#narkina guards

[andorshitdaily]

new shitposts because i'm bored and nothing matters

[fallenrocket]

My god, Cassian is just so young in season 1 of Andor. On this last rewatch, it kept jumping out at me everywhere. Especially at the start of the show, which makes sense--he goes through a pretty intense education over the course of the season and transforms before our eyes. But there's just so much in Cassian that comes from being young, traumatized, and desperate.

We see it in his moments of unabashed fear, like when he's stopped by the two corpos in the pilot, the first time he sees the TIE fighter fly past on Aldhani, or as the prison transport takes off for Narkina 5. Even when he tries to hide it, we can see it in his eyes, the parts of him that are still that scared kid from Kenari.

We see it in the chip he has on his shoulder, like the attitude he cops with Luthen in their first meeting: "I don't know you." He's not just guarded and distrustful, he kind of actively resents this guy trying to get too familiar with him. When he's scared, uncertain, or guilty, he tends to push others away, a product of having to fight most of his life and of losing many of the things and people he's cared about. I also think of him coldly telling Bix, "You won't have to worry about me anymore," at the end of their argument in "Announcement."

And yet, by the same token, he can also be surprisingly open and earnest in his affections. For me, this is most apparent in his scenes with Maarva in "Announcement." There, we see his naive optimism that the money he got from Aldhani can solve all their problems. He's so buoyant and hopeful and loving as he suggests running away, saying, "What do we need but the three of us?" Later in the episode, we see that same naivety when he insists, "We'll find a place they haven't ruined yet." But it crops up in other places too. On Aldhani, he chooses Clem's name as his pseudonym, even though he already realizes Luthen has a lot of intel on him and will probably recognize it--in that moment, his distrust of Luthen is outweighed by his desire to go into this dangerous mission carrying a small piece of his dad with him. Then there's that beautiful hug with Brasso in "Rix Road," especially those few extra beats past when you'd expect them to part. When he hugs Melshi in the previous episode, Cassian is rushed, on the brink of falling apart and not wanting Melshi to see. But with Brasso, Cassian needs that touch for a few extra seconds, and he's not afraid to hold on a little longer.

Most of Cassian's dumbest mistakes in the season are very youthful ones. He's an incredibly smart and observant guy, so he's not dumb very often, but when he is, it tends to come back to being young, traumatized, and desperate. We see this especially in the opening Ferrix arc: insisting on bringing an unsecured comm to his meeting with Luthen (oh my god, the way he bickers with B2EMO about them beforehand!) and trying to go back for the starpath unit when the shit hits the fan, even after Luthen repeatedly tells him to leave it. With the starpath unit, part of it is naivety--"What if it's just one guy left?"--and part of it is growing up poor and scrappy. This box represents more money than he's ever had at any one time, and he simply can't process the idea that his buyer would just leave it behind.

Finally, every now and then, Cassian has this subtle but impeccable "little shit" energy. We definitely see it when he messes with Timm in the pilot, deliberately goading him instead of trying to defuse the situation when he sees that Timm is jealous. It's a dumb, petty moment of cheap satisfaction that winds up with some intense blowback when Timm IDs him to Pre-Mor. And I love Cassian's refusal to give up on Kino on Narkina 5, always believing he can be brought into the fold no matter how many times Kino tells him to forget about it. It's a great reflection of how Cassian rejects the Empire's attempts to divide the inmates by pitting them against each other, but part of why he's able to keep at it is his annoying-kid tenacity. I love the scene where Kino brushes him off by saying how many shifts he has left and Cassian immediately responds with, "So...tell me what you know before you go."

It's simply wild to compare the Cassian we see in "Kassa" to the one in "Rix Road." He goes through so much in twelve episodes and really comes into his own, and it's fantastic to see some of the qualities he displays in Rogue One starting to peek through. He's already come so far in his character growth--I cannot wait to see how season 2 gets us from "Rix Road" to Rogue One!

Oh yeah, and Diego Luna is simply stunning. You can really feel how he traced Cassian's life backwards to this point, see how different the Cassian of "Kassa" is from the Cassian of Rogue One and yet still fully believe that this is the same character. All the little hints he drops, all the tiny moments where you can see Rogue One Cassian starting to gestate. It's such beautiful, brilliant work!

[bisexualwintermoon]

thinking abt andor again, specifically mon’s apartment & narkina 5, and how both of them are shades of white. thinking abt how narkina 5 is a prison, but the prisoners can talk to each other and the guards don’t really listen, but they have to stay on the schedule the guards give them, or else the floor gets turned on. thinking abt how mon is free, and can go where she wants when she wants, but nearly every word she says is overheard and scrutinized and reported back to the isb to see if she can be caught aiding the rebellion. thinking about how the empire builds more than one kind of prison.

[elwenyere]

I’ve been watching the Narkina 5 arc again (for science), and what’s striking me on this, my [redacted] rewatch are all the little ways the show suggests that the prison has actually failed to produce the standardized behavior it claims to achieve. There are so many subtle variations in the “on program” posture, for example: some prisoners with their fingers fully linked, some with their hands barely touching their heads, some with shirts riding up because one size does not actually fit all. The lines they stand in are never quite straight, the work arrangements at each table are always in flux, with positions being rebalanced as people leave or arrive or fall ill. 

Of course, the make-shift nature of the revolt in 1.10 will bring all these little ungovernable differences very dramatically to the surface, but I love the way the cracks in the facade of control are there all along. The “program,” as Nemik’s manifesto will suggest, is unnatural. No matter how high they crank the heat on the batons or on the floors, the guards can’t iron away the texture of the lives they attempt to functionalize. And that’s part of why they fail to account for the possibility that just one single wrinkle - one prisoner sent back, one desperate attempt at regaining control, one new guy with a theory of power and some organizing skills - will be enough to create the leak that becomes a flood.

[hegodamask]

“It’s clear you need Andor in order to find his partner. It’s also clear that this is more important than the death of two corporate security guards. I could be a valuable asset going forward.”

ANDOR - S01E08 Narkina 5

[tarabyte3]

Title: Wants, Needs, and Clerical Errors

Fandom: Andor

Characters/Pairings: Kino Loy, Kino Loy x F!Reader

Chapters: 1/3 (6.9k words)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

AO3 link | Playlist

Summary: You're only on Narkina 5 due to a mistake on your transfer paperwork and no one in charge seems to care. The work is horrific and being the only woman there is a nightmare, but Kino Loy is... intriguing. (Okay, he's hot. He's very hot.)

Tags: Explicit rating, smut, prison, prison sex, sex, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, attempted sexual assault, fear of sexual assault, violence, blood, minor character death, fluff, happy ending

A/N: This fic was my first Reader darling. 🥺 It was only supposed to be a one shot, but people enjoyed it and I wanted to keep writing Kino fic so it ended up being 3 chapters instead. When I was finished, I realized that I had wanted/intended to write Dom!Kino, but that never came to fruition. The tone ended up being more romantic and sweet, and it just never happened. Which is how I ended up writing I Want You to Show Me Weak. So you can see the progression from this to Show Me Weak, if you're so inclined.

Chapter 1

Your transfer was a mistake.

Somewhere, some desk jockey—some worthless Imperial lackey—had been filing the paperwork for the transfer you should have been given, and they marked the wrong box.

A simple mistake. Likely one with a fix just as simple. All the guards knew you clearly hadn't arrived at the correct prison. The problem was that none of them cared enough to fix it.

Fixing things made waves, waves got attention, and too much attention was bad. They all feared it. Besides, who would know you were tucked away in the wrong spot? One prisoner amongst thousands. Hundreds of thousands, maybe. Who would care? So none of them said a word as you were led across the waves of Narkina 5 lapping below, through the doors, and into the intake room.

At least most of the guards had the decency to look away as you changed into your new uniform. The only one who didn't laughed as you removed your shirt and said, "At least she looks like she'll keep up." One of the others shushed him, but for the first time it had occurred to you to wonder where you had ended up instead.

Your legs were still jelly from the electric floor demonstration when you emerged onto the walkway of your station. Your new home for the next two years. Your old prison had been dank, dark, and violent. Sometimes the inmates had been just as cruel as the guards were all of the time. So the bright lights and the spotless white interior were almost painful to your ill adjusted eyes.

At the sound of the doors opening and the guards shouting for attention, dozens of heads turned in your direction. There was a heartbeat of shocked silence, like a deep inhale, and then the large room erupted in whispers and murmurs of confusion and disbelief. You expected the guards to scream for quiet and order, but it was a voice from below that yelled out instead.

"Quiet! New man on the floor!" The voices faded almost immediately. "Hold your positions!"

The guard behind you gave you a rough shove forward. "Onto the lift!" Your hands moved instinctively from behind your head to reach out and stop yourself from falling, but you remembered the threats of pain and death. Instead you quickly placed your hands back into position, caught your footing, and walked to the platform. You expected a shock anyway because it was a universal truth that guards reveled in cruelty.

