise. "I just meant—"

"I know what you meant. But it's your hands that bring this out of me. The real me. There is no me without you," you insist.

His grip slackens for one brief moment of weakness as he stares down at you, and you take advantage of his distraction. You hitch forward and feel your hair give slightly through his fingers. He quickly reestablishes his hold in response, but you've already managed to turn your head enough to face him fully.

"I was made for you, remember?" You bite your lip and grind your hips into his. "I'm yours to fuck," you gasp at him.

He blinks at you a few more times, but another firm rock along his length snaps him out of it and spurs him into action. Back to pounding into you. With a grunt, he dives forward to smother his face into your neck again, just below your ear. The sudden chafing of his beard leaves you squirming, wanting to escape from and relish in the burn of it, but his weight over you has you pinned to the bed, completely at the mercy of his lips. It also makes the skin of your stomach and breasts slide against the softer hair on his belly and chest, which feels fucking incredible. You try to arch your back to rub into him. You want more of it. The two opposing sensations nearly drive you to tears until he moves on to frantically kiss and nip at your jaw.

Then he's murmuring into your ear, "Yes you fucking are! You're mine." He rocks into you, barely pulling his hips back for a proper thrust, as if he can't handle not being fully buried inside of you. "Mine." He says it over and over like a mantra.

The result is a relentless friction against your clit and pressure on that sweet spot inside of you.

Soon you can't fucking breathe and you desperately try to suck in air to stop the room from spinning. It's too much. Every part of you is touching him—wrapped around, pressed against, grasping on for dear life. His hand at your waist is constantly roaming and groping and clutching, and the other in your hair wrenches at you for leverage. His lips kiss and sweep along your skin, dragging the burn of stubble with them as he continues laying claim to you. And his cock grinds into you, against you, within you.

You think you can't take anymore. That you might go mad with all of it. But then there's that familiar burn at your core—that blossoming of tension that opens up inside of you and grows through your belly and thighs. You begin to quake in his arms, and you wail out a muffled stream of moans and pleas into his shoulder, begging him to stop. To keep going. To keep fucking you. To— "oh god, fuck, Kino! I'm so close!"

His litany stops, and instead he begins to growl, "That's right, come for me while I fuck your wet cunt. I want to feel it."

"Please," you let out a choked whine—closer closer closer, "Kino!"

"You're mine, so be a good girl for me."

"Fuck!" You sob, "oh Kino! I'm—"

"God, I love you," he whispers against your ear.

And the tension snaps, sending the tide of your release swelling and receding through your entire being. It blooms along your skin and behind your eyelids, muting the sterile white of your cell. And there's a rush of blood to your skull that leaves you momentarily deafened except for a ringing in your ears. You think your head has fallen back against his hand and you're shouting his name—your own prayer—but reality is beyond your senses while you're consumed by the peak of your orgasm.

And then you blink away tears and the worst of the fog, and everything sharpens. Returns to focus, even as your body still churns and pulses with bliss.

His hips falter for a moment as your walls clench around his cock, and he groans like he's in agony. As if you're reaching into his chest and rending his heart with your bare hands, and not having your own torn from you at the way he's looking down at your face. Like you're the supernova— searing into his retinas until he can see the impression of you even when he closes his eyes.

Then he recovers and resumes his relentless pace—pounding into you, holding you in place, his grip tight on your hips while he fucks you through your climax, coaxing every last tremor and spasm from your core. Bottoming out through every aftershock.

"Fuck, you're so tight when you come. The way you squeeze my cock," he growls deep within his chest, “makes it so hard not to empty myself into you."

You try to whine his name, but your brain is buzzing, unable to force your mouth to work, so you can only choke out a whimper instead.

"But I don't want to. I'm not done with you yet," he hisses into your ear. "I'm still going to take my time before I do."

You lay there, spent and helpless, making pathetic noises as every deep plunge inside of you is like fire to your over-stimulated nerves.

"I'm going to have you whichever way I want before then, too," he mutters, and you shiver beneath him. "And I want you on your hands and knees.”

Suddenly the weight of him on top of you is being lifted as he pushes off. He slips out from between your legs and you let out a ragged protest. Beg him to come back to you. Because now you're floating without an anchor and your sweat flecked skin feels cooler without him covering you with his warmth.

But then his hands are back on you. He patiently helps you flip over and recenter yourself on the narrow bed. Once you're on your stomach, he pulls back on your hips until you raise up on all fours. You don't even think, you automatically square yourself, knees beneath your hips and hands beneath your shoulders.

He gives a dissatisfied grunt behind you.

"Lean forward," he orders. Without waiting for you to obey, he's bending over you and pushing between your shoulder blades, forcing you to lower down towards the bed. He removes his hand when you're less than a foot from the mattress, your elbows sticking out as you're crouched down. You assume that means you're low enough and stop, despite the fact that you have to look completely ridiculous.

"Farther," he growls. You arch even lower until you have to reposition your arms so your forearms are flat, your breasts are nearly touching the vinyl material, and your ass is up in the air. He lets out a huff. "You'll get there." There's a confidence to the phrase which sends a shiver through you, straight to your rekindling arousal.

You can hear him shift on his knees behind you and you feel the dip in the padding by your shins. You wait to feel him shuffle in between your legs, to put a hand on your hip as he gets ready to fuck you. Instead he puts his hands on your outer thighs, just above your knees, and squeezes them together, trying to close your parted limbs.

"What are you doing?" You glance over your shoulder at him in confusion.

He looks down at you in equal confusion. "Getting you into position for me," he says as though it should be obvious.

"But…how…?" You wiggle your hips at him.

It takes a second, and then there's a dawn of realization on his face. "You've never been fucked properly from behind like this before, have you?"

You open your mouth to scoff. To say that of course you have, but then you stop and think… Have you? You've been fucked from behind while on all fours, certainly. That's a pretty basic position. But properly? Well, it was okay. Sometimes it felt close to really good if you shifted your hips just right. You had to reach between your legs and finish yourself off every time, though. Actually, you had to do that a lot—and damn, you really thought you were having decent sex before him, huh?

"Apparently not?" You relent.

He gives you a heated, almost predatory smile. "Oh, pet," he coos at you. "Then I am going to fuck you until you're screaming my name into your hand again. Because you're going to feel so good, the only thing you will remember is my name and my cock." Your face flushes, bright red and hot and tingling, and your walls and clit both flutter in anticipation. He hasn't even fucking touched you and it's already the most you've enjoyed being in this position. You swallow hard.

He pats your thigh. "Now legs together." You obey with now trembling limbs until your thighs to your ankles are pressed together.

"Good girl," he says in that perfect fucking low and gruff way that you like. The way that leaves you wet and panting. Thinking about how he's already fucked you senseless once tonight.

"Kino," you moan, canting your hips towards him, arching your back further until your arms reach out to help you brace yourself into a more natural position.

He grunts down at you. Now he's satisfied, you think, as begins to climb into position. He puts his knees outside of yours, rather than kneeling between them like you're used to. You're very interested to know how this is going to work, since apparently this is going to be a new experience. And it involves him fucking you.

"God, this is an incredible view. You're breathtaking," he growls behind you. Then his thumb is dragging over your slit. "And you're still soaked for me."

"How could I not be," you gasp, "when you made some pretty big claims about fucking me after already making me come once."

"Is that doubt I hear?" He adds pressure to his thumb, causing it to barely press into your folds. He massages between them, teasing your entrance and making an obscene, slick noise.

"No," you groan. You shift your hips, trying to tilt them further towards him to give him better access and to encourage him to keep going, "I'm just waiting."

"You're too impatient," he scolds. And his thumb slips inside of you. You whimper and quickly press back, seeking more, which forces him deeper into your entrance. He grumbles in disappointment, "Like that."

He feels along your walls in slow curls and draws, coating his digit in your wetness. Then he pulls his thumb out of you and drags it down along your folds, rubbing circles of your own moisture along your opening, until he finally runs it over your bundle of nerves. You cry out, still a little sensitive, and quickly muffle your voice into your arm.

"See? Isn't that better? To have my fingers on your clit so my cock can go inside of you?" There's a teasing edge to his voice that would normally have you huffy with irritation, if not for the fact that his thumb is still moving deliciously along your clit.

You nod against your arm, certain he can see you. He removes his thumb, and then something thicker is dragging firmly along your sex. The hard ridge of his cock pushes noisily, obscenely, down through the wetness he left behind as he rubs between your slick and swollen lips, coating you in more of it because he's still drenched from being inside of you.

"Oh, fuck," you whine.

"That's right," you can hear the smirk in his voice. He's enjoying this. Teasing you. Having the upper hand.

But, fuck, so are you. It straddles that line between scolding and playful.

You wonder how you can tip the scales in favor of scolding. Of feeling his hands on you in punishment while he fucks you. You rest your head between your arms with a quiet whimper.

He lines up, firmly nudging the head of his cock against your opening. You hold still to resist being impatient again. Rather than plunge forward, he pulls back hard on your hips, forcing you to sink onto his thick length. Your folds part and your body yields to him, engulfs him, already loose and slick, but not as much as you expected. It's as if you're clenching, resisting without resisting and—

"Oh," you say, a little dumbstruck. Your legs aren't spread open for him, which means your opening isn't spread open, which means—

"Fuck," he lets out a ragged breath. "Squeeze your thighs together."

You obey him, clenching your thighs and pressing your knees inward, even though they have nowhere to go except being forced together. He makes a strangled noise behind you, so you squeeze again. His hips draw back and he uses his grip to rock you forward, and then he slams into you, yanking you back to meet him. The pressure and friction inside of you is enough to work a needy whimper from your throat.

"You're so fucking—ah! So fucking tight," he whines and gives a shallow, savoring thrust into your heat. "You feel so good. So fucking perfect."

You glance at him coyly over your shoulder, sensing your opening to rile him up. "Sure it won't be you screaming my name?" You flex your thighs again and grind back against him. He grunts, but something inside of him latches onto your words and his face becomes stern.

"Is that what you think?" He squares his shoulders in a quiet rage, which is always more dangerous than an outburst, and you can see his mind working. Coming up with something on the fly to send you reeling, and a shiver of anticipation runs down your back, meeting where his hands are now claws on your hips.

"It is now," you stubbornly jut your chin at him.

"Then you do it." His grip slackens.

"Do what?" Your brows furrow in confusion.

"Fuck me if you think I would lose control that easily." He stares down at you in challenge. "But you only have a few minutes to make me scream your name. If you don't, I'm taking over again." His jaw clenches, and then he grits out, "and I won't be gentle."

You bite your lip as you pretend to consider it. Either you manage to ruin him or he destroys you and you DO end up screaming into your arm. How is this even a threat?

Wait.

…how is this even a threat ? You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him because you're now fully aware there's a catch somewhere. And you're about to discover it by blindly fumbling around because fuck if you aren't going to take the bait.

Because what a way to learn a lesson.

You clench the muscles in your thighs and your sex, and you roll back against him, forcing him to slide deep within you. Your walls grip tightly to every inch of him, pull at his length, and you draw an involuntary moan from him as you drag yourself up to the head of his cock.

"Deal," you gasp.

Then you put your whole body into getting him off. You rock onto him while on your forearms and knees, lifting off the bed far enough to get leverage to gyrate your lower half in time with your thrusts. The circular roll of your hips requires you to flex anyway, so every pump onto his member clenches and drags at his foreskin, as if you're fucking him and jerking him off at the same time.

He grunts and swears behind you. Though his hands rest loosely on the curve of your hips, you can feel his fingers twitching. He wants to grab you. He wants to fuck you. And that is such an intoxicating, powerful feeling—getting him to the brink of control, stretching the limits of his willpower and knowing he could break at any moment. Like when his fingers flexed in your hair while you were blowing him.

Part of you doesn't want to make him come because you want him to snap. You ache for it. You want him to drive your climax from you until you can't think and then spend himself deep within you. But you also know this is a rare opportunity for you to be in control. And there are so many more opportunities for him to show you later.

His grunts turn into groans, so you speed up. You wish you had a wall or a headboard to brace against rather than using your arms to help you rock back against him. It's less effective and you're using more arm strength to compensate, but working the floor all day has given you the stamina to keep up for a while longer. Thankfully your pace isn't brutal like his. It doesn't need to be as long as you can keep working him with each thrust.

Just when you think you have him edging towards his climax, his hands shift from your hips to grip your ass. He squeezes along the swell of your cheeks, pressing them firmly together and massaging them outward as you rock back onto him. Even though you know, logically, you have no modesty in this position to begin with—or in a few of the others he's had you in—you feel exposed. You squirm against him in discomfort.

But he doesn't stop there. He works his hands in closer. He runs his thumbs along either side of your cleft before he stops to part your cheeks and hold them open.

"Kino…" you gasp in sudden concern and your movements slow.

"What's wrong?" He asks absentmindedly, not looking up from where his thumbs have begun kneading on either side of your hole. The soothing pressure of it opens you up even more, and you quickly clench to keep the ring of muscle there closed tight. He makes an appreciative low groan in his chest.

"What are you doing?" You can't stop the trepidation in your voice.

"Admiring you," is all he says.

"Okay." You bite your lip and force yourself to relax. Force yourself not to blush as you feel his eyes leering over where he's buried inside of you—and where he isn't. Force yourself to try to continue rocking back against him.

You yelp in surprise when a thumb barely brushes over your opening and, out of instinct, you attempt to scramble away from him. He grabs one of your hips in a vice-like grip and holds you there so you're just grasping along the bed instead of going anywhere, but his thumb stops its exploration.

"Kino!" You grunt out, now horrified.

"You don't like it?" He doesn't sound particularly upset or disappointed, just curious.

"I…" you're once again forced to stop and fucking think about your own sexual history. Because you had tried it exactly once and you hated it.

But.

The guy you had been with barely got you wet, even during sex, which also wasn't great because he didn't get you off either. You still can't believe he talked you into it. So…no? Yes? Maybe?

You let out a noise of frustration. "I don't know?"

"There seems to be a lot of that tonight," he mumbles, still staring down between your cheeks.

"Yeah, well, it's really difficult to think back fondly on nearly two decades of lackluster fumblings with you sending me into hyperspace every night," you huff, frustrated and a little embarrassed. "I'm starting to think I didn't actually enjoy anything until you did it to me. It's incomparable."

"Has anyone…?" He pumps into you and squeezes your ass for emphasis.

"Yes. He—" you stop to let out an uncomfortable laugh. "You know, I never thought I would be talking about this with your cock in me."

"I can take it out if you prefer," he murmurs.

"No!" You push back against him, trying to keep him there, and you just know there's a smirk on his face. You sigh, "I was young and I was kind of dating a guy—"

"Kind of?" He teases.

"Yes," you protest, "kind of. We hadn't been dating very long, but I thought I liked him. The sex was horrible, though. Didn't have a single orgasm. I…let him talk me into it thinking it would—fuck, this is embarrassing—thinking he would like me. And it was so terrible, I broke up with him and I refused to try it again. But…it wasn't with you, so…" You blush and trail off, needing to turn away so he can't see your face.

"No, it wasn't." He says quietly.

"I told you," you shrug, "you're incomparable to anything I had before."

"I could make you feel good," he whispers. When you whine instead of responding because you know he could, he continues, "Would you let me fuck you here?" His voice is low as his thumb rubs firmly against your other entrance again. A moan tumbling from your own lips surprises you, and your hips jerk towards his hand beyond your control. Because holy shit that actually felt…good that time?

"Yes," you purr without any hesitation, "I'd let you do anything you want to me." You know it's distressingly true. You're starting to think there isn't anything you wouldn't give him. Or wouldn't want him to give you. You want him to do things to you that you don't even have the words for.

"Hmmm." He makes an intrigued noise. "Noted. Also your time has run out."

It's all the warning you get before he's leaning over you, one hand now braced on your lower back. The weight behind it pushes your hips down, forcing your knees to slide with it until you catch yourself, angling you down towards the bed. Then he has a hand on the side of your face and he's crushing your cheek down into the mattress. You cry out in surprise, which comes out slightly muffled from the way your face is being squished by his palm.

Then you realize: he was distracting you. He was teasing your ass so you would slow down and lose.

There's a flush of anger in your belly because he was never intending to play fair. That was the fucking catch. He just wanted to watch and enjoy you fucking him, knowing what he was going to do anyway. The anger twists into scalding lust at the first hint of embarrassment that washes over you. Then you're mad about how much that turns you on. How your arousal throbs and drenches around him. About how he knows it.

You open your mouth to protest, but without saying anything or letting you get a word in, he sets a relentless pace, hammering down into you. You have to clench and brace yourself to keep from sliding further, and every thrust into you is a test of your own strength. One which he is winning, you realizing as your knees slip another inch.