Closer now you could see over the railing and below at all of the bewildered faces that stared up at you from around work stations. They were all worn, but surprisingly scrubbed as clean as the building's interior. Everything there was unnaturally clean. Sterile.

Then you saw a man standing away from the rest, and you realized he must have been the one that yelled. To be honest, you were expecting another guard, but he was a prisoner wearing the same uniform you were. He filled in the clothes much better than you did, though. Especially around the shoulders where the top exposed more of your collarbone than was comfortable. He was older than you—by more than a decade or two, at least—his hair was greying, he had a short salt and pepper beard, and his bright blue eyes stared up at you with an unreadable expression. His posture was rigid, his face stern, and he was, a traitorous voice in your mind supplied, very attractive.

You rode the platform down with as much dignity as you could muster, and you could feel every eye in the room glued to you. But you ignored all of them save one. You stared down at that stoic man until you were finally eye to eye with him, the lift stopping with a light thump of contact. The guard didn't even have to force you off. You were moving the second it stopped, eager to be away from him and the electric prod he carried, and you didn't stop walking until you were standing before this new man, both of you facing each other in identical positions. On program. He was shorter than you expected, and he looked at you passively.

"Name." Is all he said.

"Why am I here?" You asked him. Your voice was not as steady as you had hoped for a first impression. You wanted to appear as unflappable as he did. You were, after all, trapped in a room full of men and a quickly retreating guard. The last thing you wanted to be seen as was vulnerable.

But he didn't answer you. Instead he said, "This is Unit Five-Two-D. Level five, room two, the D is for Day shift. Seven levels of factory, seven rooms per level, seven tables per room, seven men at each table. My name is Kino Loy. I'm the Five-Two-D unit manager. The forty-nine men in this room answer to me. Name."

"I'm not a man." Being there was disorienting, and you hadn't figured out how to navigate your new situation yet. You hoped that at any moment someone would fix the terrible mistake that had been made and take you back up. Then you would be moved to the place you were supposed to be and this would be over. The man before you and that white room, nothing more than a memory. The lift behind you stopped at its destination. It settled with a click of finality, and you knew that wouldn't be the case.

Kino's jaw clenched. "Doesn't matter. You're mine now. Name."

Something fluttered in your chest. A confusing mix of lust and fear. So you blurted out your name without much thought, and a crack appeared in his carefully constructed mask. For a brief moment, you saw confusion, concern, and an echo of your own fear. But then the doors closing above snapped him out of it and he barked, "Off program! Back to work."

Your first few weeks were exhausting. Your muscles ached, your joints creaked, and anything that could feel stiff did—especially your back. Otherwise you had remained safe and whole. For the most part. Certainly, men stared and gaped at you, some more shamelessly than others. Only once had one of them tried to approach you in the dormitory hall, but Kino was there in an instant and the man was shoved into the wall, Kino's forearm to his throat, and told in no uncertain terms, "Leave her alone." His voice was loud enough that it was clear he was speaking to everyone. The others seemed to listen. For the time being.

The men at your station had grumbled when you took your place, which was less than you expected, but they were soon quiet. Not with respect, but satisfaction that you didn't seem to slow them down at least. So maybe your table didn't finish first, but you avoided the bottom few spots and the shock that came with last place.

Average. Unassuming. Overlooked. That was the perfect spot for you to be in to draw as little attention to yourself as possible.

Except that, several times when you had looked around, you caught Kino Loy staring.

The first few times he quickly glanced away and down at his tablet, the shyness contradictory to his stern demeanor, but the more you caught him, the longer his gaze lingered. You stared back until the men at your station shouted at you to hurry up. You scrambled to get a part in place, and when you went to look back at him, he had already returned to pacing around the room like nothing had happened.

Maybe nothing had. Maybe you were reading into things and he was just keeping an eye on you as the newest person on his team. Maybe he just hadn't seen a woman in so long that you were as much a novelty to him as you were to the others. Maybe he was disappointed you had ended up on his floor and his shift. His problem.

Or maybe he felt the same stirring in his gut when he looked at you as you did when you looked at him. Maybe there was something there.

Then the two of you were alone in the cell hallway. Not alone alone because no one was ever truly alone in the hallway, but there was an empty bubble of space around you, one that felt intentional, and that was close enough to the same thing. So you closed the distance between you, and he looked surprised to see you standing there at his side.

"What is it?" His voice was always so gruff that it made you shiver.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to speak while you had his full attention. "I know my presence here isn't making your life any easier. I'm sorry about that." You leaned forward a little closer to him and lowered your voice so anyone eavesdropping nearby would be unable to hear, "But I never thanked you for the other day. I appreciate feeling as though I can at least exist in here like everyone else."

"Good." His jaw clenched, something he did a lot around you, like he didn't want to be talking to you at all and every response pained him. You suspected he didn't know how to treat you, the outlier, and you desperately wanted that to change. "You are part of this team and should be able to do your job, and you're a distraction. I put a stop to it. We can't afford a distraction."

"No." You glanced down the hall to the nearest man, and then back to him before leaning even closer so your faces were mere inches apart. "I don't want to distract them, though." His nostrils flared slightly, indicating he'd caught the double meaning of your words. He turned to look in the same direction you had, really ensuring no one was paying attention then. "It really isn't on purpose. I swear. I'm just trying to get by. Besides, I'm not even supposed to be here. Obviously."

Something in his face softened to a cautious interest. "No, you aren't."

You smiled up at him from beneath your lashes. The alien, sterile walls were foreign enough that you didn't feel quite like yourself. That made you feel bold and so you pushed. "I'm glad I ended up on your shift, at least."

For the first time, he leaned away from you and that hurt. "You could do with being a little less distracted yourself. Your numbers could be better. Your table fell to fifth place today, and I don't like my shift coming in third."

That hurt made a flush of anger rise from your belly. HE was the one distracting you, after all. "Me?! I do better than half of the men in here!"

His eyes narrowed dangerously and his voice became harsh as his supervisor's mask slid into place. "And yet you could do better. You know it. I know it. Now go to your cell."

You gaped at him in shock for a moment, unsure of what you had done to earn such a harsh dismissal, but then you retreated as he turned his back to you. It felt embarrassingly reminiscent of being sent to your room as a child with no dinner. There were tears of rage and wounded pride in your eyes, and you curled up alone on the hard cot, left to lick your wounds until lights out.

Or maybe it had meant nothing, indeed.

The next day a man died.

He'd been sick for a while, his body slowing down and his face growing pale and gaunt. The rest of his table had scrambled to keep up. They still finished last nearly every day, and the repeated shocks were wearing on them. Then he collapsed and was rushed out of the room by Kino and another man, and he never returned. 

You heard the whispers that he'd suffered a fatal heart attack. Probably from all the shocks. He should have had treatment long before then, but no one got treatment until they couldn't work. You weren't people here, you knew. You were numbers and that was all that mattered to the Empire.

Kino was angry for days afterwards. He shouted and hurled instructions as he walked around the room, and not even a new man on the floor to pick up the slack improved his mood. You watched him carefully, followed him with your eyes as he stalked about. He didn't look back.

Your table came in sixth place. The closest you had gotten to the bottom of the rankings those long months. You felt a little guilty for letting your group down, but you knew you could pick up the pace a little the next day to make it up to them.

But Kino cornered you in the locker room after your shift and shouted at you. The rest of the men scrambled out, desperate to avoid drawing his ire as well. He waited until they were gone and then he leveled you with the full force of his outrage.

"What in the hell are you thinking? I told you to stop being distracted!" His raised voice echoed in the empty space—truly empty this time. No one was watching or listening.

So you let your guard down. "I was worried about you!"

In the blink of an eye, he had you pinned to the wall. It wasn't forceful and his grip on your shoulders wasn't tight enough to be painful, but the sudden connection with the wall rattled you. It was also the first time he had touched you. "Me?! You should be worried about yourself!"

That close you saw his bloodshot eyes, the stress lines on his face, and he looked tired despite the anger. You could truly see the man that was under an extreme amount of pressure behind the manager facade. The man you wanted to comfort, and to see more of because he intrigued you desperately. "I'm fine," you responded, your voice careful and reassuring. "You're the one grieving." Your face softened and you reached a hand up to rest on his arm. It fit neatly in the crook of his elbow. "You really care about everyone here, don't you?"

Whatever reaction you were hoping for wasn't the one you received. That anger bubbled further up to the surface and his voice became harsh and low. "What are you playing at? Hmm? What do you want? Are you trying to flirt with me so I'll protect you? Do you think there's anything I can do for you? Look around you! We're all trapped here, including me!"

"No!" You quickly removed your hand, scared that you had overstepped. "I would never—I pull my weight! I work and I don't complain. My table has never come in last the entire time I've been here. I've never even asked for special treatment despite being a woman stuck here with forty eight men!" You were horrified to realize there were hot tears gathering in your eyes, so you reached a hand up, the same one that had just touched him moments before, and wiped angrily at the moisture. "If that's what I wanted, don't you think I would have flirted harder? Offered myself to you?"

He quickly and unconsciously licked his lips as though the idea were appealing, but said nothing. Your eyes were drawn to the wetness left behind, and knew then you had been right. There was something there. Without much thought, you pressed yourself away from the wall and closer to him. You could feel the heat of him radiating through both of your uniforms, the rage and lust rolling off him in equal waves. You knew he was just as prepared to push you aside as he was to grind his hips against you.

You leaned to whisper into his ear. "That's not what I want from you. The offer is there, however. No strings. Just me."

He surged towards your neck. Not to kiss or lick or bite like your body desperately wanted him to, but to bury his nose behind your ear and inhale your scent. His larger hands moved to grip at your hips, and this time it did hurt, but there was an echoing throb between your legs.

"Kino," you moaned.

The sound of his name broke whatever courage he had worked up, and just as quickly as he had been pressed up against you, he was three feet away from you. His uniform was rumpled and there was loss and agony on his face. "No! We can't. This can never happen." He choked. "I'm sorry." And then he ran for the cell block, leaving you confused and hurt, aroused and panting, and alone.

The next day, in your quiet moping and distraction, you weren't as careful as you should have been. Kino had been avoiding you all day. Had even given your table a wide berth. So when one of your fellow inmates—someone from table two, you thought—had snuck up on you and grabbed your arm, it took you a moment to cry out.

He began dragging you to a cell when your instincts kicked in. You thrashed in his grasp, kicked at his legs, and swung your fists at him. A few solid blows landed on his arm and stomach, but it didn't stop him. Just slowed him down. You screamed for help from one of the several men standing around you, watching.

None of them moved. Some looked on with concern and disgust, some with disinterest, but there were more interested faces than you would have hoped for or expected after how hard you had worked to be included. To feel like a member of the team.

You were shoved into a lower cell, your hope and fight beginning to fade, but you were still waiting for him to get closer. Waiting for him to climb on top of you so you could go for his eyes and throat, when there was the sudden pounding of barefooted steps sprinting down the hall. Hands appeared behind your attacker and then he was being pulled away and tossed to the floor. Kino was there with his back to you, body tense with rage, and standing between you and the rest of them.

"Don't you fucking touch her." He hissed at the man on the ground, and then he pointed a finger around at the bystanders. "Any of you! Or I'll kill you."

You should have been grateful. You were grateful, but you'd had this. You didn't want anyone to think that you couldn't save yourself from pieces of shit like him. There was a detached fury beginning to itch below your skin. You climbed out of the cell, body stiff and trembling, and brushed past Kino. He looked at you with shock and confusion, but he made no move to stop you. You took another two steps to stand over the man that had attacked you, and he looked up at you hesitantly.

And then you began to swing your fists at his prone form, each blow aiming for his face and neck. Desperate to hurt him more than he had hurt you, and after so much labor there was power behind each punch. There was a scream of rage, then, and you realized, distantly, it was coming from you. Just as you realized your fists had begun to hurt and there was blood all over. It was splattered on the floor and wall, on your sleeve, and the front of your uniform. But more importantly, the man below you was covered in it. He cried out—meaningless, whimpered apologies and pleas to stop. Finally there was the hand of another inmate grabbing at you, to stop your attack, but you slapped it away as you finally yielded and stood up.

You looked around at all the gaping faces, your chest heaving with exertion and your expression wild. "If any of you fucking touches me ever again, I'll kill you myself." A few nodded their understanding. Several others had the decency to look ashamed and didn't meet your eyes.

Then you turned to face Kino, shaking your hand against the pain that was finally beginning to register as the adrenaline wore off. "Told you that's not what I wanted."

You knew your hair was a mess, and you were sweaty and red-faced, but the expression he gave you was a mixture of awe and want. Anyone looking, and several of the men were, could see it on his face. "I see that." Then without taking his eyes off of you, he yelled out. "On fucking position! All of you, right now!" And then Kino Loy, the Five-Two-D Unit Manager, took over and moved to bark out orders. "Get to your cells!"

The next day you were moved to the top half of his cell. The number on the panel reflected your sentence when you stepped in and you knew he had gone through official channels for it, though you couldn't imagine how that conversation had gone. To the others it was a statement. A warning that you had his support, even if that meant you would beat them bloody.

To you it was an apology.

During your 12-hour shift, you didn't turn to look for him. You didn't have to. He was constantly in your field of vision. Hovering just where you could sense his presence and feel his gaze on you. Every time your eyes met his, you felt a thrill at the way things had shifted between you.

You worked harder that day than you ever had before, even with a sore hand and scraped knuckles. Several of the other men at your table had to push themselves to match your pace, and you snapped at them for slowing you down. A few tables away, the man that had attacked you worked with one eye black and blue, one eye swollen shut, a split lip, a bruised jaw, and what was very likely a broken nose. A visual reminder that kept the muttering about your speed to a minimum.

Your table came in second place, only a few units behind the lead. Your group was exhausted, but the happiest you'd ever seen them. One of them even patted you on the shoulder with a grin. It felt like respect. Finally. Tomorrow you would be first, you promised yourself.

You took your time in the locker room, though. For the first time, you were not rushing out of fear. Even the open shower stall felt different. More relaxing and soothing than a cold, inhospitable necessity. You would still be locked up in there for many more months of hard labor, but you felt as though you finally had some power and agency over your own being. It was intoxicating.

Almost as intoxicating as wondering where Kino was at that moment, while you stood nude and wet under the spray. You realized you had never seen him change or in anything less than a full work uniform. You didn't think you could miss Kino Loy shirtless or ever get the image out of your mind if you had, but you also kept your head down and hurried in and out as quickly as you could before. Done the bare minimum out of self preservation. You imagined what he would look like under the careful layer of his clothing and if you might get to see for yourself one day.

You glanced around the room. A few men quickly looked away and scrambled out of the showers, pulling a thin prison issued towel with them. They were all terrified at being caught looking now. You couldn't help the tiny smirk on your face. Good. There were only a few stragglers left that were, delightedly, paying you no attention, and even they were finishing up and moving towards the exit to get dressed. But no Kino.

You tried to hide your disappointment by facing the wall and reluctantly turning off the faucet. You hadn't truly been waiting for him anyway, so there was no point in doing so now, you told yourself. Plus, it was getting late. When you started wringing the excess water from your hair, there was a voice from the open doorway.

"You're taking a long time."

You jumped, your heart skipping with panic, and instinctively placed your hands over your nudity. Prison was still dangerous, after all, and maybe you had been too careless. But then you quickly recognized the speaker, and, with a laugh, turned to face Kino. "I thought I earned it." Then you stepped out of the stall into the open shower room.

He fought it for a moment, kept his attention on your face, and you thought that was admirable, like everything else about him. But it was only a moment, and then his eyes were trailing down your body like the trails of water still dripping from you onto the metal paneled floor. His gaze lingered over your breasts, hips, and longer still at the mound between your legs. You knew labor had toned you and accentuated the curve of your waist, none of which was obvious in uniform. A fact for which you had been grateful for before, but you also knew it had hidden your body from him. The one man you had wanted to look.

"Yes you have," he said, distracted, and shifted from the doorway to fully face you—and maybe to block the view from the locker room. His face and neck were flushed and you wondered how far down that blush went.

"Did you still need to shower?" You took another step toward him, the distance between you no more than ten feet now, and he looked up at you confused.

"Shower?"

"Yes. The thing I was just doing, and why I'm standing here wet and out of uniform." He sucked in a shaky breath of air and his hand twitched at his side.

"Oh. I suppose I do." He was a wire pulled taught with nerves and lust, and he seemed ready to snap at any moment. That you could reduce such a strong, sober man to this? A man that intrigued you the first time you laid eyes on him? Nothing, you were convinced, could feel more intoxicating—more powerful —than that.

"Mine's free." You innocently stepped to the side.

"I see that." He ran a slightly trembling hand through his hair, which was left tousled, but didn't move any closer.

It was too much too soon, you realized. He may have accepted that you had no interest in the fact that he was the shift manager, but that didn't mean he was ready to jump straight into, well, you. "Sorry," you hunched your shoulders and scampered over to grab a clean towel. "This was rude of me. I should give you some privacy." You had it unfolded and clutched to you by the time he seemed to snap out of his daze.

"Wait!" He took another step into the room, finally beyond the threshold. "Don't feel rushed because of me. You did earn it, after all."