For too long, all you can do is desperately try to keep your position and let him fuck you. Even shifting or writhing beneath him would be all the submission he needs to force you flat onto your belly. And it feels good, god it feels good, but you're so focused on your body, that you can't truly enjoy the way your closed thighs force friction and pressure against your g-spot. Or the way his balls hit and rub against your nerves with every thrust.

It's frustrating, like seeing something out of the corner of your eye, but it's gone by the time you turn your head. You let out a discouraged huff.

Then he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls back, attempting to lift you up off of the bed. You scramble to get your arms under you so you can move with his hand, relieving most of the pressure on your scalp. His hand on your lower back forces you to arch towards him rather than lean against him, and he continues yanking on your hair until your head is tilted back and you're practically looking up at him. Once you're in the position he wants, he removes the hand on your back and settles it over your belly, holding you up.

"Finally get sick of that?" He growls into your ear.

"Yes!" You whimper. "It wasn't…"

"Good?" His raspy voice finishes for you. "That's because it was supposed to be frustrating."

"But—" you sputter.

"Had to punish you somehow."

"Fuck!" Anger settles back over you. "I just wanted it rough, Kino."

"I know. And I was going to give it to you," he rumbles down at you, "then you opened your mouth." He tsks at you. "Brat."

"You were enjoying it too much," you hiss.

He tugs back on your hair and you cry out in pain.

"I was enjoying it just fine. I was adjusting." He's almost too collected for how hard he was just thrusting into you. "You were going to get fucked."

You let out a little sob, and if you could hang your head in anguish, you would.

"Poor thing." His hand strokes over your belly, teases up towards your breasts. Then he leans close to whisper in your ear, "Would you like to?"

"Yes, Kino, please," you blurt out with no hesitation, uncaring how desperate it makes you seem, and the words continue spilling from your lips. "Please fuck me. I'm still so fucking wet for you! I need you. Make me come with your cock. Make me come so hard—make me scream! Please."

"Hmmm," he hums, pleased, behind you. He pumps into you, and you cry out in relief. "How can I say no to that?"

He releases your hair and you drop your head down, twisting back and forth, letting the muscles and tendons in your neck stretch and relax. He waits patiently until you're finished before plunging into you again, and you're so grateful for those little moments where he's tender and thoughtful, even in the middle of being rough. Where you know how much he wants you to enjoy it, too.

God, you love him.

Then both hands are on your stomach, and he's groping upwards, feeling his way along your ribs until he drags his calloused palms over your breasts. This time you arch back of your own accord, pressing your chest forward into his hands, eager for more. He rewards you by fondling you as he thrusts into you.

His lips find your shoulder and he kisses towards your neck, pausing occasionally to bite and grunt into your flesh. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to leave half moon impressions behind—and to leave you whimpering.

You turn your head to capture his mouth, and he crashes his lips messily into yours. You both moan in relief at the contact. The downside of this position is not being able to kiss him whenever you want, and, fuck, do you love kissing him. And touching him. And looking at him. God, this is torture. His tongue finds yours and you yield to him, letting him be in control of plunging into you there as well. Let him twist and stroke his tongue into your mouth, and nip at your bottom lip.

You both kneel there for a few minutes, kissing, rocking against each other, and him teasing your nipples under his palms and fingers while you make needy noises into his mouth. Then he breaks the kiss, leaving you slack jawed and panting against his lips.

"This is lovely, but the angle isn't good enough for what I want to do to you," he says in a husky voice as you whimper against him. "Get back onto your stomach." With one last squeeze over your breasts, he lets go of you so you can return to the bed.

But your back is stiff from bending for so long at such a sharp and unnatural angle. So when you lean forward too quickly, one of your muscles tightens into a knot. You hiss in pain and nearly recoil as you freeze in place. You put a bracing fist in the middle of where it hurts as you slowly press and stretch it out, trying to force it to unknot so you can maneuver down as fast as you can without hurting yourself more.

He must realize because then both of his strong hands are on you. He nudges your fist out of the way and slowly runs his hands up your back, working the tight muscles with his thumbs. At first his touch is too firm on the tender knots and you cry out in pain. But as he kneads them, rolls them under his grip, they begin to uncoil and relax beneath the effort and you practically melt into his hands. He encourages you to lower down to the mattress as he follows you, massaging a few more circles into your flesh to make sure they don't seize again.

"Better?" He sounds genuinely concerned and your heart flutters.

"Much," you sigh. "Thank you."

"Hips, too," he instructs. "We'll give your poor back a break."

You wiggle and shift until you're prone on your stomach with your arms crossed above your head, which is much more comfortable than forcing your spine to bend at an extreme angle. Your hips are still tilted and jutting in the air to give him access to your entrance, but it takes less effort to maintain slightly raised as opposed to on your knees.

Behind you, Kino straddles your thighs. His erection is still inside of you, but not nearly far enough. All your squirming into position worked him somewhat loose. You'd be impressed at his ability to move with you, if not for the fact that you are not a patient woman. And you want him back inside of you. Want to feel full of him.

"I'm still not going to take it easy, so you TELL me if you hurt, okay?" His voice is firm and leaves no room for argument.

"Yes, Kino. I promise," you say as seriously as you can to reassure him.

He studies the side of your face for a moment, and finally gives you a satisfied nod. Then he spreads his knees wider, bracing himself on the bed. The implication of it—that he needs the extra leverage—sends your face into the mattress to muffle a moan. His hands grasp your hips, too, and he leans into it until his weight is putting enough pressure on you to deepen your indentation in the foam.

When you come up for air, his thumb strokes over your hip. A feather light show of affection. Just a reminder—before this starts, before you're both delirious and lost in each other—that he loves you. That this is how he shows you how much he loves you.

Because Kino Loy is in love with you.

The thought is unfurling and flowering in your mind when he thrusts the rest of the way into you, slotting into place like he belongs there as you cry out. It's heady, being full of him. You could have sex with him every day and a decade from now, he could thrust into you and it would still be devastating. He can shatter your entire world with just his cock.

He pauses. Adjusts his knees. Slants over you. Readies himself while you squirm beneath him, rubbing your legs together, lifting your hips, aching in his grasp.

"Hold still," he scolds and swats your ass. Not hard, just enough to get you to stop in shock. You gasp and flush, hot with arousal, and fight against squirming even more than before. You mentally curse the open cells because you know he can't do it again—or do it harder. At least not without the whole block knowing what's happening.

Finally he moves, but he doesn't pull back. He rolls further inside of you. He squishes your ass cheeks forward with the depth of his grinding. Then he rocks back, hips barely leaving yours, and he does it again.

"Fuck!" You both cry out at the same time—his is gruff and raw, and reverberates deep in his chest. Yours comes out as a high, needy whine that devolves into sobs.

Then continues rocking into you, faster, letting his weight and strength push his length inside of you. Through all of it, he never leaves your opening. Never leaves any space between his hips and yours. He lets the friction, the depth of every movement, send both of you into fits of moaning whenever he angles just right or you squeeze your thighs together.

And god, the slide of him through your clenched folds makes you aware of parts of yourself you didn't think could feel pleasure like this before. Your swollen lips, the press of your ass shifting muscles deep within you, even your walls feel more sensitive when he drags so forcefully against them.

Your legs start to squirm uselessly behind you since you can't rock back against him or lift up to meet his thrusts. The constant motion must flex your core as well because he starts hissing and sucking in sharp breaths each time you cross your ankles—which you start doing intentionally, just to drive him mad. And it isn't long before his movements become a little more rough. A little more insistent.

He braces more of his weight onto your hips and you swear you can feel your bones shift under his hands. There's more pressure than pain, though, and you're completely flattened to the mattress, wedged between it and him. Now he's using his grip for more leverage, which allows him to use his knees to push instead. Then he drills into you and fuck, you didn't think he could get deeper. His hips start to pull back far enough to meet your ass with a wet slap, no longer just shifting and sliding with you.

With a frustrated "shit," he drops to a hand, plants it next to your shoulder and hovers over your back. The angle inside of you shifts, too. He's pounding down with each thrust, relentlessly hitting that exquisite spot inside of you. The one behind your clit that sends alluring tension up through your belly and bones. It builds with each new thrust.

His head is lowered close enough to your ear that you can hear his low breathing. The way he's focusing on pumping into you. You turn your head to the side so you can see his face and to let him grunt and pant against your cheek and fuck, that's hot. Your eyes flutter with it and your lips part in bliss as you let the sound wash over you.

"Are you enjoying laying there and letting me fuck you?" He catches the expression on your face and growls as he arches into you.

"God, yes!" You bite back a whine. "You feel so good."

"And have you ever been properly fucked from behind?" He buries his nose behind your ear, plants his lips firmly into your hairline, and lets out another low grunt when his hips press deep.

"By you," you grit out as his length strikes hard into that spot again, sending you reeling. "Only you."

"Because you're mine," he rumbles. "I will find every way there is to claim you and make you take me." His voice becomes harsh and insistent. "I will make you wet and make you beg, and when you behave, you will come every single time. You will never be neglected again. Not with me."

The last part is said with such conviction that you're dizzy with it. You throb with it. Because it's a promise. A vow. It's also the closest glimpse you've ever gotten to knowing he sees a future for the two of you, you realize. Something beyond this. It's undeniable proof that he thinks about what comes after cells and uniforms and shifts. And you know you would happily kneel before the altar of him and worship for the rest of your life if he let you.

"I love you, Kino," you whimper.

"I love how you—" he lets out a strangled groan, "love how you take my cock. You're so good for me. So fucking perfect."

"All for you," you swear with a gasp. There is heat pooling between your thighs and your attention has begun to hone in on it, tugging your mind away from coherent thought. "Anything for you."

"Then I want you to come for me." His gravelly voice thrums down your spine and you shiver. You claw uselessly against the mattress, looking for something to fucking hold on to as your limbs begin to quake and tremble. "It makes you so wet for my cock." He places an open mouthed kiss on your jaw, letting his tongue and teeth drag and scrape across your skin. "I want you dripping."

"Kino," you sob, "please, I'm close."

"Not good enough." His hips speed up, each thrust into your nerves sending sparks through you as you lay there and try to catch fire.

"Right there," you slur, dazed, igniting, close to being gone completely. "Fuck."

"Are you going to scream for me?" He growls.

You don't answer. Can't. You go rigid under him, every muscle in your body flexing and each nerve ending activating as if you stepped out onto the hot floor. As if you're braced to plummet off a ledge and into freefall. Then he starts grunting again from the effort of fucking you, and it's one of your favorite sounds in the entire fucking universe.

So you do. You clench your eyes shut and fall.

When you climax, there are stars behind your eyelids. Infinite churning furnaces that expand and explode with you, yielding to entropy—the heat death of the universe contained within your core, searing through your groin and up your belly. You burn. It's death without dying.

Through it all you wail and cry his name while your hips flex and try to grind onto him. Your walls clamp down around him, clenching greedily at his cock. Your voice and your body surrendering and wanting for nothing but him. Knowing nothing but him.

"Just like that." He moans and curses over you, rocking hungrily into your flutters and spasms. "I never want to leave this. I want to stay right here," he presses into you so hard your hips lift from the bed, "buried inside of you while you try to drain me as you come. They're going to have to come down and drag me away from you."

Your heart swells. It's so bloated within you that your ribs ache with it and there is no room left for your lungs. You gasp uselessly, desperately, for air. For relief.

"Kino," you manage to choke out. Still the only word your mind can conjure. The only one that matters.

He pushes away from you suddenly, rises to his knees, and pulls out of you with no warning.

"Flip over," he barks out, uncharacteristically impatient, and you know he must be close. You scramble to obey, turning as fast as your lethargic limbs will let you—only stumbling once—and then collapsing onto your back.

He dives into your arms, finding where he fits perfectly against you with no hesitation. Where he belongs, you think. You fold around him, one leg hooked behind his thigh and the other lazily draping over his hips.

He spears back into your slick heat with a groan. His aim isn't perfect, it's needy, but your entrance is so wet that he slips in without having to fumble between your legs. Then he's pounding into you. You jolt at each impact, and the force rattles little breaths from your lungs.

A hand comes to the side of your neck, cups it while his thumb caresses lovingly over your throat and jaw. His lips and nose brush across your skin, kissing and panting and slowly nuzzling. Such a gentle contrast to the punishing snap of his hips and the bruising grip of the hand that has latched onto your thigh. Because he's holding on to you, frantically, as if you might try to escape. As if the only thing that matters is chasing his release between your legs.

You nuzzle back, wanting to feel every part of him that you've been missing. Wanting to breathe him in and fill your lungs with his scent. You run your hands through his hair, the stubble on his jaw, and over his chest. Insatiable despite having two orgasms.

You gasp his name like a call and he grunts yours in answer into your cheek.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," his voice is tight and ragged.

"I want it deep, Kino," you beg into his ear. "Make it hurt."

The tender touch of his hand vanishes as he clamps down on your jaw as hard as the hand on your thigh. Before you can whine with pain, he pushes your head back so he can muffle a groan that is wrenched from his chest into your throat.

"Fuck!" He snarls, baring his teeth against your skin. Your heart stutters in thrill at your vulnerability. At how exposed you are again.

He buries himself into your wet heat. Presses so brutally that he slides both of you along the mattress until your back catches on the vinyl and he's pushing uselessly against you. Then he throws his head back. His face is contorted in anguish and rapture—eyes clenched shut and his mouth frozen in a sob—as he hovers just on that edge, and it's fucking breathtaking. Everything about him is raw and scruffy and hard and lined with age, and he's so god-damned perfect, you think. Irresistible, like reaching for an open flame. His fingers digging into you, his fuzzy belly on yours, his sculpted shoulders, his full lips, his bared, imperfect teeth, his nose—that brief moment of stillness before he comes undone, burning itself into your memories.

Finally, he's moaning, a broken, guttural sound, as he's falling into his climax and spending himself inside of you. His cock throbs so hard that you can feel every pulse of his release, every contraction that starts in his balls before it's wrung out and floods your core. God, he feels so incredible. You grind your hips against him, wanting more of it. Trying to milk every last drop and bit of ecstasy, and it draws a growl from him.

He retreats back for another deep plunge and his knees buckle from exhaustion and the intensity of his orgasm. With a grunt, he collapses on top of you, but then he quickly arches his hips into you to finish the thrust anyway. He scrambles to push off of the mattress with his toes, drags himself forward using your hips as more leverage, and he slides against you. Rocks through the final tremors of his release.

When he finally stops, he's shaking over you, still trembling from the force of his climax. He drops the rest of his weight onto you with a heavy exhale and settles his head onto your chest. He lays there for a moment, listening to your heart pounding beneath him and letting the rhythm calm him. His legs and hips start to relax as well, no longer arched and pressed into you, which causes his length to slip out of your now very slick sex. His spent cock twitches on your inner thigh.

You shift to look down at him, gasping for air and having no idea how you're so out of breath when all you really did was lay there and get ravaged. You hug him to you, wanting to feel as much of his skin against yours as you can, but he shakes his head and pulls away.

"One more," he pants. "I want you to give me one more."

"What?" You stare at him in confusion, uncomprehending what he means. "One more what?"

"I want you to have one more orgasm while you're full of my come," he explains, winded, but patient.

"Fuck, Kino! I don't know if I can," you whine because what the fuck. How can he still be thinking about sex? How can he even move right now? How can—

"I know exactly how to get it from you, don't worry. Just lay here." He reaches out to cup your jaw, and his thumb tenderly traces your cheek. His face and his voice soften. "Let me love you."

And how the fuck do you say no to that? You nod at him before you even know what you're doing. Before you've even thought it through. It astounds you how eager you are to obey him sometimes. It's deeper than instinct. It's inevitability.

He slowly works his way down your body, obviously exhausted, and spreads your legs open before him. You know what he meant, then. How he plans to shatter your sense of awareness one last time, and you writhe and whimper. As tired and spent as you are, the thought resurrects a spark of want that starts in your chest, builds to your stomach, and reignites in your core.

He settles between your knees, sprawled on his belly along your small bed. Then he scoops your legs over his shoulders and pulls you closer to his mouth by your thighs.

"Fuck, look at your ruined, pretty little hole." He kisses your inner thigh as he continues to admire your glistening sex, and your skin quivers under his lips. "Your cunt should always look like this. You were made to be a mess from my cock."

He licks the inside of your folds, just at your entrance, dragging his hot tongue through the mixture of both of your fluids and spend as you gasp above him. He groans in pleasure. "You taste even better full of me."

He teases your entrance with the tip of his tongue, skimming and tracing along your swollen lips. And you're not going to fucking beg. You're not. You're not.

"I came so deep that you haven't started leaking properly. Yet." Then he widens his mouth over your sex and plunges his tongue inside of you, seeking his own seed. It's so filthy that your walls pulse and flutter around him while he presses in and out of your depths. Laps inside of you. He finally withdraws and drags his tongue up over your too sensitive clit. The frisson it sends through you is sharp and potent. It makes you desperate.