You smiled fondly at him and wrapped the towel around your chest. It was rough and stiff, and smelled strongly of the same disinfectant that clung to every surface there, but it was clean. And more importantly, it was a barrier between you for the moment. "It's okay. I was finished anyway." You looked down at your bare feet to avoid meeting his gaze, feeling suddenly ridiculous. "I want you to know…you finding me still in here? It wasn't intentional. My lack of modesty when you did, though?" You let out a nervous laugh and smiled up at him. "That was hasty improvisation on my part." You tightened the towel farther around your chest. It barely reached your knees. "I just don't know how to navigate this now without rushing into something, I suppose."

He stared at you. The nerves that had been there on his face and in his posture just a minute before had vanished at the shift in your tone. It had relaxed him, like you hoped. "I suppose I don't either. I suppose I'm afraid."

His admission caught you off guard. "What are you afraid of? That we'll get caught by the guards?"

He shook his head with a self deprecating chuckle and took another step closer. "No, though I suppose I should be. But they don't care what goes on in here as long as the work gets done and we stay compliant."

"What, then? What could you be afraid of?"

"You." He said simply.

"Me?" Your brows furrowed in confusion. "Because of what happened yesterday? Because I didn't mean you! You're allowed—"

"No," he interrupted you and moved forward another step. "Because something could happen to you. Not just as a member of my team. To you." You gave him a soft smile and opened your mouth to say something, but he continued. "Because you might see what's under my uniform and change your mind. I'm older than you and I know I'm not much to look at anymore."

You let out a scoff of disbelief before you could stop it. "Not much…Kino Loy, you are many things, but I never took you for an idiot." You loosened the towel from around your body and tossed it to the floor. It likely landed in a puddle, but you didn't care. Now fully nude again, you walked towards him, slowly, giving him a chance to retreat or tell you to stop if he wanted.

He didn't.

By the time you reached him, he was blushing again and his mouth was parted as he stared at you with hunger. "I want to touch and kiss and lick every inch of what is under that uniform. I don't care if you have a slight belly. I don't care that you're older. I don't care that—" You didn't get to finish your sentence because suddenly his mouth was on yours and the relief made you so lightheaded your knees buckled. Then his hands were grabbing your hips, keeping you steady, holding you there so he could slip his tongue into your eager mouth. You wrapped an arm around his neck and placed your other hand on his jaw so you could feel the stubble under your fingertips. Feel the way his muscles shifted as his lips moved against yours.

He kissed you with as much passion and confidence as he had when he stalked around the work floor. He kissed like a man in charge and a man desperate for freedom. He kissed you like you weren't in the shower room of a prison. And just when you had a moment of clarity to consider that you were standing there with him because of a single clerical error, he moved his hands to your thighs and hoisted you off the ground. You gasped into his mouth from the shock, and he walked you back—with ease, you noted—into your recently used shower stall. Your bare skin met the still wet tile with a soft slap.

Before you could register the cold, he pressed himself against you. The bulge of his arousal was suddenly very obvious as it was pinned against your thigh. You moaned at the sensation, which finally broke the kiss, and tried to grind your hips onto him, desperately seeking any kind of friction. Then he once again buried his face into your neck, but this time he kissed and licked along every bit of damp skin he could reach.

"We don't have time to do everything I want to do to you." His gravelly voice was muffled against your neck. "Probably fifteen minutes now, at most."

You pushed on his shoulder, forcing him to look at you. "Then you'd better finally take your clothes off."

He nodded absent mindedly as he set you down. His hands went to the hem of his shirt and he began to tug it up and over his head. The second there was bare skin, your hands were on him, groping and mapping your way across his body. He wasn't thin and corded with rippling muscles. You hadn't expected or wanted him to be. He had a soft belly, thick chest and arms, and under that was hard muscle from long working hours. He was warm and solid beneath your palms. The hair on his chest was starting to grey, and it led a messy trail down his stomach. You felt a swell of arousal between your legs as you ran your fingers through it, and you groaned loudly in the empty room.

You looked up into his face and opened your mouth to say something. To reassure him, to tell him how sexy he was, that you had never been so turned on. All true things. But the words died in your throat. Instead you slipped a finger into the waistband of his pants and said, "Pants. Now."

You stepped backwards to give him some room as he scrambled to push them down—and also to see what else he uncovered. His legs were just as sturdy as his arms, but you could see the curves of muscle in his thighs and calves. He was strong, and the thought of what he could do to you, only with your consent, made you whimper. His erection was thick—the entire length a flushed, deep red and the head was already leaking with anticipation.

Gazing over his entire body, you noted every inch of it suited him perfectly. Your very first observation of him was correct: He was, indeed, very fucking attractive. But he was shifting self-consciously before you, so you reached out and grasped him with your hand, and gave his length a few long, torturous strokes. Felt him twitch and throb in your grip. You were rewarded with a strangled, "fuck!"

You licked your lips and had to remind yourself that you didn't have time to fall to your knees and take him into your mouth. To feel his fingers tangled in your hair and tugging as you worked the swollen head with your tongue. To taste him and hear him moaning above you. That would, hopefully, come later. Though the thought would also keep you company later that night in your cell. The one directly above his, you remembered. 

"Kino Loy, you are what I want." You leaned close so that your lips were almost touching the shell of his ear. "But right now I need you to fuck me."

With a growl, you were once again lifted off of the floor and along the wall. He only stopped to adjust so your legs were hooked over his arms, giving you both leverage and leaving you spread open for him. You half expected him to fill you in one forceful plunge, but instead he pressed himself against your folds and thrust against you, coating himself in your wetness and giving you that delicious friction you so desperately wanted.

You both watched in awe and disbelief at where you were touching and sliding together, like you couldn't believe you could have this because the world had been cruel up to that point. The slick sound was filthy in the empty room. He shifted the angle, which put more pressure on your bundle of nerves, and you let out a sob of approval.

He kept up the movement until your legs began to tremble uncontrollably as the tension built inside of you. You were on that precipice of delirium, so close to the edge. So when another dribble of precome leaked from the head of his cock and, with his next thrust, was dragged along your slit, your body stiffened—preparing for that free fall into rapture—and then you were gone. Lost in the wake of your orgasm, drowning in the waves that rolled from your belly, down your legs, and to your toes. Your hips bucked against him of their own accord, each rub of your clit sending one more ripple of pleasure through you.

Only when you were begging, saying his name over and over again like a mantra, did he straighten himself with his hand, line up against your entrance, and finally—finally—fill you completely.

If anyone was standing nearby in the hallway, they definitely heard his satisfied groan and your cry of relief. He stayed there for a few seconds to adjust, fully sheathed inside of you, and feeling you pulse aftershocks around him. He placed a few breathless kisses along your cheek and jaw. But then all pretense of gentleness and patience were gone and he began to fuck you so hard, your back slid a few inches along the slippery wall every time his hips met yours.

He growled obscenities into your hair as he continued to thrust into you. Told you how good you felt and how badly he had wanted this, wanted you, for months. That you were his. That every moment he wasn't buried inside of you didn't matter anymore.

He told you that he wanted to fuck you against every surface in that godforsaken place. That the second he laid eyes on you, he should have scooped you up, taken you to the locker room, and buried his face between your legs until you screamed and came on his tongue. He wanted you on your hands and knees and on display in front of him. He wanted you in his lap and riding his cock. He wanted to tie you up until you begged and then make you come so many times that it drove you mad. He wanted you to choke on him as he fucked your throat.

He whispered until your head was full of so many filthy thoughts and images that you were dizzy with them. Other than finally getting out of there, it was the only hope you had for the future. Him. His stern look. His gruff voice. The punishing grip he had on your thigh and the bruise blossoming on your neck. The gaze that found you in a crowded room. The promise of something more than shifts and standing on program. The thought that there may finally be something worth waiting for when you got out.

His breathing began to change, his hips were more sporadic, and you knew he was close. You put your hands on either side of his face and directed him until he was staring into your eyes. Then you poured every ounce of lust, want, and affection you had for him into your gaze. "Look at me, Kino. I want to see your face when you come inside of me. Please."

That was all it took. He was still for a heartbeat before his face scrunched in agony, as though you were ripping his orgasm from him. Then his expression went slack and his eyes fluttered closed with a long moan. He pumped a last unbalanced rhythm inside of you, seeking to bury himself as far into you as he could, like he couldn't get deep enough. Until he finally collapsed against you, satiated and spent.

You kissed his sweaty forehead and his damp hair as he clung to you. "You're so fucking incredible," you whispered into his temple. "And I haven't changed my mind one bit." With a playful slap at his shoulder you added a low, "Idiot."

He looked up at you with a goofy grin, still panting, and sluggishly unhooked your wobbly legs to set your feet down to the floor. You balanced yourself with your hands on his chest, and then leaned into his arm. Once steady, you lightly traced your fingertips over his sternum and thought again about just how fucking hot he was. Even as exhausted as you were, you could spend another hour just touching him.