"Oh god, Kino! I need your mouth on me," you beg, immediately giving in at the intensity of your own yearning because fuck how could you forget how good he is at this? How did you think you wouldn't be a blubbering mess with his mouth on you?

"What do you say?" He asks, low and gruff, and flicks the tip of his tongue over your nerves again.

"Fuck! Please !" You shout. "Please please please ple—"

He covers your clit with his mouth, turning your pleading into a choking sound as you try to gasp and moan at the same time. His tongue sets to work, rubbing and swirling over you as his cheeks hollow with the gentle suction of his lips.

The lines on his face crease and deepen with concentration. His neatly combed hair is tousled from your fingers and the effort of fucking you. The stubborn curls, usually only obvious at the nape of his neck, have worked themselves free and one sticks out in defiance on the side of his head. The sight of him—disheveled, his jaw moving and flexing from working your clit, your wetness shiny in the stubble on his cheeks and jaw, and him gazing up at you from between your thighs—sends a fresh surge of need from your weak flesh.

Occasionally he pulls away to lick between your folds and his eyelids go heavy in pleasure. You would scream if you could breathe. If that hadn't knocked the wind out of you.

When he rubs his tongue back over your nerves, your body doesn't wait or tense. There's no building or teasing you while you're on the edge. You're already so loose and stimulated that you shoot up to your elbows and come immediately against his mouth.

Your climax burns from your core, out to your pelvis, then down your thighs. Your toes curl with it. Your walls pulse with it. Your entrance clenches and leaks an obscene trail of both of you down your slit and into the cleft of your ass. You cry out, but your voice is hoarse from all your moaning and screaming and lacks the intensity of your previous two orgasms—even though it still leaves you quaking and grabbing at his hair and grinding yourself against his mouth, riding out every last wave.

After your hips finally stop and the little tremors of your aftershocks subside, you collapse back to the mattress with a whimper. He pulls his head away from your clit to admire you. Watches you finally leak and drip his come with a look of awe on his face.

"That's better." Then his tongue flattens over you and he licks the entire length of your slit. Slowly. Gathering as much of the mess as he can. He groans appreciatively as he curls his tongue back into his mouth. You watch him savor it for a moment, and then swallow.

You begin to sob.

You can't help it. You're emotionally and physically spent, vulnerable and overwhelmed in a way you've never felt before, and that was too fucking hot for your lust fried brain to process right now. Which apparently translates into tears because you can't stop the way they start running down your cheeks.

He looks up at you, wide eyed in concern, and quickly makes his way beside you on the bed. Then he pulls you into his arms while you sniffle against him.

"What's wrong?" He tilts your chin up to look at him.

"I'm fine. I think you just broke me," you let out a watery laugh as you meet his eyes. "Apparently that was so god-damned hot that it was too much. You're too sexy, Kino. It overloaded my brain."

He gives you an incredulous stare and you let loose a wave of fresh tears.

"Shhh, hey, it's okay," he whispers. He presses his forehead to yours and cups your cheek, swiping the moisture there away with his thumb. "You were so good for me." He kisses the tip of your nose. "So good."

You flush under his praise and wipe at your eyes. "You were incredible. Every time we have sex, it's the best fucking sex I've ever had in my entire life."

"Good," he rumbles against you. "It's what you deserve. Not whatever the fuck those other assholes were doing to you."

You laugh, your whole body shaking with it, and you catch a small smile on his face. It's enough of a distraction that you let out a deep sigh and blink back the last few tears that hadn't fallen yet.

"Apparently setting me up to know exactly how damned lucky I am to have finally found you."

"That's my line," he grumbles.

"Why, you have a string of disappointing partners, too?" You yawn, now exhausted from, well, everything.

"Something like that," he says under his breath.

"What does that mean?" You blink heavily at him.

"It means there was always something missing, which is unsatisfying in a different way to not having a single orgasm for the entirety of a relationship." His voice deepens. "And you are very, very satisfying. In every way."

A thrill runs through your tired body at that. "I bet you always made sure the person you slept with finished." You snuggle closer to him.

"Of course I did," he sniffs. "I'm an asshole, not a monster."

"Mmmm. Never a monster," you mumble, your eyes closing. "Think you're amazing. Fucking…wonderful. Love you."

"I love you, too," he whispers.

You aren't sure how both of you got dressed. You remember a lethargic shifting of limbs and pull of fabric, but you were fighting to stay awake at that point. It's all so hazy. The only thing you're sure of is that now you're curled into his arms and laying half on top of him, your head is tucked under his chin, and your legs are tangled together. Your body thrums with love for him and a bone deep satisfaction.

You hold possessively at his waist, as if he could somehow sneak out in the middle of the night and leave you to wake to an empty bed, alone. Or that you might open your eyes in the morning and find the last few weeks have been a dream. That he grabbed you by the jaw and cracked you so deeply that you imagined all of this to save yourself from shattering.

As if he can sense your thoughts or feel the stiffening of your body, he hugs you tightly to him and kisses your hair.

"I love you," he whispers, and you melt, releasing that last bit of tension. You open your mouth to say it back, try to fight to get the words out before you can't. But you've tipped too far towards unconsciousness now to manage it.

Your last thought before the darkness takes you is, oh, hell, he knows.

A/N: Fun Easter egg about this chapter: I'm a dramatic, desperately hopeless romantic that loves angst. I don't know if any of you've picked up on that. I've been really subtle about it. (sarcasm)

I was really struggling writing this because, FOR SOME DAMN REASON, I was struggling writing romantic smut. And then my brain went, okay but what if you just…didn't?? So I made it romantic AND filthy, which fits better anyway, and was much easier for me to write. (Curious 💅)

✨An actual fun science lesson Easter Egg about this chapter!✨ I used the comparison of binary stars in chapter 10:

"Like binary stars, bound and endlessly drawn towards one another until they're destined to merge—or to destroy each other."

Usually binary star systems fall apart when one evolves into a white dwarf first and consumes the other one, causing it to gain more mass, exceed the limit of its stability, and go supernova. Anytime at least one white dwarf is involved in a binary star supernova, it's called a Type 1a Supernovae.

It's rare, but occasionally both binary stars evolve into white dwarfs at the same time. (The reason it's so rare is because the stars have to be incredibly similar to have a parallel evolution, otherwise one would evolve first and likely destroy the other.) White dwarfs are very dense and, as a result, have a powerful gravitational pull. The stars are slowly drawn towards each other in their orbit until they eventually collide, creating the Type 1a Supernovae that way. I've always thought there was something very romantic about them being so perfectly matched that they burn together, as if they were soulmates.

A Type 1a Supernovae is also one of the brightest events that occur in our universe. 🙂 Space is cool, y'all.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#kino loy #kino loy x reader #kino loy x f!reader #i want you to show me weak fic #andor fanfic #fanfiction #andor #andy serkis

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the-eyes-of-andyserkis · 2 years ago

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Feeling called out rn. 😂

stuartmackeyofficial

#andy serkis #how dare you call us out like that #ulysses klaue #alfredpennyworth #kino loy #david robey #and then there's the man behind them #for real though 🥵#fictional men #fanfic writers #out here with their blorbos doing god's work

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dinathalawriter · 2 years ago

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Someone wrote a fixit and it helped. I'm disgusted no one helps him. I'll imagine someone does.

ANDY SERKIS as KINO LOY Andor, S01xE10 | One Way Out

#kino loy #andor show #fanfic

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eomereadig · 11 months ago

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Tag Directory: Star Wars

Characters:

Sith: Darth Maul | Asajj Ventress

Senators: Padme Amidala | Bail Organa | Mon Mothma

Bounty Hunters: Cad Bane | Jango Fett | Din Djarin | Greef Karga | Fennec Shand

Droids: C3po

Pairings:

Anakin Skywalker x Captain Rex | Barriss Offee x Ahsoka Tano

Commander Cody x Captain Rex | Fives x Echo

Other Media:

Fanart | Fanfics

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piratesfromspace · 2 years ago

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Flesh and Dreams (Kino Loy x Reader)

Kino Loy x Reader

Rated: Explicit

You've been caught by the Empire while pretending to be a man and sent to jail on Narkina. You have to survive while hiding your true identity in fear of being killed or worse. The man in charge, Kino Loy, is the one you fear the most...

This was written as a gift for the biggest Andy Serkis fan I know, my dear @gipsydangerzone 💕

CW: jail & forced labor, injury & blood, mention of chest binding, mention of transphobia, but Kino is an ally, unhealthy relationship, age gap (Reader is an adult), dom/sub dynamics, semi-public sex, fingering, hurt & little comfort Reader is a she with an AFAB body.

MASTERLIST

gif by Antifandor

It all started as pure necessity. Lay low, use a fake identity, switch up your gender if you have to . It was supposed to last a few days, maybe a few weeks max. Just enough time to get out of Faalri and go find your rebel base hidden in the Outer Rim. Lucky for you, cutting your hair and binding your chest was enough for you to pass as not a woman . An easy trick to confuse the troopers in charge of checking travelers identity. But it backfired spectacularly.

You were caught in a random identity control along with another bunch of poor travelers. You lied and told you just had lost your ID holo. Little did you know, failing to provide an ID was now a punishable offense that could lead you to jail. The mockery of trial you went through was finished in a matter of minutes. It was actually a justice droïd who sentenced you to 1 year in jail - actual living judges were in short supply apparently. But the thing is that freaking tin box mistook you for a man and you thought that telling the truth at this point would just add more years to your sentence. And off you went, onto a shuttle and into a freaking jail. It all happened in a few hours. And your fear was barely catching up to the point you were just numb.

—-

The shuttle landed on a planet covered in water, where some sort of tower of steel and concrete rose above the waterline. After a short speech and a painful demonstration of the electrified floor, you were ushered into a room alongside twenty or so other prisoners, where they asked you to remove all your clothing and put on the white and orange uniforms of the place. You don’t really know how you managed it, but you removed and put back on the clothes so fast that the guards did not notice - or at least did not bother to ask questions about the tight bandages wrapped on your torso. The prisoner next to you raised a curious brow when he caught a glimpse of your half-naked form, but you glared at him so viciously that he kept his mouth shut.

That’s when they took you to your floor, where you were supposed to spend your sentence. As soon as you landed in the big room where dozens of other inmates were working, you were greeted by a man in his fifties. He oozed confidence and command, despite wearing the inmate uniform as well. He had salt-and-pepper slicked back hair that had no right to look this good given his current occupation, and gray-blue eyes so piercing you had the impression he was looking right into your soul.

“This is Unit 5-2-D. My name is Kino Loy, and I’m in charge here. The 49 men in this room answer to me. Name ?” He asked sternly. “Leeho” you lied, dropping your voice as much as you could. “Leeho.” he repeated slowly in his gravelly voice. You averted your gaze, afraid he might have caught the doubt in your eyes. “Don’t look at the guard. He won’t be back.” Kino paused, finally locking eyes with you “You’re mine now.” he added. The declaration could have been cruel but was really just matter-of-factly. A shiver ran along your spine, fear and something else you did not know how to name.

After a few hours of work, you all left the main floor to go to the cells. One of the prisoners showed you your nook, a sterile white box, fully open for all the others to see. Ironically what was truly a cage was also not locked. At least, the food and water rations were not limited, the only silver lining in the nightmare you were. You had sipped a bit of water, curled up facing the wall, and at least, after 48h of numbness, you had silently cried yourself to sleep.

The next morning, you knew you had to escape. You steeled yourself, decided to lean into the silent type persona. The work was repetitive and exhausting. Especially since you were the smallest at your table, and everything seemed to have been designed for giants. The men were often chatting amongst themselves to pass the time, trading encouragements and stories from before the jail. You dodged every question about your past, trying to speak as little as possible, and after a few days like this, it was established you were “the new weird boy”.

—-

It’s often said the real risk is when the danger becomes routine and you let your guard down. It was true for the work, as well as for your true identity. You had gone through the first weekly disinfectant shower with no real plan other than staying behind everyone and keeping a straight face, hoping no one would actually notice. It worked so smoothly, you had smiled for the first time since arriving in this hell hole. This same day, as your shift was almost done, you were maybe a little too enthusiastic when handling the heavy screwer, and the drill bit grazed your palm, slicing the skin in its path. You watched in horror as the trail of scarlet splitting your hand started to weep red, heavy drops of blood spiraled down your wrist and into the fabric of your sleeve. The pain surged but it was really an after-though at this point. You were more terrified of what would happen now that your left hand was unusable.

You were frozen in place, as unexpected panic rushed through you, it felt like you were caught by a wave, head underwater. You vaguely remember your colleagues shouting for Kino, him taking you on the side and asking guards for a medic. The man showed up quickly, to your surprise also an inmate, and assessed the damage. He had to close the wound because it would not stop bleeding, and the sleeve of your uniform was so soaked you were starting to leave a puddle of blood on the white floor under you. That’s when you finally felt like you were able to rise above the wave of panic, the acute pain of the field cauterizer replacing the fear. The burn of the low-frequency laser had brought you to your senses, you were compelled to focus on the here and now. It was old military tech, designed so soldiers could immediately go back to fighting, you would have preferred a patch of bacta and a few days off work, but you now understood in your very flesh and blood that you were nothing but a cog in the empire’s industrial machine. The realization hurt even more than the actual burning of the cauterizer.

The medic left as quickly as he had come. The shift had actually ended during your little medical appointment, and you were alone with Kino on your way toward the sleeping quarters. But first you had to pass through the changing room because you couldn’t keep your blood-soaked uniform on. You both kept silent as you moved through the corridors but you knew you had to find a plan, and really fast because there was no way he wouldn’t notice the reality of your body and start questioning you. No matter if he thought you were lying on your gender or trans or any other possibilities, he was quite literally a collaborator to the empire, this same empire did not take kindly on queer people, and you had no idea what were Kino’s positions on the issue.

The door of the changing room opened in front of your trembling figure, and you stepped inside to reach for a clean uniform in your size. Kino beat you to it, handing you the clothes with a sigh, before turning his back. Did he know? Or was he just giving you a rare moment of somewhat-privacy? You mumbled a thank you, slipped on the fresh top and pants, and mentally prepared yourself to join your cell back. But as you were ready to cross the doorstep towards the sleeping pods, Kino gripped your arm and turned you back toward him.

“Wait.” he instructed, voice low so no one could hear him. “You need to understand something. You have to be very careful with that hand. It can’t open again. If you start bleeding, you tell no one, you come and see me. You shut your mouth, and you come straight to me. Am I clear, kid?” “I’m not a kid.” you hissed. “Listen carefully.” he started to sound angry “You take this like it’s a game, but it’s not. If you want to survive here, you need to be smart. If you think you’re fooling anyone regarding your… condition , you’re not.”

His eyes felt on your binded chest before he looked back at your face with an expression that reminded you of a stern teacher. So he knew… You felt the heat of shame, felt tears pricking your eyes, but you said nothing, jaw clenched. Kino took your absence of rebuttal for an admission of guilt. He could easily have called for a guard, and sent you to your death - or worse.

You tried to escape his hand holding your arm, but he didn't let go, his grip strengthened, and he brought you even closer from him. You braced for something violent, but instead, his demeanor shifted. He looked almost pained , like he was sorry or even scared for you.

“Hey, I’m not judging, you have your reasons and I don’t need to know them. But I won’t be able to protect you if others want to take advantage of that. Guards or inmates, it doesn’t matter. Two days ago, you were second to last, your whole table was almost fried because you were too slow. What do you think will happen next time you mess up, uh?” Kino’s face softened. “You need to work faster, to not cause any trouble. And if you have a problem, you come see me.”

He had finally let go of your arm, and you had seen through wet lashes how he composed his face back to a blank stern mask before brushing past you and to his cell without any more word. You had trouble sleeping again that night, thinking about what he said. “ I won’t be able to protect you ” Kino actually wanted to protect you ? He had not given you away despite knowing what you hid. He told you he was ready to cover you in case of further injury. You never had seen him being mean or cruel on purpose since you were here. Maybe his little-chief persona was only superficial, because it seemed there was more to him than that. Weirdly enough, you never felt threatened by him. The whole system, sure. But not Kino.

—-

A couple more weeks passed, and hopefully the wound on your hand healed. It left an atrocious-looking scar in the middle of your palm, but at least the pain was gone. You managed to avoid being fried or caught in your lie. You were somewhat able to sleep at night, although you were perpetually cold. The other inmates were sometimes assholes, but you managed. You knew your cell by heart, could use the tools eyes closed. One night, after another long and exhausting day, as you laid on your leathery mattress, you had realized with mind spinning horror that everything had become part of a routine. The only sliver of light in the darkness of your new existence was the constant presence of Kino. His gaze on you as you worked. His silent check-ins when he reviewed the line on the skybridge before going back to your cells. His unspoken care.