He opened his mouth to say something in return, when the two minute warning buzzer went off. It was nearly deafening in the small space. You both looked at each other in shock, and then you were a flurry of motion, grabbing for towels and clothing. You scrambled to get dressed knowing you were nearly out of time to line up.

Out in the hallway, your hair was still very damp, his uniform was soaked from the stall floor even though he still hadn't gotten a shower, and his release dribbled down your inner thigh beneath your pants. And no one would look at the two of you. His face was stoic—the shift manager mask firmly in place, despite his tousled hair and almost ridiculous appearance, but you knew you looked smug enough for the both of you.

You didn't really care that the rest of the men knew. In fact, it was probably better that they did so you didn't have to sneak around, which was very difficult in your current environment. You only had to be respectful. You also wanted to prove to them that you could fuck the shift manager and still pull your weight, whether that was putting the numbers up at your table or throwing a punch. Being full of his come didn't change that. You didn't have his protection because you didn't want it.

You only wanted him. No strings.

And if you peeked your head over the edge of the divider in your cell, and he sat below you, and you whispered to each other in your free time. Or if you both stayed late in the showers or snuck off to the maintenance closet, that was your business.

As the line moved, you wondered if it might be appropriate to send an incompetent Imperial paper pusher an anonymous fruit basket on the other side.

Chapter 2 ->

[nimata-beroya]

If you're still taking asks for the WIP game:

Unbroken (Andor/Rebels), Rough Awakening (TBB), and A reason to fight (Kalluzeb) please! :D

For you, @takadasaiko of course, my darling!

From UNBROKEN (Chapter 2, I think) [This is what happens when you write no linear bits and pieces instead of the whole chapter in order 🫣]

Kallus hesitates to key the code that unlocks the cell doors, prison-wide.

"What are you waiting for?" Cassian asks.

"Are you sure about this?" Kallus shoots back, over his shoulder.

"Yes. The guards will scramble and hide like rats once the chaos starts."

Kallus raises a brow, skepticism shinning in his eyes, probably still confident in the Imperial efficiency despite having defected a few months ago, so Cassian adds, "Not my first rodeo in a prison break."

Cassian sees curiosity taken ahold of Kallus. He knows that the ex-imperial is filing the information in his head, and will ask about it in another time. Andor isn't looking forward to it. He hardly talks about his time in Narkina 5.

From ROUGH AWAKENING (Chapter 5):

“The chip had been malfunctioning for what I can guess. According to your med droid, this had happened to another clone before.”

The unexpected mention of that incident hits Echo like a physical blow. Az-3 told him a while ago how Tup’s chip degraded and malfunctioned, making him carry out what Echo suspects is Order 66 untimely and kill General Tiplar on the spot. That’s what led Fives to investigate the inhibitor chips and to his death. It’s futile, but Echo can’t help thinking that if he hadn’t been blown up in The Citadel and taken as prisoner by Tambor, he might’ve been able to save Fives. Together, they would’ve uncovered the conspiracy… saved the Jedi and even perhaps ended the war. Most importantly, prevent the rising of the Empire.

Echo allows himself to dwell on that fantasy a second longer before whisking it away. It’s pointless to brood over something he can’t change. Fives is dead. For much it hurts him, his brother won’t return from the dead as Echo did.

And from A REASON TO FIGHT (which should be a one-shot, but who knows 😆)

Kanan slips out of his meditative state as soon as the door of the room slides open to admit Ezra. Blind as he is, Kanan can’t see his Padawan’s expression, but does feel the worry and slight annoyance plaguing him through their Master-Padawan bond. Feelings that are similar to the one Kanan also experiences. Ripples of anguish and anxiety in the Force are pushing against his mental shields, stabbing with maddening insistence. His headache has grown steadily since the Spectres came back from their mission, with one of them hurt.

“Kanan, we need to do something!” Ezra whines.

“I can’t stand it anymore. He’s in so much pain.”

“I know, Ezra, but I don’t think he’d welcomed our help right now. We need to give him some space. Hera is keeping an eye on him and will let us know if she needs backup.”

“But—”

“Sit and meditate with me.”

Ezra lets out a groan. “Yes, Master.” He does what he is told and settles on the floor across Kanan with the exasperation that only a midager can muster.

Send me an ask with one of these titles that most intrigue you, and I'll post a little snippet or tell you something about it!

[rose-griffes]

The rewatch continues - through episode 10 now.

Thinking again of Kenari and how there are no subtitles when the children speak to each other. It seems fitting, given that Cassian may be the only living person who knows that language - asuming he remembers it. And how ironic that he speaks Galactic Basic with an accent for a language that may not exist anywhere other than his own mind. (Even if Cassian’s sister is alive, she could have forgotten their language. And him.)

Having clawed her way up just a little bit higher, Deedra’s position already feels unstable - even before the catastrophic (for her) finale. Her assistant may want to be genuinely helpful, but he’s the one who gets the nodding approval when making suggestions related to her ideas. And then there’s Syril, whose fanaticism edges into menace toward her, but she apparently doesn’t do anything about that - probably because to do so might make her appear weak.

Shortly after we first meet Melshi on Narkina 5, he makes some mostly-innocuous negative comments... and Kino Loy shoves him against a wall for it. Some bad history there? Kino’s disdain for Melshi continues throughout the Narkina arc. Melshi’s bunk is directly over Kino’s. Is proximity why he annoys Kino, or is Melshi there because of some earlier problem?

I’ve heard several people mention that they expected the escaping prisoners to put on the guards’ shock-proof shoes, but that never seemed like a feasible plan. One or two prisoners escaping, sure - but there aren’t enough shoes for 50 men, much less 5000. Picking up the literal tools offered by the prison facilities makes sense; trying to grab shoes when they can go for the power source instead is pointless.

where I post elsewhere about the show

[annisthree]

Chapter VIII: Ghosts of Geonosis

previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter

Pairing: Cassian Andor x Original Female Character

Word Count: ~6k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit language, canon typical violence

Chapter summary: Marla, Cassian and K2 are following the clues discovered by Melshi. It brings them to Geonosis.

A/N: Why yes, I did steal the title of this chapter from Rebels.

Cross-posted on AO3 (same username).

*

('Friends of yours?'

'I don't know anybody here. I'm a tourist.'

'Tourists don't run.'

'I'm just going to the store, it's right there--'

'You need to calm down, sir. Droid assistance, please.')

Over the past couple of years, Cassian tried his hardest to hide certain memories in those parts of his brain he never visited. To compartmentalise, to accept and move on.

But, much like an overzealous shore trooper on the Niamos beach, the memories would always catch up. And though the chances of him being captured and arrested were significantly lower this time (he'd gotten much better at this in the past few years), he still couldn't escape that weird feeling that had his stomach in knots, just like that time when he was waiting for his turn in the Imperial court.

('Charges?'

'Civil disruption, anti-Imperial speech, fleeing scene of anti-Imperial activity, attempted damage--'

'I'm sorry, there's something wrong...'

'I wouldn't. You've got enough trouble without a "resisting judgement'" charge.'

'I'm just a tourist--'

'Oh, apologies all around then. This used to be a six-month sentence... Six years.')

He was grateful to have been reunited with Melshi. Surprised, but grateful. But seeing him opened some doors he'd much rather keep locked, and had his brain flood him with memories of Narkina V. And there he was again, trying to stay afloat, desperately trying to force his body to push forward, to swim, even though he sometimes wanted to give in and let the cruel element claim what's left of his life.

('Don't ever look at the number. Double, triple, it doesn't matter. You're in till they don't want you. Understand? Getting out now is just a dream. Those days are over.')

Thanks to Melshi, they had the coordinates where - supposedly - the Empire was shipping parts from Narkina, the same ones that scarred his hands and his mind irreparably. Cross-checking the coordinates with their databases revealed it was an Imperial construction module somewhere over Geonosis. Their records also showed that one of their squads had already attempted to get some intel there - only to be ambushed before they could gather anything of value.

The command was a bit sceptical about sending in another team after all that time. It was assumed the location was just an excuse for the Imperial forces to set up a trap and that, in reality, it was just an abandoned pile of junk.

It took some convincing and additional input from Agent Kallus, who suggested that there might, indeed, be something left to salvage - if not intel, then at least some technology. Supposedly, the Empire fled in a rush (though Kallus wasn't able to tell them why), leaving a certain chance of them leaving behind something useful (thirty-eight per cent, as K-2SO eagerly informed them).

And that's how Cassian ended up on a painfully long trip all the way across the Galaxy, chasing something he'd spent years trying to escape.

('They're afraid. Right now, they're afraid.'

'Afraid? Afraid of what?'

'They just killed a hundred men to keep them quiet. What would you call that?'

'I'd call that power.'

'Power? Power doesn't panic. Five thousand men are about to find out they're never leaving here alive. Don't you think that worries them upstairs...? Whatever we're making here, it's clearly something they need. They can't afford to be surprised again. There'll never be less guards than tomorrow. You know that. And I'd rather die trying to take them down than die giving them what they want.')

But he wouldn't let that affect the mission. He would once again bury everything deep - although not deep enough for Marla, who, bless her heart, was bending over backwards to subtly cheer him up. She had a general idea of what had happened on Narkina V - he'd never gone into too much detail, but he had told her the story once during a very long flight that had them stuck on the Blackbird with too little to do and too much Corelian whisky they were smuggling back to the base. And, as much as Cassian hated to admit it, she knew him too well to miss the signs of his uneasiness. 

Which is most likely why the floors in the common room were... well, maybe not squeaky clean, but not sticky (to the point where Cassian briefly wondered if the gravitational systems on the ship needed recalibrating, because it had never been this easy to lift his feet from the floor).

Or why she fixed the altitude sensors, even though he'd been asking for this for months.

Or why he opened the door to his cabin one day to find Kay with a tray of actual food - which Cassian maybe would have believed was the droid trying to be helpful, was it not for the fact that the meal was criminally undercooked and otherwise inedible. No droid could be so bad at cooking. Even if their programming had been tampered with.

It was all so... nice. But there was also that voice at the back of his head that reminded him that, unlike the altitude sensors, he couldn't be that easily fixed. And Cassian wasn't sure if he could bear disappointing Marla like this, when it inevitably turned out that despite her best efforts, he was still broken and hollow.

So he politely commented on the floor, thanked for the fixed sensors, and pretended he didn't know the food was sent by Marla.

Yes, she'd seen parts of his mind no one else ever did before - but there were still those dark, cold alleys he wanted to protect her from.

'Preparing to jump out of hyperspace. Disengaging in three...'

Part of him wanted to stay in the co-pilot seat, maybe come up with some bullshit excuse, something along the lines of I'll keep the engines running in case things end up the way they usually do. Hell, maybe it would have worked, and he could sink deeper into his seat and stare into nothingness until it was time to leave.

'... two...'

But he also needed to know. He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to, but he knew he had no choice. He had to at least try and figure it out. If this was it, if this was really where they had been shipping the parts from Narkina, then he had to know.

'... one.'

Even if he was being selfish, volunteering to do a mission that could have been done literally by anyone else. Even if he would learn that all that work didn't mean shit, that it was just a way to keep them busy and break them.

Even if it did mean something, which was probably the worst of all scenarios.

Still, he had to know.

'Jump complete.'

('Whatever happens now, we made it.')

*

'All of them?'

'Well, almost all. General Syndulla mentioned they'd met two of them hiding underground, but the scans indicated these were the only two remaining specimens. Which is what our sensors are saying, too.'

'Fuck,' Marla took a deep breath, staring intensely at the screen that was showing the results of the planetary activity scan as if expecting the results to change if she looked long enough. 'Never met a Geonosian, and from what I've heard, they weren't the most pleasant bunch, but... to wipe out the entire race? Just like that? Even for the Empire, that's... that's really fucking grim.'

Cassian shrugged, flipping some switches on the dashboard in front of him. 'Wouldn't be the first time. Probably not the last time, either.'

'Unless we blow the Empire to pieces.'

'Unless we blow the Empire to pieces,' he repeated, his lips forming a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes.

They had just come out of hyperspace, and the massive golden planet loomed in the distance, surrounded by some space debris. It wouldn't have been anything special - just another desert planet - if they didn't know what happened down there.

What they didn't know was why. Geonosis had never had any considerable importance (apart from two battles that happened during the Clone Wars, and that could have just as well happened anywhere else). They didn't have any significant natural resources, and the primary export was droids and other technology - which, again, could always be moved virtually anywhere else. Other than that, it was just deserts, rocks, and bugs. Bugs that had been deeply loyal to the Empire, until the Empire decided to wipe them out.

You couldn't really see it from space - it's not like the planet was bombarded; their intel said it was some sort of toxic gas - but just knowing that the planet below them was one giant graveyard sent a chill running down Marla's spine.

Luckily, they weren't going to be visiting Geonosis. Melshi's intel mentioned specifically a construction module that was supposed to be orbiting the planet - and, indeed, they quickly found a large, spherical station within a cloud of space rubbish hovering in the distance.

'Kay-too, are we expecting any company?'

'There is no indication of any life forms on the station. We might, however, encounter some droids.'

'Oh, I'm not afraid of droids,' Marla mumbled, toggling a series of instruments in preparation for the landing procedure.

'That is not a very wise approach,' she heard a monotone mechanical voice behind them. 'Unsurprising, but unwise.'

'Cassian, is he threatening me? I feel threatened. Can we deactivate him now?'

'We're in position. Activating vertical thrusters.'

'Sure, ignore me. I'll try that next time you wanna have-- a sparring session. See how that works out.'

'I am certain there is plenty of people on the base who would be willing to train with Cassian,' K2 asserted quietly, and Marla almost choked, trying to stifle laughter.

'You know what? You're probably right. I'm sure he has sparred with many people on the base. Maybe even most of them. Kay, do you think you can start keeping statistics--'

'Oh, kriffing hell. Are we gonna land, or do you want us to keep hovering over this stupid station until we run out of fuel?'

'Why so grumpy all of a sudden? Sounds like you could use some--'

'I am begging you to shut up. Both of you. Marla, it stopped being funny somewhere around the Mytaranor sector. Kay, start scanning the landing platform. '

'I don't know, Cassian, it sounded pretty damn funny to me. I'm sure even the tin can would be laughing if he had a sense of humour. But fine, have it your way. Stabilising...' she paused for a moment, adjusting some instruments. The ship began lightly trembling as she engaged the thrusters, positioning them on the landing pad - a large, bright space that looked... well, exactly the same way all the other Imperial docking bays did. Clean. Impersonal. Obsessively white.

Although there was something different about this one, something that Marla couldn't quite place looking out the ship's viewport.

Maybe it was the fact that no one was shooting at them for a change? Because, well, there was no one there at all. Not a single living soul.

'And... done. Landing procedure complete.' Marla did a quick scan of the instruments to ensure everything was in order - as well as to delay looking to her right, towards the co-pilot seat.

Cassian had been uneasy the entire flight. He was trying hard to hide it; she could see it - but she could also see his nervous twitching, the tightly squeezed jaw (even more so than normally), and the thousand-mile stare when he thought she wasn't looking.

But Marla was looking. And she was worried.

She had been from the very beginning, from the moment she'd learnt about the mission. She suspected Cassian never quite processed that part of his life, if only based on how little he wanted to talk about it. Even Melshi was a bit more open, even though - from what she'd gathered so far - he wasn't much of a talker either, and they only knew each other for a week or so.

'It wasn't exactly a leisurely walk through the gardens of Alderaan,' Melshi had spit out between two punches, circling Marla on the training mat back on the base on the day of their departure. 'It really got to ya. Some more than others. If you're asking about our mutual friend, I'd say he was probably in that first category.'

And she wasn't surprised; as much as Cassian perfected the art of looking like he didn't give a shit, Marla had seen beneath that cover many times now. He did give a shit, and not only about the Rebellion - although she had no doubt the Rebellion was at the very top of the list.

(She tried not thinking about where she was on that list. How far behind the cause - or maybe behind some other things, too. She was in no position to expect him to care - not more than he cared about the rest of the crew. And that was probably for the best.)

(She also tried not thinking about where Cassian was on her own priority list. Apart maybe from when she was lying in bed late at night, sleepless and haunted by an unidentified fear. Or when she was spending yet another evening in the Drunken Bantha, completely accidentally ordering that same whisky Cassian got her when they were on Coruscant.

But she never liked the results of that thinking. And not even the cruellest interrogation droid could force her to verbalise her conclusions.)

*

K2's metal feet clanked heavily against the metallic floor as he, Cassian, and Marla stepped out of the Blackbird and onto the abandoned orbital construction module. At first, it didn't look very different from any other Imperial landing pad - vast, practical, and painfully bright. But closer inspection revealed abnormalities uncharacteristic for an Imperial facility.

It looked like it was abandoned in a hurry; there was some rubble lying about, the platform ladders were still on the landing pad where they had last been used, and Marla could spot several broken or nearly-broken droids, one of them stuck in a loop of repeatedly bumping into a wall with a loud, pathetic thump.

There was something eerie hanging in the air, almost as if the station were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Marla shuddered. 'What is this place, exactly?'

Cassian stepped forward, still carefully scanning the area, one hand on his blaster. 'Good question. Kay? Can you see if you can connect to the network?'

'Certainly.'

'The surrounding moons are rich in mineral deposits,' Cassian said to no one in particular, with that perfectly schooled neutral tone Marla knew him to use whenever he was trying to cover up tension. 'Maybe this was a mining operation.'