Kino’s cell was directly next to yours, and more than one time you were tempted to climb the thin wall to go find him in the middle of the night - only tempted . Until that night. Earlier in the day, he had talked to you, making sure you were alright after seeing you argue with another inmate. You had answered you could handle yourself, voice arrogant and proud. The corners of his lips had formed the faintest of smiles and it had made you weak in the knees.

You were now in your bed, turning and tossing, unable to find sleep. His deep blue eyes and his rough voice tormenting you, the place between your legs slick with the lust you had for him. It was kinda new, this feeling. But it was definitely there and frankly it wasn’t as nonsensical as the rest of this place. It felt like something the empire could not take away from you - the last thing they could not take away from you.

You knew it could be a huge mistake, but you went anyway. All you could hear was the rapid thump of your heart, blood pumping in your ears. You felt alive, finally, after weeks of dull despair in this sleek-white coffin of a jail. The divider between your cells was easy enough to get around without touching the electrified floor. You took care not to trigger the sensors on the floor of Kino’s cell, instead crawling on the bench seats until your face was above Kino’s. He was facing the wall, apparently unaware of your arrival although you had no idea if he was sleeping or not. You slowly reached for his shoulder but before you could touch him, he violently snatched your wrist. You had to repress a scream of surprise but Kino placed a single finger against his lips, commanding you to stay silent. You let him hoist you over and against his body, between him and the wall, so his back would shield you away from anyone’s view.

“What are you doing here” he whispered against the shell of your ear. He did not sound alarmed, rather genuinely surprised and a bit angry. “You could have fallen in the corridor and gotten fried.” he went on when you did not answer immediately. “I was cold.” was all you could say for your defense. It was close enough of the truth. You swear you could feel a chuckle go through his massive chest glued to your back. “You’ll need to leave before everyone wakes up” he simply added, and he wrapped his arm over your waist, pressing you against him a little tighter.

Your senses were suddenly overpowered by him. You went through your days without any human touch, and being in his embrace was overwhelming. The warmth of his body, the muscular arm holding you, his smell, masculine, smoked wood behind the generic antiseptic. It did not help with your newfound lust. You knew the gamble you took was probably a one-time thing. No way you could sneak into his cell night after night without anyone noticing. You had to make the best of it. You literally put your life on the line to be there on his cot, you could try and push your luck a little further.

You moved a bit, gingerly pressing your ass against him. You waited for him to chastise you, to ask you to stop. He did not. You writhed in his hold until you felt him getting half hard against your lower back. His warm breath in your neck, the steelband of his arm across your chest, and now the very proof of his desire poking at your ass. Your desire burning low in your belly bleeding in the fear of getting caught. It was a lot. It was intoxicating. You were high on exhaustion and crazy with the dead-end future looming above you, you were light headed with repressed lust and drunk on the power of getting into Kino’s bed unharmed. That’s the only way you can explain what you did next.

You carefully grabbed Kino’s hand and slowly guided it lower, down the plane of your belly, and when he did not withdraw, giving his silent consent, you pushed it under the waistband of your uniform and between your legs.

The moment he touched you, albeit lightly at first, you let out a whimper. Your reaction was immediately met with his other hand flying to press against your mouth, shushing you. Now that his palm was silencing you, he started to part your folds and you felt his long exhale against your nape when he found you already dripping. He cupped your cunt with his whole hand, the heat from his palm a shock of pleasure to your system. You had been so desperate for any form of relief that even the simple gesture was enough to send your head spinning.

With no further warning he coated the tip of his fingers in your wetness and started rubbing the bundle of nerves at the apex of your slit. He wasn’t gentle or cautious but you were too needy to care. The steady pressure of his rough skin against your clit was actually heaven. It felt so good, after weeks - months - of fear and no comfort, you could cry.

You felt your orgasm built quickly, and so did he. The way you tensed up against him, he knew you were already close. It was risky to have this last any longer, because despite his hand firmly shut over your lips, the pathetic moans dying in your throat were still making enough noise that the other men would notice. Maybe some of them already understood what was going on. But, honestly, what could they do? Kino was of the highest rank in this room, and if he wanted to display who you belonged to, who would stop him?

The simple yet twisted idea that the other inmates could hear you, that Kino did not care to show everyone you were his , that your body, your whole body, even the most secret parts of you belonged to him, had another wave of your slick drench his hand. He was now rock hard against your back, and you wished he would just rip down his pants and yours, and split you on his cock, fuck you into the matress until you cried, and keep going until he filled you up with his seed. It was a ridiculous fantasy because that would definitely wake up the whole dorm, and because there was no way you would risk getting pregnant in this hellhole. It was incredibly hot nonetheless. You imagined what it would feel like to be full of him, to clench on his girthy cock with each of his thrust. You yearned for his body on top of yours, to have him inside of you, to not have to repress your screams.

Kino’s hand was still between your legs, pace unyielding. You were wet everywhere. Sweat on your back where you were stuck to Kino’s chest. Saliva on your lips under his palms, tears on your cheeks. Your own slick, catching in the short curls on your mound, down to your upper thighs. One more circle against your clit, and your whole body was trembling, on the brink of something fierce. Head buzzing, nails biting in the skin of Kino’s forearms - there would be half-moon red marks tomorrow for sure.

You felt him groan behind you, felt it vibrate in your bones and then his voice impossibly low “Let go”. It was an order, but also a plea, like he was as keyed up as you. And it was enough to send you flying over the edge. You came harder than ever before, sobs of pleasure stuck behind your teeth, the fire of it burning through your veins. Kino holded you even closer, swallowing you whole, and kept touching you through the waves of your orgasm until you suddenly went boneless. It felt like a fever finally recessing, leaving you drained and sticky, and still slightly delirious.

You knew you had to go back to your cell before the lights would turn on. But you were not ready yet to leave the comforting warmth of Kino’s body. He gently squeezed your arm and inhaled, ready to speak. “I know” you whispered before he could say anything. “Just… five more minutes. Please.”

Kino said nothing. He just hugged you tighter, and you wondered if one day, in another life, on another planet, maybe, maybe you would be able to stay the night, until the light of day would wake you up and even after that. One could dream. It was the last thing they could not take away from you.

#kino loy #star wars andor #andor series #andor #andy serkis #andy serkis fanfic #andy serkis imagine #kino loy fanfic #kino loy imagine #andor fanfiction #andor fanfic #kino loy x reader #kino loy x you #andor spoilers #reader insert #female reader #andor imagine

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webtrinsic1122 · 2 years ago

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ANDOR SPOILERS:

I’m so fucking broken that Kino couldn’t swim. Freedom there in his face and he will die with the “ship” like every “captain” should. :(

#fanfic #ao3 #fanfiction #star wars #cassian andor #andor #kino loy

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sw-andor · 2 years ago

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Congratulations on our first bingo!

And Bingo was his name-o.

Dead Man’s Float

@sw-andor prompt: missing scene

The complete set is here: No comms. No credit. No nonsense.

I might be done. I might not.

#kino loy #drabble #Andor #andor bingo #Fanfic #lcn71

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amywritesthings · 1 year ago

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it's time to celebrate amymas !!

I have never done a fully-realized writing challenge, but I'm happy to announce that I have created my first-ever original holiday prompt to thank all of my readers, both old and new, for supporting me through 2023:

Welcome to The Twelve Days of Amymas!

From December 1 - December 31, I will be posting twelve original one shots with some fan-favorite pairings we have not seen in a while, as well as a few new faces. The short stories are all holiday or winter-themed. Some will have mature elements. See what's cookin' for the holidays below!

THE FIRST DAY

Din Djarin x Princess : First Snowfall (Chapter 16 of Point A to Point B)

THE SECOND DAY

Nanami Kento x Reader : Mistletoe

THE THIRD DAY

Joel Miller x Gibson Girl : Holiday Decorating (from the series: Seeing You, Seeing Me)

THE FOURTH DAY

Levi Ackerman x James : Snowball Fight (from the series: Silver Underground)

THE FIFTH DAY

Gojo Satoru x Reader : Holiday RomComs

THE SIXTH DAY

Eddie Munson x Reader : Holiday Lights Crawl (from the series: The Freak & the Valedictorian)

THE SEVENTH DAY

Dieter Bravo x Reader : Hallmark Movie Set Surprise (from the series: Same Old Mistakes)

THE EIGHTH DAY

Astarion x Tav : Winter Ball (Part 4 of The Better Strategy)

THE NINTH DAY - CHRISTMAS EVE

Armin Arlert x Reader : First Christmas

THE TENTH DAY

Kino Loy x Reader : Wish (Chapter 4 of Ownership of Mine)

THE ELEVENTH DAY

Reiner Braun x Reader : Gingerbread Houses

THE TWELFTH DAY - NEW YEAR'S EVE

Choso Kamo x Reader: New Year's Kiss

note: prompts and posting order are subject to change. asterisks are finished.

#holiday fanfic #joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #eddie munson x reader #gojo satoru x reader #levi ackerman x reader #astarion x tav #dieter bravo x reader #armin arlert x reader #kino loy x reader #nanami kento x reader #twelve days of amymas #amywritesthings #reiner braun x reader #choso x reader

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tarabyte3 · 2 years ago

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I Want You to Show Me Weak

Fandom: Andor

Pairing: Kino Loy/F!Reader

Chapter 1/27 (2.8k words)

Chapter 2 ->

Summary: You're pretty sure Kino Loy hates you. He screams at you, grabs you, and shoves you against the wall, and it's becoming a problem because, well...it shouldn't fluster you as much as it does.

Warnings: Explicit rating, Smut, Prison, Prison sex, minor non-graphic injuries, Dom/Sub, sexual tension, dirty talk, praise, hair-pulling, light choking, unprotected sex, oral, angst

A/N: If you wanted Dom Kino on top of dirty talk Kino, boy do I have some good news for you 😌 Work title is from "Poison" by Vaults. Chapter title is from "Drink You Sober" by Bitter:Sweet

AO3 Link

Chapter 1 - Oh dear, look what you've done, you've made a mess of me

Having women in the prison on Narkina 5 is rare, but not unheard of. They don't really like taking a woman transfer because the prison was built and designed to hold men in close quarters. A woman's presence muddies the waters. Occasionally it's disruptive. And the guards really don't like disruptive, either. God forbid. Unfortunately they have no say in the Empire's decision of who goes where. So there you are, eating, sleeping, and working right alongside the men of Unit Five-Two-D.

There are a lot of things about Narkina 5 that suck, which is a colossal understatement, but your table usually isn't one of them. As far as tables go, especially compared to the rest of the shift's population, table 7 is pretty okay. You lucked out there, which may have been where ALL of your luck had gone instead because the rest of Narkina 5 fucking sucks.

Threl was the first man in your pod to acknowledge you after Kino had given you his whole ego spiel, pointed you in the right direction, and then curtly dismissed you. Threl is a tall, handsome man in his forties with dark brown skin, wide shoulders, a shaved head, a goatee that probably would have been neatly kept in different circumstances, and a rich bass voice. There is an easy confidence to him that had put you at ease when he first shook your hand. He introduced himself, the rest of the group, showed you where you would be standing, and made sure to explain things out loud while he worked. The others seemed happy to let him do all the talking—something that hasn't changed in your time there, and you can see why. He's easy to like. Anytime the table needs something, you all send Threl to talk to Kino. Kino seems to respect him and never looks as irritated talking to him as he does most people in there. Threl and Kino even talk outside of the shift. Not that you've tried to eavesdrop or anything.

On your left is Alis, who you assume is around the same age as you, but shorter than you by several inches. He may even be the shortest person on the whole shift. He has warm copper skin, dark cropped hair, and a wicked scar down the length of his cheek from his temple to his jaw. He never seems to be self conscious about it, thankfully. You think it looks pretty bad ass. Alis is also hilarious. Sometimes he cracks a joke to lighten the mood while you work. You thought it might get obnoxious eventually, but he always knows when to stop and be serious. There have been a few times your whole table has to stifle a laugh as you carry your finished part to the rack. He's the kind of guy you would be friends with on the outside. Alis is also fast. He can move around the table and through a crowd like it's nothing, and you have to scramble to keep up with him.

Next to him is Sorrek. He's the opposite of Alis: taller, older, tawny skinned, with blonde hair that is thinning with a bald spot in the back, and he has a thick build, as though he used to be very athletic when he was younger. He's also a quiet, reserved man. To the point he usually looks sad, but he never lets it slow him down. You like Sorrek, despite this. There's a gentleness to him. It takes a lot to make him angry. And though it's also difficult to make him laugh, it's not impossible. He gives off dad energy. He hasn't said so, but you're pretty sure he has kids. Once you jokingly said, "okay, dad" when he was fretting, and he looked like he was about to cry.

Your table's swing is Jevid. He's the oldest of the group and can't handle the heavier loads like everyone else can because he has a bad back. He's got freckled and sun-spotted ruddy cheeks that stand out against his beige skin, a large round belly, no hair on his head, but a thick, uneven, dark grey beard, and he's missing a top tooth on his left side. He's also ornery, but never mean. Just a grumpy old man. Threl is on the other side of him, and you think the two of them have been in there together for a while. They get along like old friends and Threl is always checking in on him to make sure he's not in too much pain.

Next is Taybus. Fucking Taybus, who fills you with equal parts irritation and affection, like a dumb little brother. He's more than a decade younger than you—you'd be surprised if he's even twenty yet. Before you, he was the newest person at the table, though he's been there for almost a year and a half now. He's tall and lanky with chin length brown hair that's always in his face, has the saddest attempt at growing a mustache you've ever seen, and his fair skin is dotted with tiny moles. Taybus is also a little shit on purpose. His main hobby is picking on people. It's not malicious or aggressive, he just likes bickering. Because he's an asshole. And a kid.

Finally, there's Edii, who you haven't quite figured out yet, even though he's next to you at the table. You've tried to talk to him a few times, but he's...well, he's quiet to the point of ignoring everyone else most of the time, except when he gets irritated. His basic is heavily accented already, but when he's mad, he slips into his native tongue so no one can understand what he's saying. You think he prefers it that way. He's almost sickly pale with short black hair, a thin nose and lips, and dark eyes. You can count on one hand the amount of times you've seen him smile, usually thanks to Alis and once because of you. He's the second youngest of the group, so before you came along, he got the brunt of Taybus's focused antagonism and he didn't handle it as well as you do. Threl had almost seemed relieved the first time Taybus teased you and you dug into him right back.

You all work well together. Your numbers aren't good enough to be in first place, but you do okay for yourselves. They don't treat you any differently because you're a woman, either. Well, Sorrek might worry and check up on you more than he does the others, and Jevid often apologizes if he makes a comment he thinks is inappropriate to say "in front of a lady," even though you tell him you've heard and said far worse. And you're not a lady, you're a woman. Other than that, though.

Then there's Kino Loy.

You're pretty sure Kino Loy hates you.

Not "Kino Loy finds you annoying" or "hates that you're his problem." Hates you. Specifically. You've only been there a month and he's already gotten pissed at you four times. That's a once a week average…except that all of them were in the past week and a half.

Now, you won't deny you probably deserved most of it. You just wish he wasn't such an asshole about it all the time.

-----

The first incident was for talking back. He was ragging on your table about picking up the pace and shouting out the tallies, like that would magically make you all less exhausted. You were tired and in pain, which made you irritable. So you may have told him that if he didn't like it, he could squeeze in between Alis and Sorrek on the other side of the table and help. Your entire pod, and some of the men that overheard in the pods next to yours, stared at you in horror. Even Edii.

Kino's eyes met yours, however, and he looked terrifyingly calm. And you knew immediately that you fucked up. He had you backed up against the table in seconds, the edge digging into your hip, and he got as close to you as he could without touching you.

"Never talk back to me again, do you understand?" His voice was low and there was a dangerous edge to it. You could feel his breath on your face and see every line on his. You noticed he had a tiny freckle on his left cheek, just above the line of his graying beard, and there were flecks of silver in the blue of his irises, like looking at frost through tinted glass.

"Sorry, Kino. I'm just tired, it won't happen again," you muttered, sounding properly chastised. And you were. Tired and sorry. Because you hadn't meant to say it, but sometimes your mouth got you in trouble.

"You're damn right it won't."

After he had stalked off, Threl gave you a disappointed look and Sorrek gave you a sad one. You just shook your head and said, "yeah yeah, I know."

-----

The second time was for smacking Taybus, who deserved it for being a little shit. He likes riling Edii up by moving his tools or telling him he's doing something wrong until the quiet man snaps and goes off on a tirade back at Taybus. Which meant that day, Edii was more focused on ranting than working. It slowed everyone down, and it was also annoying. Threl had told Taybus to knock it off, which usually put an end to it, but he wasn't shutting up. So you smacked him. But it wasn't just that you smacked him. It was that you left your spot, walked around Edii, and smacked him. Hard.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" Kino's voice boomed from halfway across the room. The floor went quiet immediately, some men even stopped working, and they all turned to look at you. Then Kino was scowling and stalking towards you.