'Maybe,' Marla replied, carefully watching for even the slightest reaction. 'But why be so secretive about it?'

'The network has been wiped clean,' K2 interrupted them, his long arm still connected to the access port in the nearby wall. 'Likely right before the station was decommissioned. As expected. I might, however, be able to retrieve some information, but that would require me to connect to the mainframe in the station's engineering room. Alternatively, we could also try to search the command centre.'

'We could split up,' Marla offered, trying hard not to sound overly enthusiastic about the prospect of escaping the droid's company for a while.

'Yes, I suppose that would increase our chances of success. In this case, I suggest the two of you start with the control centre.'

'Wonderful. Any ideas where that is?'

'It appears that this is a standard ICM-092792 construction module. Assuming the station preserved its original layout, the control centre and the engineering room should both be located on the main deck.'

'Good. Let's get to it,' Cassian said flatly, fingers still fidgeting around his holster.

'Certainly. Follow me.'

'I stand corrected,' Marla whispered as they started making their way out of the docking bay, following the droid's tall figure. 'Maybe he's not that useless after all.'

She was hoping to force some sort of a reaction out of Cassian- if not a smile, then perhaps a tiny upward twitch of his lips or an amused huff. But it seemed his mind was already somewhere else; somewhere cold and distant, both in terms of space and time. Somewhere she couldn't follow him.

With K2 as a guide, they made their way out of the docking bay and down a long corridor, passing empty storage rooms and abandoned maintenance bays. Marla didn't know if it was the sombre atmosphere of the place or Cassian's hardened expression, but not a single word was said. The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional creaking of metal or the distant hum of a ventilation shaft, the gentle whirring of the fans almost hypnotic in the stillness.

'The control centre is at the end of the corridor,' K2 informed them after a while of meandering around the station. 'Let me know if you require my assistance. And please refrain from doing anything... reckless.' Certain that the last part was addressed directly at her, Marla threw her hands up in a gesture of innocence while giving the droid the most mischievous grin she had in her repertoire.

'Come on,' was Cassian's only reply, and Marla's heart immediately sank back to where it was before.

She followed him down the corridor silently. Her body was screaming at her to touch him, provide some warmth, absorb some of his pain through physical contact: a brush of her hand on his shoulder, a gentle squeeze of his hand. But she knew she would be doing it mostly for herself, to calm her own worries; Cassian's reaction would most likely be to retreat even further.

And so she pushed her hands into her pockets, focused her eyes on counting the light panels on their way to the control centre, and tried very hard to not wonder if this was how it felt to begin losing someone.

*

The main control centre was enormous. Marla had been on her fair share of ships and stations, and yet she felt almost dizzy, both fascinated and humbled by the vastness of the room.

The bridge itself was a long, raised platform, running the length of the space, with rows of consoles on either side of the walkway, sunk slightly lower than the rest of the room. At the far end of the bridge was a raised platform, dominated by an enormous viewport that looked out onto the starry expanse of space, the only source of light in the otherwise dark room. The viewport was flanked by a large control panel speckled with a dizzying array of buttons, dials and switches.

Unsurprisingly, the silence was even heavier here. The only thing Marla's ears could pick up was the faintest hum of the ventilation system and the sound of their own footsteps echoing throughout the bridge.

'I'll check the main console.' Cassian's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. Right. The intel. 'See if you can find anything else here.'

'Sure. Do your thing. Let me know if you need me to shoot at something.'

Somehow, she doubted she would be of much use. She didn't even know where to start - all the surfaces were empty, the holodisplays black, the workstations clean and identical. But Cassian was already tapping something on the main console, so she decided to do a quick scan of the place. Perhaps somewhere amidst the sterile equipment, she would find a datapad labelled 'important intel, keep away from the Rebellion'.

There was a certain scent to this place, she noted while crossing the room - a scent that was barely noticeable and that Marla couldn't quite put her finger on. Maybe it was the dust or the fried circuits; or maybe her mind was beginning to play tricks on her, desperately trying to deliver sensory stimuli in the otherwise bleak and empty void.

On the other side of the room, the tapping stopped abruptly, followed by a loud thump of a fist hitting a metal console. No luck, then. Marla threw a quick glance in that direction, only to see Cassian hunched over the screen, motionless save the rising and falling of his shoulders as he breathed heavily.

It felt almost physically painful to see him like that. And she knew, she knew that she should probably not interfere, that she had no right to interfere, but she wanted him to know she was there if he needed anything. Even if that meant just standing next to him and looking out at the starry sky in silence.

The distance between her and the main console was taking forever, and somehow the quiet vastness felt only more intimidating with each step she took along the walkway. And there were a lot of steps, as she suddenly realised, slowly watching her feet moving one in front of the other.

It seemed almost as if the air was weighing down on her, slowing her down and intensifying that dizziness. Suddenly, it felt like she was learning to walk, carefully placing each step, one foot in front of the other - only now she realised she wasn't sure whose feet they were, because they sure as hell didn't feel like they were attached to her body.

'Something is wrong.' Cassian's voice was suddenly close, closer than she expected, before she lifted her gaze from the floor and focused her eyes ahead. Or tried to focus, because somehow the world became less defined, as if spilling from its original containers, defying shapes and measurements.

But it didn't feel odd or scary. In fact, Marla felt more at ease than she could ever remember being. And it felt so good, so right; she wanted to sit down on the floor, close her eyes, and bathe in the starlight while listening to the quiet song of the Galaxy.

'Come on, we have to get out of here. Something is wrong. Kay, can you hear me?'

'Yes. I'm afraid I have so far been unsuccessful--'

'Nevermind that. Something is wrong. We need--'

'Something is wrong,' Marla repeated slowly, carefully enunciating each word, mildly amused at the sound of her voice which suddenly felt completely foreign.

'Hey. No, no, get up. We have to go.'

It took her a moment to understand what Cassian meant. But when she looked down, she realised the floor was oddly close. And that her legs were now pulled tight to her chest, arm propped on one knee. And that there was a hand gripping her shoulder, trying to hoist her up to her feet.

Only that she didn't want to stand up. The floor was surprisingly comfortable. And it offered a nice view of the stars outside the massive viewport in front of her.

'It seems you have activated some sort of safety protocol, Cassian. The door controls are unresponsive.' A wave of metallic thumping echoed off the walls. 'I will attempt to override them, but I must first connect to the security systems. I should also inform you my sensors are picking up traces of unidentified gas coming from the control room. I advise you to remain calm so as to avoid increased inhalation.'

Oh, so that was that smell. It made sense now. But it sounded strangely unimportant compared to the infinite expanse of space in front of her: the deep blues, the vibrant greens, and the brilliant oranges swirling together in a cosmic dance and--

'Hey. Marla, get up. We have to-- have to get out of here.'

There was a hand on her shoulder, and soon enough, she felt a sharp tug upwards. But there was something hesitant, something clumsy about the way Cassian was holding her, and before she could think it through, Marla grabbed his arm and focused all her weight on pulling downwards.

The next thing she registered was a loud thump and a quietly mumbled curse.

'You okay?' she giggled, watching Cassian fumble on all fours before giving up and sitting on the floor beside her. Marla noticed his movements were uncharacteristically awkward and unsure, as if he forgot what he was doing mid-motion.

'Yeah. I've-- I've fallen from bigger heights, you know. But we need to get up.'

'And go where? You heard the big guy. Door's locked.' Cassian frowned and looked like he was about to say something, but gave up. 'Besides. If I'm about to die, I wanna die looking at the stars.'

'You're not gonna die. Kay is gonna let us out any minute.'

'Shh. You're killing the mood.'

He raised an eyebrow at her and huffed quietly. But there was still that shadow hiding in his eyes, that coldness he always resorted to when the things he'd buried caught up to him. It broke her heart whenever she looked at him.

'I'm sorry we didn't find anything,' she said quietly.

There was a long pause, long enough for her to start silently scolding herself for saying what she did.

'I just... I really wanted to find something, you know? Something that would make this make sense.'

He sounded tired and broken. But tired and broken was still a step forward from apathetic. At least he was slowly letting her back in.

'Maybe we still will. Don't lose hope.' He let out a quick, bitter exhale and turned away to look out the viewport. 'I'm serious. We'd beaten worse odds. Remember Koboh? Or Nar Shaddaa?'

'You mean, when you blew our cover within the first ten minutes of the mission?'

'I didn't blow anything up. It blew itself up.' Marla shrugged innocently, giving Cassian a small grin. 'And yet, we made it.'

Cassian let out another huff of half-laugh, one that, somewhere along the way, transformed into a quiet sigh.

His expression was still solemn, but there was now a flicker in his eye, and though tiny, it felt more powerful to Marla than the light of a thousand suns. It felt like sitting by the warm fire after hours of travelling through the cold and the dark. Or finding something long lost that you'd already given up hope on.