Like a deer in headlights, you responded, "I was telling Taybus to shut the hell up because he's distracting the table." There was a sputter of protest behind you, and you thought Taybus should be grateful Kino was almost there or you would have smacked him again. Kino looked even more pissed after that, his face contorted in controlled rage, and you braced yourself. You felt like a child getting scolded in a classroom, and you hated it. It made you feel small.

"I told you on your first day here that if you have a problem with someone, you come to me. What part of that did you have trouble understanding?" He was once again leaning in so close you could feel him in front of you, like a swell of heat and pressure.

"None of it." Your face and neck flushed with anger and embarrassment.

"Sure as hell didn't look that way."

You shifted awkwardly on your feet and looked down at the floor. You wanted to defend yourself, say that you were just trying to get the work done, but you knew it would only make things worse.

"Next time, you have problems at your table? Don't do my job for me. Got it?" Kino also gave Taybus, who finally had the decency to look apologetic, a pointed look.

You nodded.

"Sorry, Kino," Threl spoke up.

Kino turned to him, but with less anger, and said, "Just keep your table in line."

Threl and Sorrek both gave off more disappointed dad energy, Alis tried to crack a joke to lighten the tension, but quickly gave up, Taybus sulked, Edii went back to being Edii, and Jevid spent the next ten minutes telling you that you shouldn't rile Kino up.

"Never seen that man yell at someone so much." Jevid shook his head.

"Gee, thanks, Jev. Makes me feel really great to know I'm the only woman AND the biggest fuck up."

"You aren't a fuck up," Sorrek softly interjected. You appreciated him. Truly, you did. Even if he was, perhaps, a bad judge of character.

"I'm just sayin', you should keep your head down for a bit and let him cool off."

You let out a huff of exasperation. "That's what I'm trying to do!" And you were. Trying, that is.

-----

The third time was for talking back again.

You muttered under your breath thinking he wouldn't hear you, and boy were you wrong. He actually grabbed you by the front of your uniform that time, and you gasped when he pulled you closer. He didn't say anything, just glared at you with this intense look on his face for a solid twenty seconds while your heart pounded and he remained perfectly in control. It got his point across. Or at least you assume it did because you kept thinking about it the rest of the day. And the day after.

-----

The fourth time wasn't your fault. You were standing in line after your shift and Taybus was whining to Alis about wanting to finally get first place because he was tired of eating warm mush.

"It's pretty good, man. You ever have fried trunkfish and gravy?"

"No," Taybus whined some more.

"Reminds me of that. Real gourmet shit."

"Man! We were getting close when Ondon was still here. Now we're stuck with someone getting us in trouble all the time and messing up our numbers." He said the last part loud enough that you could hear, as if you weren't already listening.

"Oh, come off it. Don't pretend it's me, like Threl doesn't pick up your slack." You rolled your eyes.

"Alis agrees with me. Don't you?" He turned to the shorter man.

Alis held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, don't drag me into your shit. I just work here."

"Taybus, you have something on your face." You suddenly pretended to look concerned and stared at his nose.

"What? Where?" He rubbed at his mouth and chin a few times. "Did I get it?" You leaned in closer, like you were checking.

"It's right here." You pointed to the spot above your lip. "Oh wait, it's just that smudge you call a mustache. My bad." You could hear Alis choke on a sudden laugh and you gave Taybus a wicked grin.

"Oh, fuck you." Taybus gave you a friendly shove. It wasn't intended to hurt, but it was still hard enough that you stumbled backwards a step. And because you have the worst luck of anyone in there, you bumped straight into Kino. But you didn't know it was Kino, so you turned to apologize and were met with his angry frown.

You gaped at him. Before you could say anything, he grabbed you by the front of your uniform, walked you backwards, and pushed you against the window. The panes are angled inward so you were awkwardly hunched forward, and he was inches away, looking up into your face.

"Well?" He forced the word through gritted teeth.

"Sorry! I…tripped." The lie sounded terrible even to you, but you didn't want to throw your friends under the transport, even if one of them really deserved it at that point.

"Tripped." His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. Then he leaned in closer. His legs met yours, pressing you further against the glass, and he angled his head slightly so your mouths were close to touching. "No more. Got it?" He demanded in a husky whisper, and you could feel his breath against your lips. You tried so hard not to let your gaze fall to his mouth.

You wanted to nod your understanding because you didn't trust your voice, but you were close enough that if you did, you were going to headbutt him or accidentally kiss him. And you were pretty sure that if you did either, he would find a way to throw you out the window. Instead you whispered out, "yes, Kino."

He kept you there for another few seconds, both of you panting into the inch of space between you and you trying not to squirm against him, before he stepped back and released you suddenly. You flailed to catch your footing and not to fall on your face. Then he turned his back to you and walked off without another word. Like that didn't just happen. Like you weren't a flushed wreck behind him. As you shuffled back to the line, trying not to meet anyone's eyes out of sheer mortification, you heard him at the front yelling for everyone to keep it down.

"I thought he was gonna make out with you for a second," Taybus whispered over his shoulder.

"Taybus!" You hissed. "Shut. Up." Though you had to admit, you kind of thought he was going to as well. And you weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed that he didn't.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#andor fanfic #kino loy #kino loy x reader #kino loy x f!reader #andor #fanfiction #i want you to show me weak fic

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adancedivasmom · 2 years ago

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Warning, this is a bit long, but I couldn’t help myself. I am so blown away right now. 😭

J, this was so incredibly beautiful. Their reunion literally made me cry. The way you wrote it, it was so raw, so real, and so heartfelt:

And it’s like a ghost stands before her now - as the door swooshes open. The blaster clattering to the floor, because she knows that shape, the curve of lips and the shape of a nose beneath the low hood of the cloak.

The hands that push the fabric back, the bit of light from the twin moons casting shadows across his face.

And though a part of her know this - her brain seems to stutter, the picture in front of her not making sense.

Because, it was him. Not entirely the him she knew. Her husband. His face is different - still him, just older. The dark ink of his hair turned silver, the light, neat beard now full and long. Lines carved deep from time around his eyes and forehead.

Though, his eyes are the same.

The same as the photos, the same as in her memories and dreams.

They blink at her - no words coming as he takes a step forward. As her arms are coming to wrap around him, a sob choking her as his hand curls around the back of her head, crushing her against him.

He was home.

Oh my💔. And then:

Her hand trembles against his face, thumb brushing over weeks-old scruff. He leans into it, the first touch in years that wasn’t a means to an end.

When her mouth presses to his and his eyes close, it’s now and it’s twelve years ago and he can hear a rough, ragged sound that takes him a moment to realize it’s coming from his own throat.

I really loved how you gave us both of their POVs. I could feel every emotion. Also, after he told her what happened (the edited version anyway), how she took care of him, led him to bed and they fell asleep in each other’s arms…that was everything to me. Then this part:

Reacquainting himself with the one he loves, as she stirs, rolling over to face him. Remembering with slow and careful fingers, how they used to fit together so perfectly.

My heart….🥺

And the ending…that silly man thinking she was just going to let him go? The part about her never giving up hope he could return at any moment and her leaving notes for him any time she left the house so he wouldn’t think she was gone if he came back also made my heart ache in the best way. It was just so sweet.

I loved how you took Andy’s backstory he came up with for his character and used it to write this gorgeous story. Thank you for giving Kino the homecoming he deserves after everything he went through on Narkina 5.

hoping against hope

Rated M - 2.8k

Pairings - Kino Loy x wife!oc

Tags: andor spoilers, fix-it fic, hurt/comfort, mentions of violence and death, anxiety, vaguely implied sexual content, loose third-person pov, flashbacks

Summary: There is one way out. And against all odds - he takes it.

He comes home.

A/N - Based heavily on this vanity fair interview (the snippets of his backstory), and an exploration to see what it might be like if he had made it home to his family (which comprises of his wife - no descriptors given). Of course Andor is so brilliantly written - this is purely for a little bit of angst and comfort.

There had been a time - years ago - when a knock at the door would have had her racing through the room.

Her heart leaping into her throat as she threw open the door, chest so tight she could hardly breathe.

And now, she despises it.

It’s become a painful thing, something she’s become dulled to over the years. Enough to where if she has company, they will answer the door for her. Walk right in, if they know she is home.

But she’s alone, tonight.

And the knock rings out, again.

———

It’s late, far past dark - nerves coiling in her stomach as her fingers curl around the blaster. Something she had never wanted to own, but had become a necessity over the past few years.

With the troopers that moved into town, the trouble seeming to follow in their wake. A constant and painful reminder of what happened.

It’s been close to a decade but she still remembers the call - the hushed croak of a voice, the tone of someone not wanting to be overheard.

“It’s Kino. They’re here, at the mine-”

She knew the comm was from one of the boys on his shift. Had barely made it in time, pushing her way to the front of the crowd as a group of men were slapped in binders.

Her husband - red-faced, the shaken-loose swoop of hair that swung across his forehead - still arguing, as his arms are yanked behind him.

Her voice, carried through the air - his snarl cutting off as he sees her. The flash of sorrow, the moment of distraction used to push them into the transport.

Eight years.

For disturbing the peace.

For disrupting Empire regulations and procedure.

For just wanting fair hours - the recent increase in output leading to illness, accidents, injury. Two men in critical condition, a dozen more wounded, from a collapsed tunnel that never should have happened.

All under his watch.

It could have all been prevented.

It had been enough to make him snap.

A calm discussion that had quickly turned to shouting, to violence, leading to four men arrested. Their judgment passing just as quickly - barely any time to process, to say goodbye - before he was gone.

The hands that push the fabric back, the bit of light from the twin moons casting shadows across his face.

And though a part of her know this - her brain seems to stutter, the picture in front of her not making sense.

Though, his eyes are the same.

The same as the photos, the same as in her memories and dreams.

They blink at her - no words coming as he takes a step forward. As her arms are coming to wrap around him, a sob choking her as his hand curls around the back of her head, crushing her against him.

He was home.

———

The door locks in place when he steps inside.

There’s a million questions they both have, all of them tight and stuck in their throats. A weird sort of melancholic remembrance - a moment in time where things felt just as they had been. A jolt as they realize it couldn’t be more different.

She says his name and it’s like a gift - his memory returning, so much already restored when he had stepped onto this planet. Even more so when he found his way to the town.

So unsure if she would still be there.

That was something that had been on his mind for days, months. Years.

Afraid that she would have left. Or maybe, if she had stayed - that she had moved on.

Found someone else.

He wouldn’t have blamed her.

It would have hurt - after everything. Crawling his way out of that hell, to get back here.

But - he would have understood.

That twist of unease and fear finally and mercifully laid to rest, when he saw her standing in their doorway.

He’s home, but he’s not.

It’s not the same, and it never will be.

Her hand trembles against his face, thumb brushing over weeks-old scruff. He leans into it, the first touch in years that wasn’t a means to an end.

When her mouth presses to his and his eyes close, it’s now and it’s twelve years ago and he can hear a rough, ragged sound that takes him a moment to realize it’s coming from his own throat.

Eight years of pushing everything down, springing to the surface as his jaw grits.

She leads him to their room. Set up the same but much like them, the details had changed over the years. Searching through closets that still hold his things, even after all this time.

Finding him clothes, to get him out of the ones he’s been working in, traveling in, sleeping in. Clothes that weren’t even his - the shoes too tight on aching feet, the jacket frayed at the cuffs and heavily stained.

Both a luxury, after the prison.

“Tell me everything.” She tells him, handing him an old sweater that smells freshly laundered.

He hesitates.

So much like he had on the platform at Narkina 5.

Because nothing had turned out the way he thought it would. Even after the days, weeks, it took to get back here - he's still uncertain.

Such a different hestitation from before, because then, he had been sure of what would happen. Had known from the beginning, as soon as the whispers began.

Had made peace with it the night before. A stab of guilt the he had thought about the complicity he had been lulled into. The daze and ache in the hallway with Ulaf that came when he realized he was never going to leave that prison alive.

Because there would be no escape.

Not for him. Not here.

He couldn’t swim.

An irony that was not lost on him. It was a prison in more ways than one - caging him in, even as he stood, breathing in the fresh air.

Feet planted flat on the platform as the others rushed by, diving into the ocean, to their freedom. The rueful smile he had managed to send Keef, before the despair set in - so close to freedom, after all those years.

At the cost of his self-sacrifice, thousands of others could go home, rejoin their families. It was what he had to do, he knew that.

She was never far from his mind, as his eyes closed. Stinging, from the sun and the wind and the tears that seem to spring up, unbidden.

Not paying attention to the surge of men from another floor, rushing from the stairs. His feet ripped out from underneath him as he's suddenly falling.

Plummeting.

Kino is ripped from the memory when she touches his arm - still unsure if he’s real. A sentiment he understands well, the ghost of a smile he sends her way in thanks.

He’s sure he’s frightening her, that she’s worrying. So - as he eases off the torn, canvas jacket - he begins.

He fills in what he can - as he tugs on a pair of thick woolen socks, because he never wants to be barefoot again. Because she knows the timing didn’t line up. That he’s early, that something had happened.

Her hand clutched in his, as he catches her up over these years they’ve been apart. His voice clipped and mechanical, because the wounds are too fresh, and this is the only way he can get through them.

But there’s so many things he doesn’t tell her.

That he won’t ever say out loud.

How he’s spent the last three years unable to remember the way her voice sounded.

Hating himself for forgetting.

How he never thought he’d breathe fresh air, again. How there’s so much of him he’s had to tamp down, close up inside his head, just to make it through each day. Turning himself into a shell, because he had to.

How he’s seen death. Time and time again.

Seeing his own on that platform, how he mourned for himself but also for the woman waiting for him. Wondering if she would ever find out what happened.

His throat growing tight as he weaves in what he can. Skipping over the parts that were too painful. Trying to make her understand just how dire things had been, for all of them.

Her fury and fear and amazement written so plainly across her face. It’s hard to bear.

The afterwards is easier. How those in the water had scattered - how the few of them that had made it to the eastern shore had escaped.

Grateful for Keef again - figuring out how to sneak them aboard a transport that was heading off-world. Stealing clothes, lying through their teeth. Surviving.

Finding men desperate enough for workers, that they didn’t care where they came from. It had almost been funny - the old Weequay foreman telling them to keep their heads down, to do what they were told. It felt different, when you were a free man.

He could do that.

Hours of hard labor in exchange for a pitiful amount of credits. Each day passing, until he could afford a ship home.

Talking until his throat grows hoarse, until he’s realizing for the first time just how weary he is.

She takes over then - like she always had. Coaxing him to bed after a long shift, making him take care of himself.

Sliding in besides him, just as they used to. Lying in silence, her head pressed against his chest. His arms around her in an iron grip.

“I missed you.” He speaks into the dark, “Stars, I missed you.”

Grateful she can’t see him, the cracks that threaten to shatter his armor. He isn’t sure what would happen if she could.

Isn’t sure he’s that strong, yet.

His eyes shut when she repeats the words back.

Finally feeling like he can breathe again.

———

It pains her to hear what happened. To see him like this, though she’s never been more grateful. It’s feels unbelievable, what he’s been through.

Staying awake after he drifts off, exhaustion pulling him under after his long travels, the effort of revisiting the memories.

Watching him, the furrow in his brow that persists, even when asleep.

He’d always been a stern man.

It had become a running joke, the man who was used to barking orders, keeping the line running flawlessly.

A loth-wolf, ferocious as one.

Until he met her.

“And what am I, now?” He had asked, an eyebrow cocked - at one of their evenings spent in good company, at the local cantina.

The two men across from her exchanged looks, before one smirked, leaning closer.

“A tooka, chief.”

Kino had scoffed, lifting his glass - but she could see the edge of a smile hidden behind the cup.

Could feel the warmth of his hand, from where it rested along the back of the booth. Where his fingers brushed the bare skin of her neck, goosebumps raising after.

There was a lot she remembered about that night.

But, she thinks - that softening was gone.

All hard edges, now. Rougher than before.

She think she understands. She isn’t sure she could have made it through what he did - what he had to do to made it home.

The waiting had been agony, but she had bared it. The boys at the mine had been there for her, after. Checking on her, making sure she ate. They had respected him, knowing what he had done was for them.

But Kino had been alone. Stolen from her.

He wasn’t the only thing that Empire had taken from them.

Once upon a time, recently after they were married, there had been whispers. Just little hopes and dreams under the sheets, about their future together. Where they would live, where they would go. What they would do.

Things that she wasn’t even sure were possible - but at that moment, it hadn’t mattered.

It feels like the Empire has stolen that from them, as well. Hope and dreams and time.

So much time.

But, she thinks - maybe they could make it up.

Together.

———

It’s still dark when he finds himself gasping for breath.

Forgetting for a long moment where he is.

This happens often now - the memory of falling. The feeling of weightlessness, the terror as he suddenly jolts awake - expecting the icy impact.

Remembering the way the fear tasted as he went under, as sharp as the salt water that filled his throat.

Somehow - mercifully, instinctually - finding his way to the surface.

Thinking, better to die here, a free man - than face the same death of so many before him.

But he hadn’t. Another grace of the gods, the Force, he'd thank anything - as some of the men from his shift find him. He thinks he tells them to leave him. It’s hard to remember, the panic overshadowing his memories.

But they don't.

They remember his words.

You see someone who's confused, someone who is lost, you get them moving and you keep them moving until we put this place behind us.

They put the place behind them.

His feet touched down on land.

He reaches for her then, remembering. Just as he had reached for them, just as his head was about to submerge again.

The worn cotton of her nightdress feels like silk to his calloused fingers. Unable to sleep soundly in a room that isn’t harsh and white and sterile.

Too warm in his clothes but it’s better than being cold all the time, as he curls himself around her again. Slowly recounting all the things he’s forgotten.

Reacquainting himself with the one he loves, as she stirs, rolling over to face him. Remembering with slow and careful fingers, how they used to fit together so perfectly.

If he only has tonight - then he’ll make it count.

———

There’s the brush of his cheek against hers as the sky just starts to turn from violet to bronze, a voice low in your ear. Tugging her from slumber - this time a much more rested sleep.

“I can’t stay.”

There’s an edge to his voice, sorrow wrapped in steel because he hasn’t been sure how to tell her.

Because he had known. Had been asked to go with Keef and Melshi - where he had hesitated again.

“I can’t.” He had rasped, his eyes bouncing between the two of them.

Keef had understood. The sharp look in his eye, the way his head ducked to make eye contact. His words just as clipped and clear and sure as during that moment in the elevator.

“Kino. There is no going back. Not now.”

He knew there wasn’t. Not to before.

But he could afford a night, couldn’t he? Hadn’t he earned that, after all of those years?

Just a chance to see her, again.

She turns, frowning as she blinks sleepily at him, trying to caught up. Awake enough to notice the singularity of his words, the exact tone in which he says them.

“It’s not safe. For you, for me.” His arms tighten around her, betraying his words, “I haven’t told you everything that’s happened. I need to leave, before-“

Kino’s word die off as she scoffs, her frown deepening - as she rolls over to face him.

It’s insulting. How he assumes she’s stayed here because she wanted to. That she wouldn’t have ran - to her old home, to somewhere new, anywhere - if there had been a way to tell him.

That she hadn’t been terrified to leave the house for weeks, in case something had changed, and he had come home. That she still left notes when she left the house for more than an hour.

That she hadn’t been staying for him.

He misinterprets, hurt flashing across his features, before his jaw sets. But then she’s kissing him, the soft press of her mouth before she’s pushing herself up, legs swinging over the edge of the bed.

“Tell me the rest, then.” She calls from over her shoulder, as she pull the bags out from the storage beneath, “While we pack.”

She’s waited for him - just as he had for her.

She wasn’t letting go of him now.

#kino loy #andor spoilers #i’ve read this three times already and their homecoming is still making me cry #this was so beautifully written #stardust reblog challenge #appreciate lovely fanfic writers

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insert-witty-user-name-here · 2 years ago

Text

Fanfic Master List

Suppose I should make one of these now.

Loki Series

the end is where we start from, a Lokius post season two reunion fic (canon-compliant).

We’ll Fix It Together, just your classic season 2 fix-it fic (canon divergent S2 ep 6).

Rising From the Ashes, the one that started it all. How I would write Loki Season 2 if it were up to me.

Here, a Loki & Thor reunion fic.

Moments in Time, a Lokius proposal and wedding 5+1.

Becoming His Mobius, an unrequited then requited love story focused on a Mobius variant finding love.

Someone Good, a fic where Mobius ignores and then faces his trauma from the TVA.

To Stay (explicit), some Lokius porn with feelings

A Birthday Fit for the God of Mischief- Mobius tries to plan a fun birthday for Loki. Things don't go as planned. A birthday gift for a dear fanfic writer friend!

Between The Golden Arches- A Lokius first kiss at McDonald's (because that's where season 2 is taking place I guess). Another gift for a dear friend.

Happy Memories- another gift fic for a friend's birthday. Loki and Mobius clean their closet and take a trip down memory lane.

Hope Is Hard- Sylvie and Mobius bond over pie and discuss the meaning of hope (missing scene Loki S2 ep 4; gen fic)

Ravonna's Mission- An enemies to enemies with benefits Kangslayer one-shot (explicit)

Other Fandoms

We Last Forever (Good Omens)- Three semi-connected one-shots of Aziraphale and Crowley getting together and eventually settling down in their South Downs Cottage.

We Could Have Been (Good Omens)- Aziraphale wonders where it all went wrong. The penultimate scene of GO season 2 from Aziraphale’s POV.

His Way Out (Andor)- Kino Loy finds his way out.

Comma Prince (The Witcher)- A Radaskier fic where Jaskier gets his prince. A birthday gift fic for a dear friend.

And They Lived Happily Ever After- (TLOU)- Bill and Frank take a trip up to Vermont to stargaze and reflect on what is means to live. Another gift for a dear friend.

AO3 Profile

#lokius

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ladyxskywalker · 2 years ago

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Stardust Reblog Challenge

Sept - Dec 2022 📖☕️🌸

please be sure to check all individual ratings, tags, & content warnings before reading.

NOVEMBER 🍂

challenge hosted by @natrace 🌸

fanfic bingo

a reading & reblog effort to show support for writers here on tumblr 📖

star wars

feel it by @ezrasbirdie (din djarin x cobb vanth)

oceans in the desert by @wyn-n-tonic (din djarin)

ranting to din while he repairs the razor crest by @archieimagines (din djarin)

Indigo by @artemiseamoon (fennec shand)

temptation's kiss by @hellotherekenobi (obi wan kenobi)

andor

hoping against hope by @saradika (kino loy)

moon knight

I'm right next door by @flightlessangelwings (steven grant)

pedro pascal

love you, endlessly by @artemiseamoon (ezra prospect)

the amazing spider man

keeping secrets by @luveline (tasm peter parker)

#stardust reblog challenge #pxk queue #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #andor fanfiction #moon knight fanfiction #tasm fanfiction #pxk reads

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amywritesthings · 2 years ago

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ownership of mine. (1/4)

Pairing: Kino Loy x Reader (ANDOR)

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: The Empire has settled on a new experiment involving prison integration, with you as a test subject as one of the few women in Narkina 5. In a surprise turn of events, the manager of the unit takes you under his wing -- but for reasons you didn't anticipate.

Warnings: Rated M -- Prison, Implied Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Mentions of Violence/Death (please note: because this is a prison, there is a fear of assault but no assault happens)

A/N: As is the Amy way, I wrote this in about four hours. Kino Loy is so goddamn fine. This could become a 2 or 3 parter, should people be interested. UPDATE - this is now a 3-parter.

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR

( Read on AO3 )

“Who were you in another life?”

Within these confined ivory walls, your whisper echoes like a shout. Yet no one in the cell block stirs from their slumber, your words drowned out by rumbling snores and palpable exhaustion.

It used to terrify you, how quiet this place could get after lockdown. How a breath felt like a scream, while screams bled into the whines and wears of factory machinery. Now you barely notice; it’s easy to become complacent, comfortable, in the inevitable.

(This is it. No way out.)

Kino Loy stares from across the electrified barrier in his neighboring cell, surveying you with scrutiny. He sits with both hands clasped, elbows balanced on either knee and expression indiscernible as he faces you directly. Watches you, directly.

Because everything, everyone, is under his watch — including you, the mistake that’s now cost the floor dearly.

“Doesn’t matter,” he gruffly responds. “Not anymore.”

. . . . . . . . .

ONE WEEK PRIOR

The Empire’s decision to integrate women into a men’s facility is not a mistake.

It’s a choice.

On your transport sat two other women in chains, scared out of their wits. Clearly fresh meat, by the looks of how much blood has drained from their body and pooled like dead weight to their feet. Trembling, too afraid to look around or up.

You watch, because this isn’t your first transport. Planted theft; the charge already made you go through the motions, the trembles, but it’s been seventy-eight days in the women’s prison back on Tertiere 2.

You’re not quite sure what warranted to the transfer to another women’s prison, but you’re not meant to ask questions. Keep your head down, endure, and maybe they’ll let you go.

None of you knew it was a transport to Narkina 5.

Narkina 5 is notoriously a male prison.

“We want to integrate populations,” is the reason you’re given by the head of operations once you step off the transport, painfully barefoot and freezing. “Consider yourselves the lucky three that decide if it’s worth it.”

One of the women cry out in fear when they announce her unit: One-Two-F. Another trembles harder at her verdict: Seven-Three-C.

You keep your mouth shut, but there is dread that fills your lungs so you wouldn’t be able to speak even if you tried: Five-Two-D.

They explain the floors are tungstoid steel, ready to light up at a moment’s notice. Something similar was used at the women’s prison, something as vile, but you make no sudden movement or reaction when you reach the guard tower overlooking a factory floor of two-dozen men.

A pin needle could drop in the silence that exists when they open the door and reveal the unit’s next victim.

Hands behind your head, you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth as you descend. Whispers start to trickle about your gender — some in wonder, others in disgust.

Yet a singular man — shorter, broad chested with a scowl — breaks the formations to receive you on the landing’s edge. His thick salt and pepper hair is combed back, groomed neatly despite the conditions.

You refuse to make eye contact as the Imperial guard shoves you off the platform, putting you at the mercy of the factory floor masses.

A pregnant pause almost makes you scared.

“My name is Kino Loy.” The man speaks, voice baritone and low with an unmistakable growl. “I own you now.”

The statement is matter of fact, but not in a malicious way.

You finally raise your eyes to him when the guard tower is sealed off, nostrils flaring with a mask of aggression.

His gaze is cold, but it’s calculated. Rehearsed.

“What is your name?”

At first, you don’t give it. You’re too busy giving a pointed look to every table of shocked faces: establishing dominance, if you can, before you’re meant to retire in the same barracks. You’re sure they didn’t design women-centric quarters.

(Hell, it looks like none of these men were given a warning that they were integrating.)

“Don’t look at them,” the man named Kino demands. “You don’t report or answer to them, you answer to me, is that clear? I asked for your name.”

“Doesn’t matter what my name is,” you reply under your breath.

“It does to me.”

Despite yourself, you focus back on him with a surprise lost in its translation. He doesn’t falter in his intensity.

(He means it.)

You mumble your name so that only he can hear, and Kino draws in a long, slow breath. The other men begin to abandon their posts to gawk around corners, the whispers growing to loud concern and worry.

Soon a half-circle forms like a pack of wolves.

“Now I know this isn’t our usual addition, but nothing’s changed.” Kino’s voice echoes with power along the ivory walls as he steps back, brows sliding higher in regard to the rest of the men here. “Do you hear me? Nothing. That means we leave her be, just as we leave everyone else be, and we don’t treat her any different.”

A protest breaks out from a gangly, lean man with thick black hair to your left. “She’ll slow us down!”

“She won’t.”

This isn’t a vote of confidence from Kino, but a threat. He looks at you, really looks at you, with a determination you cannot refuse.

“I won’t,” you supply belatedly, swallowing thickly to coat your throat as you look around the room to the others who aren’t so convinced. “I worked well at the other facility. I did what I needed to do.”

“The other facility?” one elderly man inquires. “You mean they transferred you?”

“This is heavy machinery,” another of the men sneers, and you step towards him with your own hiss of venom.

“What do you think they have the women’s prisons doing? Knitting Imperial sweaters?”

“Enough.” Palm flat and raised to keep you in your place, Kino signals a ceasefire before the war can start. “I spoke my terms, and those are the rules I expect you all to obey. Have I made myself clear?”

The floor goes silent, but eventually the masses nod in reluctant agreement. The power Kino has over the other men is enough to take your breath away — they respect another inmate so completely, with a clear and present hierarchy, that you cannot help but feel small.

“Good. Time to clean up for the evening, boys. Lights are gonna go in twenty. Make it quick. You—” He means you. “—they didn’t give you a separate unit, did they?”

“No.”

His jaw clenches with a decisive nod. “Then you’ll follow.”

To the barracks from the elevator, where you can feel everyone’s breath crawling down the back of your throat. Kino stays by your side, chin raised like a proud soldier.

Everyone disperses once the doors open to the barracks, leaving you as the final person standing in the broken semi-circle. Kino turns on a heel without another word, padding lightly down the brightly lit hallway with puzzle pieces for jail cells. You wait a second to ponder whether or not engaging is a good idea until you find yourself walking his way, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I will do what I need to do,” you reassure him once you’ve caught up, shoulder to shoulder.

His nostrils flare in a pause. “I know you will,” he responds, “because you have no other choice. You’ll be assigned Table Four. We have an opening there.”

“What position?”

“Whatever one I give you,” he says, and you feel your stomach curl. “I like my floors to be precise, hardworking, and pristine. You will not ruin my men’s chances of getting out of here.”

“I won’t.”

“I do not accept anything less.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kino pauses at that, turning his chin to stare you down. You stare back, uncertain of the elongated eye contact.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

He shifts his attention to the empty cell behind you, opting to leave his request in the past.

“That’s yours. Keep it tidy, keep it quiet, and don’t touch the floor.”

When you open your mouth to ask, the overhead speakers sound with a minute’s warning and Kino steps up to the cell to the left. The rest of the floor find their order like dominoes, one by one disappearing into their cell units until you remain.

You stumble backwards, up a step, until you're clear of the final few seconds. The floor glows red, simmering to a cool eggshell white with a trim, and that is it.

Kino turns away, back to you, and finds his place on the cot for sleep.

Five-hundred twenty-two days to go.

. . . . . . . . . The first three months are grueling.

At Tertiere 2, they have the women working on their factory floors with finer details. Magnifying technology, precision — everything has to be just so, or you lose.

Narkina 5 is a whole new level of ache.

While most men avoid even looking at you — wouldn’t dare, not when Kino rounds every corner like a rabid animal waiting to strike — Table Four does their best to include you. They make it a point to learn your name, treat you as one of their own, even if it means you don’t always make it to the winning table.

From what you’ve learned, they don’t really ever win the flavored food. Resign. Good enough to make it to the middle of the leaderboard, but not enough to get fried.

Everyone gets by. Everyone, in relative terms, is happy.

In your work, you frequently meet the older man’s gaze. He’s partial to watching you work; nodding every so often with approval when you beat the others in the assembly line, shaking his head if you fumble with a part, pausing in his pace if you lock eyes, but you never question it.

Maybe it’s because when you eat dinner alone in your cell, Kino Loy makes it a point to engage in the briefest of conversations. Little check-in’s that he affords the other inmates, but not at the frequency of yours.

Maybe it’s because when you take your leave to shower, you’ve seen Kino block the entryway with his own build on more than one occasion.

Maybe it’s because he gives you pointers, like how to opt for a counterclockwise approach to the knobs that you need to assemble or that your stance on the floor gives you less momentum than it would if you stood taller, prouder, like you’re a contributing member and not a hindrance.

Regardless, those little things may cease today when you finally say what you’ve wanted to tell him for the last several weeks — because there is a reason this table isn’t making top marks.

And it isn’t because of you.

You’re sucking through the clear tube for sustenance when you see Kino’s gray hair come into view. His lack of smiling somehow brings you comfort, but the constant surveying like he’s trying to figure you out negates it.

“You seem like you’re in a mood,” he states after a moment when you don’t greet him.

Removing the tube from your lips, you give a half-hearted shrug. “Because we have to talk.”

His brows bunch in the center. “Do we?”

“Yes.”

“About?”

“You know what.”

Kino’s expression smooths with recognition. His bare foot steps up, then the other, until he stands in your cell. You note Melshi’s look from the top barrack as he feeds, but he turns the other cheek when your eyes meet.

“Enlighten me.”

Better now then never.

“You need to change my position on the Table.” That intrigues him. Kino takes a step closer, crossing his arms over his chest in order to lean against the wall, cornering you into your cot. You stare up at him, legs crossed.

“You’re where you need to be.”

“But I’m not, and you know it,” you argue swift and low to avoid the masses from listening in. “You know Winshaw is Table Four's weakest link.”

“Excuse me?” Kino is not amused. You push on.

“It’s easy to blame me for the shortcomings of the table, but I’m ahead of everyone else. You’ve seen it.”

I know you watch me, is the subtext. His jaw sets.

“He has a bad hand.”

“So then he should have my station, and I can take his. It’ll put less strain on his hands.” You place the feeding tube back in its cubby hole before stranding, meeting Kino with a closeness you would never award anyone else. He doesn’t move, giving a look of contemplation. “I can lift the heavier equipment. I can benefit the unit’s productivity.”

“Bold of you,” Kino sniffs, “to assume all this.”

“I’m ready.” Toeing the line to step closer, you murmur with a softness that could get you killed. “Kino, I know I’m ready.”

If you didn’t know any better, then you’d swear his eyes dropped to your lips before finding your eyes. Always making a point of eye contact, to see you as a person — you’ve grown to greatly admire Kino for his principles, but you swallow the butterflies before they can float any higher.

“Please?”

You don’t recognize your own voice as you whisper.

Kino hovers in what little space is between you, mulling over your offer, before disengaging. You find yourself missing the warmth radiating from him. You don’t know why.

Without a word, he nods once — a yes — before the minute’s warning starts.

He walks across the hall with his back turned to you, but when the lights go out and the floor is ignited, he sleeps towards you.

. . . . . . . . . Swapping places with Winshaw gives you a second place win.

At first, Table Four adamantly hated the idea. Still do, with how they glare at you through the twelve-hour shift. Kino’s new directive to bring you to the other side of the table, trading Winshaw a new position, doesn’t sit right.

They don’t say no to Kino Loy.

They will, however, say their piece of mind to you when the shift is over and you’re on your way to the showers.

The table that once learned your name sits in a pack, arms crossed and waiting for your arrival. You shrug it off, trying not to notice, but a stocky man named Gris steps into your path.

“Some shit you pulled today, Lady Narkina,” he tells you, bending to find your attention. You keep your eyes low, somewhere pegged in the chest of his shirt where you’d surely like to punch.

“We won second,” you reply, monotone. “If anything, you should be celebrating.”

“You don’t get to make decisions for the rest of us,” Gris reasons. “You’ve been here for three kriffing months.”

“I have,” you say, “and not once have we gotten remotely close to the top — until now.”

“It’s ‘cus she worked her way to the top,” a man named Pusl grumbles, causing you to finally stare with wide eyes.

“Excuse you?”

Pusl grimaces. “Not sure how you fuck him so quietly, like.”

“Pusl,” a mousy addition, Trem, warns with a sharp gasp.

“What? S’the truth.”

You take the step to the right towards Pusl, chin raised with a challenge. “I’m hearing a lot of words, Pusl, but they all sound like bullshit.”

“It’s not like we don’t see him coming right to your cell after shifts,” Gris agrees without as much fervor. “Someone has to be offering favors to get beneficial treatment like today.”

You huff with disgust. “I asked for a change to help Winshaw. Everyone here pretends they don’t see his left hand going, so I offered to take the heavier load in order to save it from getting even more fucked. Kino would have your fucking head if he knew you thought so low of him.”

“And which one of these fucks thinks so low of me?”

The booming voice of Kino Loy breaks up the precipice of a fight, causing Table Four to cower from their interrogation. The older man's face is a tint of red, neck muscles strained as he flexes and balls his fist at his side.

“Nothing, Kino,” you hear from Gris.

“Didn’t sound like ‘nothing’.”

Kino simmers, taking purposeful steps into the circle to directly address Gris and Pusl. They keep their chins down, trying desperately to blend in with the wall. Kino doesn’t back down.

“If you have something to say about my decisions for this unit, then you come directly to me.”

“Yes, Kino.”

“Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Kino.”

“Good.”

One by one, Table Four disbands from the fresher doors to hide in their climbable cells. You don’t move, wouldn’t dare, until it’s only Kino that remains.

He breaks his own rule: when you turn to make way to the showers, Kino follows.

“You will remain in Winshaw’s spot tomorrow.”

Your heel turns, whipping around at the audacity of his intrusion and his order. Eyes wide, you laugh humorlessly at the manager of the unit.

“You’re serious?” you ask him.

“Do you question me?” he asks instead, brow quirked. You soften, smile blank.

“They think I’m blowing you to do this.” Kino doesn’t react to your vulgar confession beyond a blink. “That I’m influencing your decisions when you visit my cell.”

“You do influence my decisions,” he replies. “You made a good observation on Winshaw.”

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“And if they have issue with—”

“Kino.”

The desperation in his name causes him to stir, shift, against the tiles of the shower floor. You blink away with a defeat you cannot afford in the barracks. When you return your attention to him, you notice a chip in the manager’s resolve.

“I heard what you said,” he murmurs. “They’ve been assuming it since your first month here.”

Your mouth drops open. “Why?”

“Because we’re in unique positions. Manager of the unit and the only woman on the bloody floor, of course they’d assume.”

“And you didn’t elect to tell me?”

“Did I have to?”

His question brings a sort of clarity to your senses, filling your legs with lead. Of course. Of course they would assume, given his extra care to make sure no one gave you trouble. Of course they would speak behind your back, because you are not truly one of them.

Not even after getting them second kriffing place.

Deep down you always knew your constant interactions with Kino would make waves, but knowing is an entirely different beast.

“No matter what I say, they won’t believe me, will they?”

Kino observes your reaction, calculating what to say next, but all he can do is shake his head.

No. Nothing you say will make anyone believe differently.

You toss your towel to the shower stall with force, dragging a hand through your hair. The laugh just happens — first a snort, drowning in disbelief, before turning into a fully-fledged laugh. Kino remains still, waiting, but there is an inflection in his stare.

“Guess I won’t feel so bad now if I get off like Taga does every night without putting a mute button on,” you cruelly respond, taking to a turn towards the stall. “If everyone thinks I’m getting my shit rocked anyway—”

You lose your train of thought entirely when you feel a strong hand grab your forearm, closing around your flesh.

“Stop.”

You do, obeying the command of the older man. Kino looks different in this light, almost bordering on apologetic when he doesn’t need to be.

“I know… it isn’t pleasant to hear, and I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier.”

You wet your lips, tongue darting between them, and Kino’s attention drops. It isn’t until now that you realize you haven’t touched another person in nearly six months.

“I thought not talking about it would protect you.”

“Protect me?”

“They don’t bother you,” he finally states, but the sentence doesn’t sound like him. It’s coarse, sure, but it’s laced with uncertainty — something Kino Loy doesn’t possess. “Not if they think you’re mine.”

Oh.

Your entire body electrifies like the floor’s been activated unannounced.

No one has attacked you, no one has ever tried, because they all think their leader has taken a claim first. They must all notice how he looks at you, how he visits your cell to discuss work and menial tasks.

(Has he done all of this on purpose, to ensure your safety in the prison?)

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t think he was capable of apologies. He never felt the need to.

“Don’t be,” you answer after several beats pass. “You’re right.”

There it is again: that flicker of an emotion he won’t relay, not fully. His grip lessens on your arm, but you do the unthinkable — you reach for his hand, placing your palm over his tired knuckles.

Kino becomes a statue.

“The goal is to get out of here, right?” When he doesn’t answer your question, you duck your head to evoke proximity. The older man inhales, slow and controlled, through his nose. “That’s the end game. That’s what we’re all striving for. If anything, you’ve done me a favor.”

“Don’t make me sound noble,” he warns without bite, slipping more of his grip from your arm. “Winshaw’s position is yours now. They’ll hate you for it, but if you do the same work as you did today, then the storm will pass.”

“And will you still visit?”

You ask despite yourself, suddenly feeling small. All of this could take your only ally in Narkina 5 away. In the depths of the rumor is truth: you care for the man, even if it’s foolish to care at all.

The absurdity of the question instinctively brings the grip to your arm, as if it’s an anchor when he tilts his chin in silent inquiry. You find yourself relishing in the proximity.

“It’s the only way they’ll keep assuming,” he answers plainly, before putting his free hand on yours. Gently he pries your fingers away until they’re held in his hand, small in the weight of his. “Do your job, keep your head low, and I will visit. Do I make myself clear?”

By the time you’re used to the calluses on his palm, the man completely removes himself from you and steps backwards once, twice, until he turns to resume his post as a guard to the stalls — for you.

You watch as a newfound feeling creeps into your veins and up your neck.

“Yes, Kino.”

#andor fanfiction #kino loy #andor #kino loy x reader #kino loy x you #kino loy x f!reader #kino loy fanfiction #andor fanfic #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #andor tv series #andor tv

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amywritesthings · 2 years ago

Text

ownership of mine. (3/4)

Pairing: Kino Loy x F!Reader (ANDOR)

Word Count: 5.3K

Summary: The Empire has integrated their prison systems, with you as one of the few women now incarcerated at Narkina 5. The unit manager takes you under his wing -- but for reasons you didn't anticipate.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ only!); Prison, Violence, Gore, Aftermath of Torture, Unresolved-to-Resolved Sexual Tension, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Dirty Talk, Implied Power Imbalance, Age Difference

A/N: My first ever finished series! I've had so much fun writing this fic in the last few weeks, and continue to be forever grateful to the wonderful support that inspired me to make this beyond a one shot. I have loved writing Kino, and I've loved writing this pairing, so I hope you enjoyed the finale of this piece.

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR

( Read on AO3 )

By the one hundred and sixty seventh day, Unit Five-Two-D went to shit.

Your recollection of that day is hazy at best, scrambled by the adrenaline that has been simmering in your gut since your arrival at Narkina 5.

Everything happened so fast.

. . . . . .

The day’s work begins without a hitch, where urgent hands meet cold machines.

Kino shouts his typical encouragement spiel to get Table Seven to work harder. He stalks around Table Five like a predator hunting its prey for sport and, as a result, take fourth place. Tables One and Two whistle and gloat of their successful hike into their namesake places — Table One in first, Table Two in second — leaving Table Four somewhere in the middle.

Somewhere safe.

Then Winshaw’s hands give out.

What is months in the making — the stalling, the ointments, last-ditch attempts to solve an ever-growing problem — crashes down hard as a star-structured mechanic slips onto the table and rolls near an edge.

Winshaw holds both of his cramped hands curling inward with excruciating pain and whimpers in a sickly tune between pursed lips.

The rest of the table scrambles to catch the large metal item before it can fall to the ground, but there’s no use.

The part discards itself at Taga’s feet.

The man is lucky to jump out of the way before it can crush his toes.

Metal against tungstoid steel sounds off a fateful boom through the sterile white room, causing your side of the table to instinctively put your hands parallel to your heads before the guards can question your intent.

(No threat. We aren’t a threat.)

You stay frozen for a beat, but a hefty shove at your shoulder spins you clear from your post and into the red-beaten face of Pusl.

“S’your kriffing fault!”

You don’t even register that he’s speaking to you. One blink and your attention is on Winshaw’s agonized expression. Another and you're faced with a fuming Pusl a mere few centimeters away.

(A threat.)

“Changing places with him hurt his hands more!” Pusl shouts in your face, but the words do not register.

You barely recognize that you’re stepping back, colliding with Gris’ shoulder. Gris shoves you forward.

“There’s you, thinking you know better than everyone," Pusl continues with a growl, "but I was right about you this whole time.”

Something hits your face.

It’s Pusl’s stubby finger pressing harshly into your cheek.

When you look down to view them, his fingers wrap brutally around your chin and drag you towards his spitting mouth.

“Was it worth it, Lady Narkina? Was your whoring around worth hurting Winshaw—”

You don’t remember swinging.

You don’t remember hitting him so hard that your knuckles bruise, but you do.

Right in front of the entire factory floor — in front of the guard tower above — Pusl goes down the minute your closed fist collides with his cheek.

And you follow.

Before you can stop yourself, you drop to your knees and over Pusl to grab a fistful of his overgrown hair. Your fist remains closed, remains tight, and you collide his nose with the brunt force of your hand.

Again.

And again.

“What are you doing, Table Four?”

Kino’s voice booms over the blood pumping in your ears, but you keep hitting. Reeling your arm back and shoving it forward — you repeat the motion over, and over, and over, and Trem’s worried call for the day shift manager to stop this, stop it before she kills him! isn’t lost on you.

In the moment, you just can’t find a reason to care.

Gris’ large hands take hold of your shoulders to drag you back, but you keep hold of Pusl’s hair to stay right where you are. The rest of the men halt production to watch, silent in their panic.

You know you see red.

You know it’s Pusl’s blood making your hand wet.

(You don’t care.)

Gris pulls at your body again, this time with a force unlike anything you’ve ever felt, until your bottom drags along the pristine white floors now littered with speckled red dots.

“Enough!”

Kino booms above you towards the right of Gris.

A sickeningly sweet chime sounds above, and everyone goes silent.

The final bell.

Your chest heaves with a breath you cannot catch, not when you’re holding onto your anger, your shame, with a vice grip.

Pusl lay on the ground, limbs splayed and face wrecked. He wheezes and whimpers, unable to move from the attack. Gris keeps you in a head lock to keep you from advancing any further, but you do not resist the hold.

Not when you can see Kino rounding the corner from Winshaw’s crooked form to you, with an indiscernible expression.

You meet his eyes, but you do not see him.

The rest of Table Four shuffles away, bare feet padding along the floor with newfound fear. Kino is the only one to step forward, but he blinks up to Gris.

“Let her go.”

Kino doesn’t shout. He doesn’t scream. The neutral baritone of his voice is calculated, low, to keep the command between the three of you.

“She tried to kill him!” Gris yelps, shaking his arm around your neck for emphasis.

Kino shakes his head, palm flat and pointed to the ground. “I said let her go, Gris, before someone else gets hurt. I can’t step in when they do.”

He pointedly peers up past the both of you to the tower, and Gris releases your neck on impact. You fall forward with the shove onto all fours as bloodied hands smear red along the white floor.

Kino does not move to help you.

No one does.

Sweat clings wayward pieces of hair to your forehead, cheeks, and you can feel a violent shake from leftover adrenaline rattle your body. Kino’s jaw sets, albeit not without a tremble when he shouts the next few words as he dips his chin to acknowledge the device strapped to his forearm.

“Time’s up! Production’s over. Due to insubordination, Table Four’s on the block. Congratulations, you lot get the pleasure of lining up last. The rest of you can stop gawking and get the fuck on the lift back to the barracks.”

“But Winshaw!” It’s Trem on the other side of the table, speaking nothing beyond a squeak.

He doesn’t care about his own safety.

Trem doesn’t deserve your punishment. None of the others do.

Not when you couldn’t keep a lid on your own anger.

(Not when it could’ve only been Pusl in that chamber.)

You feel sick to your stomach.

“I know, lad,” Kino reassures without losing his authoritative tone. “I know. I’ll speak with the guards, let them know what all the fuss is about. In the meantime, clean up Pusl.”

Gris shuffles around you to pick up his unconscious friend. “And he’ll—”

“—go through punishment like the rest of you because his hands weren’t hurt,” Kino explicitly states.

It’s not an invitation to negotiate his terms.

Gris glares to you, nearly purple in the face from the rage he cannot — and will not — act upon. Not in front of Kino.

Not like you did.

You suspect there will be repercussions by the both of them at a later date, but for now all you can do is stare at the unconscious and bloodied Pusl a mere few feet from you.

You’ve heard what they do to teams that fail.

Everyone works so damn hard to avoid it.

Now Pusl — and you — have sealed Table Four’s untimely fates.

. . . . . . You underestimate just how grueling the electric floors can be.

Straight from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head, everything is underwater yet on fire with no means to cure it. Too cold, too hot — you see why every inmate in this unit works so hard to avoid the touch of the floor, even at its lowest notch.

An hour after the rest of the men have retired to their cells, the doors open and Table Four stumbles out of the lift to the barracks with battered bodies and dry throats.

Many of the other inmates are watching, waiting, with mutual understanding of the losing table’s punishment.

Kino stands in the middle of the fray, hands balled tight into fists.

One by one, the injured try their hand at leaving the lift. Some stumble. Others limp, like they’ve gone through this a thousand times.

You want to walk on your own two scorched feet like nothing is wrong.

(Your fault.)

One step down and the pain shoots clear up your calves. Another step and the world begins to dizzy, setting off a cold sweat.

Third step, your knees give out.

(This is all your fault.)

Your head never hits the floor, instead landing on something hard yet soft. You’re hoisted in the air, weightless and breathless, until you find yourself cradled in the arms of Kino Loy.

“Get the rest of Table Four out of the lift!” his voice booms over your head to the other. “It’ll be an early turn in tonight, boys, so get everyone to their cells. Now.”

Everything is hot yet freezing. Against him your limbs shiver violently, expelling sweat in buckets. Your eyes roll up to find his scruffy chin above the crown of your head as Kino stares straight ahead, steps quick and deliberate.

“Let me — walk,” you protest weakly, but Kino keeps walking.

“You’ll never make it to the fucking cell,” he growls back, baritone grumbling in his chest. “Just shut it.”

“Kino—”

“I said shut it,” he demands under his breath. “Listen for fucking once in your life, kid.”

And for the first time in your Narkina 5 sentence, you listen.

Intently, because every jostle of your limbs sends a belated shock to your system.

Kino takes a step higher and bends at the hips, lowering you until you feel your back hit the familiar material of your cot. He stays above you, never once removing a hand from your shoulder — a constant reminder that he’s still here — as he answers questions from other frantic prisoners.

Mess.

It’s all a fucking mess.

In your sweat-slicked haze, you can hear a more fragile voice come into earshot. You turn your chin just enough to see Winshaw, held tightly by Trem, as he peers into your cell and up at Kino.

“Will she be alright?”

It’s Winshaw. If you weren’t careful, you’d think he was worried.

“Nothing sleep won’t fix,” Kino replies casually without ever removing his hand. “I’ll eat dinner later. Staying here for most of the night making sure this one doesn’t freeze to death before the bell. How’s the hand?”

“Better,” Trem answers for Winshaw, voice gentle and melodic in your ringing ears. “Much better, now.”

“Good. That’s good. And how are you doing?” Kino asks Trem with a sliver of protective care.

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” Trem tries to lighten the mood. “Everyone’s fine, besides… well, besides Pusl and her. And I’m — Kino, we’re so sorry about—”

“No,” Kino interrupts, and it’s softer. “No apologies. As far as I’m concerned, the day is over. We start anew tomorrow without incident.”

“But Pusl—”

“Will live,” the day shift manager interrupts again. “And if he steps a toe out of line again, then I promise he’ll be dealt with.”

“He started it.”

Your chin tilts to get a view of Trem on the outline of Kino’s pant leg. The smaller, lankier man stares up at the older man with bright, sad eyes.

“I saw it happen. Pusl grabbed her by the face and he called her a—”

“I know, Trem.” Resolved. Exhausted. Kino draws out a long sigh and shakes as if he’s nodding above you. “I heard. Go get some rest with the rest of the blokes, yeah? Tell ‘em they’re no good without it.”

“Yes, Kino.”

With care, Trem shuffles Winshaw out of view towards his cell. Kino stays by your side as you ride through the chilling waves of pain, opting to sit at the foot of your cot with your bloodied and bruised hand in his.

Watching.

Waiting for the final bell to turn in, locking him to the mercy of your cell for the evening.

You pass out before it rings.

. . . . . . One hundred.

Chin downcast, you stare at the idle screen flickering with an unfamiliar number.

You were down in the 400’s only twenty-four hours ago. Now the number shows something closer to your original sentence.

“Rise and shine, boys! Floor’s safe!”

The day shift manager’s words are underwater. Men start to step down from their cells, but you remain.

“Form up for the lift. You know the fucking drill by now. Oi — you.”

That’s Kino in his cell, cautious in his bark in what sounds like an attempt to get your attention.

You don’t respond.

Others shuffle towards the lift like zombies, awaiting the next day of work.

You don’t.

Can’t, not when you’re still staring at the flickering number with a heavy gaze.

Quick feet pad towards your cell, but a slow hand gently circles your bicep. Kino ducks into your peripheral with his salt and pepper hair.

“What is it?”

When you still remain silent, the day shift manager lightly shakes your arm.

“Talk to me, kid, what is it?”

“They added one hundred days to my sentence.”

“They what?” From your side view, you see his chin turn over and down to see what’s there: what isn’t a mirage or a post-punishment haze, but a real number.

“For yesterday’s display,” you mumble, soured, but it twists into a laugh. “For what I did to Pusl. Chances are it’ll go up even more once you’re gone. I won’t be yours by that point.”

“Hey.” He switches his tone to harsh, cold, and pushes your chin with his index finger and thumb to look at him without choice. “Don’t. Do not say that.”

“You know I’m—”

“The number doesn’t make a damn bit of difference, do you hear me?”

“I’m not getting out of here, Kino.”

You push the thought out in a blurt, running the risk of your voice wavering with emotion. It swells faster that you can stop it — your eyes water, throat closing, as the hope you’d once shared feels so lost.

“That’s — not — true,” he accentuates every word, purposefully looking into your eyes.

Your chin trembles under his grip. “It is.”

“It’s not,” he emphasizes, leaning in. “One hundred days go by in a blip. You know this. You’ve been here for over a hundred, and look how fast it’s gone. You’re getting out of here.”

“Yeah, maybe, but it'll an entire year after you.”

Finally — finally — you leave your unfocused haze to look him in the eye.

Kino’s brow smooths with a sympathy you wish it didn’t hold.

Then he pulls your chin in, and you’re met with plush lips.

Frozen in place, you don’t dare move a muscle when the older man pulls you closer, free hand on the back of your head, to press a searing kiss to your lips. Eventually your body thaws, inch by inch, until you're grappling for him.

He shifts you both further into the cell, pushing you into the ivory wall with abandon. You hear him take a sharp inhale through his nose before pulling away a fraction of space, yet his hands remain.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he mumbles, his lips ever so gently brushing against yours. “Whether it’s two hundred days, three hundred, four — doesn’t matter. I’ll be there.”

Kino abruptly pulls away, adjusting the shirt of his uniform back to its neatened form. You remain against the wall to catch your breath, staring as he offers one last glance before exiting your cell to join the rest of the crowd by the lift.

Down the hallway you hear him shouting, but his voice is more hoarse than it’d been only a mere moment ago.

Your lips still tingle from the force of him.

When the warning chime rings its final bell, you leave your cell to follow the rest of the men to the factory floor.

. . . . . . A month passes.

An entire month passes and he’s never attempted to make another move like that again.

Kino Loy is much too busy bringing Unit Five-Two-D back to order — partially to do with your healing, another with the animosity of Table Four, but mostly to do with the fact that the factory incident has off-set production for almost an entire week.

Winshaw received medical attention without a grace period, but Table Four got by. Pusl was assigned a new position — one far away from you, closer to the start of the table’s build — but that was never a conversation between Kino and yourself.

He decided.

You endured.

And for the most part, the tension of your ill-fated table has simmered. Trem sticks closer to you when the time to transition from barracks to factory floor arrives, and you find yourself looking for the younger inmate in the morning.

Because at night, Kino has resumed sleeping with his back to you.

You’re not sure if it’s from stress or old habits or fatigue, but you continue to sleep facing him.

Waiting.

All your brain thinks about when you accidentally lock eyes on the factory floor, in the barracks, is the way his lips felt against yours.

How, if you were brave enough, you would leap into his cell and do it again.

You don’t think he regrets it, not really. For the most part, Kino is still Kino. He still visits your cell after shifts, talks to you while you both eat food across the hallway, but there is an underlying pressure between the space.

A point of no return.

A line he cannot — and won’t — cross.

So you will.

You wait. Every night when the lights fade and the barracks are filled with sleeping prisoners, you stare at his back and wait for him to eventually roll over.

(Is this what he did in the first few months, when you first caught him staring?)

It takes one entire month for him to finally — finally — turn in his sleep towards you.

The movement is lethargic, as if stuck between reality and a dream, before his blue eyes slowly blink open to stare into yours. Your one hand is tucked under your ear as a makeshift pillow. The other rests against your belly, elbow draped over your side.

When you’re certain you have his attention, the hand on your belly moves south.

Kino doesn’t move.

Your fingers duck and slip under the waistband of your uniform without straying your gaze from his. From the faint light of the white and red buttons on the wall of his cell, you see his eyes open a fraction wider.

(Good.)

Holding your breath, you slip lower until the tip of your index finger presses against your clit. Your sight flutters for a moment, the relief of touching yourself almost far too much, but you stay strong in remaining silent.

Although the older man cannot see your hand, the movement is enough to make his hand by his head ball into a tight fist. His gaze ducks from yours to stare lower, to watch, as you draw quickening circles around the bundle of nerves.

You shift your hips, turning until your back is flush with the cot. Parting your knees with abandon, your head dips back from the ecstasy of it all.

You won’t last long, but that isn’t what it’s about.

This is about a show he cannot touch.

The anticipation of his eyes following your movements like he’s a parched and starving man watching a mirage.

When your orgasm comes quick, tense and all at once, you slam your thighs together and shake. You bite your tongue from uttering so much as a whimper, fearful of alerting anyone nearby, before your body floats back down to Earth.

And when you turn your chin to see if Kino’s still watching, you find that he’s standing at the edge of his cell with his hand pressed to the wall, keeping himself back from stepping onto the electrified floor.

He looks positively wrecked from this angle: he breathes heavier, lips parted, pants so uncomfortably tight that you can see the outline of his cock through his uniform.

There isn’t an option to cross this bridge, not when there is a physical barrier separating the two of you into the morning hours.

Your tongue darts out to lick your lips, daring to speak without a voice.

He hears you in the deafening silence.

(I want to burn.)

. . . . . . Kino is particularly louder the next day.

Shouting at every table, stalking every inmate, expecting the most; he hasn’t unclenched his fists since he stepped out of his cell. The veins of his neck protrude when he yells, bare feet demanding in their steps, and he doesn’t look at you.

Can’t.

Because you know if he looks at you, he’ll remember what you look like when you come.

Table Four is particularly spry, pushing for a second-place slot for the first time since the incident involving Pusl. You are diligent, quieter than usual despite the casual quips around the table, and keep your head down.

You have to or else your heart will beat out of your chest.

Because you know if you look at him, you’ll lose focus all over again.

(Something neither of you can afford until the shift is over.)

The final chime is a blessing. The men of Table Four cheer at their newfound success, but Kino is matter-of-fact. Cold.

He wastes no time ushering his men into the lift back into the barracks, as if he’s haunted by borrowed time.

You’re too self-aware not to wait for the showers, allowing most of the men to pass you for the lockers as you wait in your cell.

Hours pass.

Kino never shows up.

When it’s finally time for your turn, you take to a casual gait down the barrack hall and into the showers. Head down, shoulders squared; you almost lose your breath when you hear another pair of feet padding in behind you.

You continue to walk until you reach your usual stall, only to crane your chin over your shoulder to see who it is that stands with you.

It’s Kino Loy — hands still balled into translucent fists, neck still tense, shoulders still tight.

Still wrecked.

“What?” you greet, forcing neutrality in your tone. “Something wrong?”

His nostrils flare, like the sound of your voice snaps against his skin like a taut rubber band.

“Tell me.”

Your brows furrow. “Tell you what?”

He takes a step forward.

“Tell me to go and I’ll go.”

His voice sounds as if it’s struggling at the precipice of control.

You remain where you stand.

“Why would I tell you to go?” you inquire, and he draws a slow inhale through his nose.

“Tell me to go,” he repeats, taking another cautious step forward. “And I’ll go.”

Instead of responding, you press your lips together and take a step back into the stall.

Kino follows in a danceless tango, pressing forward. Both of you continue to walk until you run out of room — your back hits the cool tiles of the shower wall, caging you in. He stops as soon as he’s toe to toe with you. His hands never leave his side.

“I’m begging you,” he murmurs in the safety of privacy, and his voice betrays that crack of resolve, “to tell me to go.”

A beat passes.

You feel as though you can’t breathe.

Wordlessly your hand rises and reaches for the shower dial, turning the knob until water spouts beyond the both of you. The water ignites a white noise, encompassing the stall. The droplets of water speckle wet dots along the shoulders of your uniforms.

“Don’t.”

His brow shifts with a hint of confusion when you speak, voice trembling.

“Don’t go.”

They’re the only two words Kino needs to hear.

His hands release from fists at his side and raise, attacking either side of your face to pull you into a grueling kiss as his body propels yours into the wall.

The way he presses his lips to you is nothing like the moment in your cell a month before. This is feral, mashing teeth and lips and skin wherever he can touch. His hands disappear from your face to duck lower, scrambling to draw under your damp uniform shirt to feel — your hips, your sides, the curve of your breasts.

He’s an animal unleashed.

(I want to burn with you.)

The sensation of his thumbs brushing along your ribcage forces you to hold your breath, avoiding a loud moan from filling up the shower room. They press, pushing you into place as he pulls away from your mouth and drops out of sight.

Kino Loy kneels, just as he did all those weeks ago, and drags your uniform down with him. Suddenly you’re very aware that he’s face to face with a half-naked version of you, but he doesn’t give you time to think.

There isn’t any time at all.

“What you did last night… cruel. So bloody cruel,” he muses, urging you to step one foot out of your pant leg, then another. You oblige. “Knowing I couldn’t touch you.” His hands glide up your calves to your thighs, widening your stance. His thumbs part your lips, exposing your wetness to him. “Knowing I couldn’t taste you.”

You swallow thickly. "I needed to get your attention somehow."

"You've always got my attention," he responds, admiring the sight in front of him. "No matter where you are, it's always you."

“Kin—”

The last syllable of his name is lost in a gasp when he dives in, latching his lips around your clit with an insatiable tongue. You use the walls of the small shower stall to keep yourself stable. He moans below you, low and rumbled, before swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

Below, the sight is filthy. Kino looks up at you while his mouth greedily finds what makes your thighs tremble. He takes, and takes, and takes; as if it’s his last meal he’ll ever have on Narkina 5.

If you die this way, then you’re certain it would have been worth it.

Familiar crests of pleasure begin to build in waves, shocking your body in a different way to the electric you’ve come to know. Kino removes a hand to test the waters, sliding through your slit as he finds your entrance with the tip of his index finger.

He loses his brutal rhythm to catch his breath, ragged and broken.

“You’re fucking dripping,” he murmurs as if in awe of the discovery. “S’this all for me?”

(As if he cannot believe it’s because of him.)

“It was just as bad last night,” you admit just as small, bucking your hips into his teasing fingers. “When I imagined it was you.”

"You imagine me often?"

"All the time," you answer, and he squeezes your outer thigh with a curse under his breath. "But I need more than this."

"More?" he chuckles and slowly pushes a finger inside of you. "Like this?"

You buck into it with a choked whine. "You know what I mean."

“I do know, but I will warn you that I won’t last long, love,” he speaks into the softness of your thighs, kissing the inner parts of them with pure adoration. “I want this to be good for you.”

You laugh breathlessly, dropping your head back to the wall. “This is already good for me. Just shut up and fuck me.”

Kino leaves a brief love bite to your inner thigh at your demand, but rises back to a stance. His fingers replace where his mouth was, teasing your clit in agonizingly slow circles.

“What do you want?” he asks, looking you straight on with that authoritative gaze. “I need to hear you say how you want to be fucked.” Your knees grow weak. “How you want to cum.”

Feeling useless with your hands not doing much of anything, you scramble to push his uniform down his hips to release his aching cock. Your hand curls around him, earning a hiss of need from the older man.

“I want to watch,” you reply, pumping him with the same slow intent. “I want to see you when I do.”

Kino’s jaw tenses as he nods, slipping his hand from you in order to position both hands around your thighs. “Might want to hold on, then.”

And with that he lifts you like you’re nothing, the muscles of his arms prominent now in the dampened white shirt that’s practically translucent from the water. You wrap your right arm around his shoulders while your left hand presses flat to the stall.

But he stops.

He stops, and your body’s screaming at what little time is left before the rest of the barrack figures out you’re both gone.

He tries to find his breath, fails, and blinks up at you.

The older man’s eyes are nearly black, pupils blown with desire.

“Are you s—”

“Please stop asking stupid fucking questions,” you interrupt, pressing your lips against his for emphasis of consent. Kino takes this with a buttery groan, lining up his cock while pressing the both of you flush to the wall for stability.

You’ve never felt a more delicious sensation of your life when he pushes forward and stretches you, fully and properly, burying himself to the hilt.

The noise that escapes your mouth is abrupt, a squeak at best, and he captures your lips in another kiss to quiet you before slamming his hips into yours.

Over and over he fucks up into you, pushing his wet chest into yours, and offers no mercy. Rough, pointed, with a passion unmatched; Kino gives you everything he has, brutal in the snap of his hips.

You were already close from before, but now the sheer image of this happening — that Kino Loy, day shift manager of Unit Five-Two-D, is fucking you senselessly in the shower stall of the Narkina 5 barracks — is too much.

You whimper into his mouth, voice heightening as each thrust brings you closer to the edge. He whispers obscenities against your mouth just as you fantasized; how badly he’s wanted to do this; how much he’s thought about fucking you, making love to you, being everything you need in a man; how he’ll spend all his days as a free man between your legs if you’ll have him.

It’s too much.

You can’t even warn him when you come.

All you can do is yelp when your walls clamp down on him, orgasm shattering your body into seismic trembles. He catches your mouth with his to swallow your cries, erratic in his own thrust until he meets you and lets go.

Kino follows you over the edge, arms trembling to hold you until his hips still, cock still twitching inside of you.

There it is.

The point of no return, reached.

You pull away to find air, painfully aware of the steam overtaking the shower.

They’re going to know.

(They’ve always known.)

When he gently glides you off of him and back down to Earth, you remain with your foreheads pressed to one another’s in the search for shared air. Your feet touch the water-soaked floor where half of your uniforms lay crumpled in a heap.

Kino Loy snakes a hand up and around your head, pulling you in for one final, decisive kiss. When he pulls away, it’s a mere centimeter.

He speaks, low with authority and crackled with ruin.

“You’re mine.”

You reply, just as low and just as ruined.

“I’m yours.”

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