She didn't understand it, but as she continued staring into his eyes, she could see the darkness slowly subsiding - and with it, dropped the burden of helplessness that had weighed upon her since the moment she first noticed that shadow lurking in his gaze.

'How are you feeling?' he asked after a while, and she realised her breathing had become heavier and more laboured. Whatever was in the air that had hazed her brain was starting to affect her body, too.

'Great,' she lied, giving him a smile that even she knew wasn't very convincing.

It was more and more difficult to keep her eyes open. Yet, she realised she wanted nothing more than to look, take in all the details of the room, the universe outside the viewport, and the stars reflected in those dark eyes, infinitely fascinating and yet familiar, overwhelming and yet comforting, and so precious, dear, disarming...

'I guess--' Cassian started after a while, eyes focused on the stars outside the viewport. 'I guess this wouldn't be the worst way to go.'

'You mean, high?' she chuckled.

His lips twitched slightly upward, and Marla felt warmth flood her entire body. 'No,' he finally said, and there was something in his tone that was equally comforting and intimidating in its softness. 'That's not what I mean.'

It took her a moment to understand. But Cassian kept looking at her, and there were no more shadows in his gaze; there was only the reflection of starlight and that deep longing, and it was the same longing that flared in her own chest.

Cassian must have understood it, too, because soon, his hand slowly moved to cover hers. And it felt right, as if his hand had been the missing piece in some cosmic riddle. It felt like his hand was made to fit hers, with all its angles and curves, and even the scar that ran between his thumb and index finger seemed to fit the cuts and burns on her own hand, matching into some sort of abstract pattern that somehow just made sense when put together.

And yes, it would not have been the worst way to go. Far from it.

But for now, her heart was still beating, frantically and loudly, so loudly that it was now all she could hear. Or maybe it was not her heart that was hammering in her ears like a battle drum; perhaps it was Cassian's, the sound conducted through whatever little air was left between them and amplified by her increasingly drugged brain.

Or maybe it wasn't a heart at all. Maybe it was the thumping of a seven-foot security droid who had managed to unlock the door and cross the length of the room before Marla even registered his presence.

'Oh, hi there-- What the hell, Kay? What are you doing?' Her initial enthusiasm was quickly replaced by surprise when she felt a strong metal hand clasping her shoulder and yanking her upward.

'My current objective is to extract you from this facility,' he replied, and Marla realised she was being dragged towards the exit. A quick look to her right revealed Cassian was in the same position. 'Please comply with my instructions.'

'Well, you're not exactly leaving us any choice...'

'It is imperative that you leave this room immediately, Lieutenant.' The droid continued dragging them both towards the exit like two ragdolls. 'It appears you both were exposed to an aerosolised chemical agent dispersed within the room's atmosphere. Based on my preliminary analysis, this particular substance was designed to impair cognitive function and inhibit motor skills, and prolonged exposure could potentially result in a state of unconsciousness similar to a medically induced coma. Which is why I am extracting you from the premises.'

'So you're saving our lives?'

'Yes, Lieutenant Reid. This is an accurate summary.'

'You know what?' she slurred, finding it increasingly difficult to pronounce words. 'You're okay.'

There was a long pause, and Marla imagined the poor droid's programming trying to process her sudden outburst of unexpected affection. 'Thank you, Lieutenant. I must, however, note that the chemical agent appears to have impaired--'

'You can call me Marla.'

'Excuse me?'

'You can call me Marla,' she repeated, letting out another small chuckle.

Another long pause. 'Noted.'

Marla was sure she wanted to say something else. Was it to K2, or was it to Cassian... Yes, she definitely wanted to tell him something, but what was it...? Hoping it would inspire her memory, she tried saying his name - but the word came out as a hoarse whisper that was quickly drowned out by her laboured breathing and the loud footsteps echoing through the empty hallways.

The lights overhead flickered and dimmed, casting eerie shadows across the walls and floor. Everything was dancing, swirling before her eyes - the lights, the outline of the door at the end of the corridor, Cassian's eyes when she looked over to her right to check on him. Wait, his eyes. That had something to do with what she wanted to tell him, but what was that...?

She looked over to her right again, but this time, there was only darkness. In fact, there was nothing but darkness all around.

And then she passed out.

*

'Good morning,' she heard a quiet, hoarse voice next to her ear. 'Well, not sure what time measurements they used on this station... How are you feeling?' How was she feeling? And why was Cassian's voice so close? And where the kriff was she? 'We both passed out on the way; Kay carried us here. I just woke up, too.'

Slowly, her senses started picking up different stimuli. There was the coldness of metal behind her back and on the ground, but her right shoulder was glued to something warmer and softer. Something that smelled like that other room they were just in, a bit like droid oil, and definitely a lot like Cassian.

I took her a couple of more seconds to register the rest. They were sitting on the floor of their ship's cockpit. Judging by the dull pain in her neck, she had spent the last maker-knows-how-long with her head propped on Cassian's shoulder - a fact that would make her embarrassed, had it not been for the haziness and overall confusion that lingered in her mind. But overall, she felt... better. Definitely more present, if a bit sore in places she couldn't quite justify.

'Why are we sitting on the floor?' she asked, her voice coming out raspier and quieter than she expected.

'Well, the two of you didn't seem to mind sitting on the floor back in the control room. I apologise if I made the wrong assumption about your seating preferences.'

K2's voice sounded somehow louder than usual. Definitely more painful.

'Where were you, Kay?' Cassian asked as he slowly began the transition to the upward position. A very awkward, very clumsy transition.

'Gathering intel.'

'Wait, so you did find something? I thought--'

'Not initially, no. But as I was escorting the two of you back to the ship, I spotted a malfunctioning astromech. It had been badly damaged and incapable of articulating anything coherent, but I managed to connect to its memory cores.'

'You... did?

'Yes, Cassian. It appears that particular unit was in charge of cross-checking the arrivals at the cargo bay with the ships' manifestos. I only managed to decrypt some routes, but it appears that before the station was abandoned, a vast majority of shipments came from - or through - Corulag.'

'Corulag? That's... next to Coruscant, isn't it? Did you find any mentions of Narkina V?'

'As I've said, I only managed to decrypt part of the data. It is possible that Corulag was just a stop on the way from somewhere else. Or that there were different kinds of shipments.'

'I see,' Cassian regained his guarded tone of voice, focusing his eyes on the ship's control panel.

'Well, it's something, right?' Marla let out a hopeful mumble, trying to hoist herself up to her feet and into the pilot chair. 'So, what. Corulag? It's on our way back anyway...'

Cassian was silent for a moment, to the point where Marla started wondering if he'd heard her. But he did.

'I'll have to report back to the command,' he said flatly, and Marla's heart once again sank at the sound of that cold tone. 'But, yes, you can start calculating the hyperspace route to Corulag. Let's hope we have more luck there.'

[godslayingenthusiast]

I am Extremely Normal about Andor, apologies in advance for the fandom post.

One of the things that really struck me with this one was how they used gender. Remember, those of us who grew up with the original trilogy, Leia wasn’t just the best girl, she was practically the only girl. We joked about it. You had Aunt Beru, the sisters at the Cantina, one woman at the Hoth base, a couple background women in Cloud City, Oola, the fat dancer, and Sy Snoodles. And Mon Mothma, the only other woman with a speaking part. And that’s it for three movies! The galaxy is overwhelmingly, distractingly, male. So I kept finding myself looking at Ferrix and Aldhani and Coruscant and just constantly being amazed at how many women there are. Foreground women, background women, an old woman! Hookers, antiques dealers, scrappers, organizers, a child! A surly teenage girl child! The governor’s wife! It’s right and correct and I’m glad they did it but also it was distracting because I’d been conditioned to expect so much less.

And then we get to prison.

Narkina 5 has 5,000 men, plus the 70 or so imperials guarding them and running the place. All men. All human men. It looks like, well, what we used to expect. And with that jarring transition you start to piece together more things. How Dedra fights tooth and nail to be one of only two women in that boardroom, how when she is not in the building they disregard her strong and correct opinions. How Cyril has the fucking audacity to grab her on the street. The empire has incredibly toxic views on gender, as well as human supremacy. And it’s reflected in who they choose for the important labor camps, instead of the mines (remember where we’re gonna find Jyn in just a couple years). It’s baked into everything.

But there’s more to pull back, because if it’s just the empire then why is the rebellion also overwhelmingly male by the time of the battle of Yavin? Yes, I know, 1977, but in universe we finally can start to see an answer forming. When we fight monsters, we come to reflect them, oftentimes without realizing it. Fascism uses people and discards them, fascism sells people on being heroes to extract their labor, and WE SEE LUTHEN DO IT TOO. He even says it out loud! “I use the tools of my enemies to defeat them”!!! There are key deaths that take women (and people of color) out of the fight before Yavin, but there is also the thread of becoming that which you hate, a toxic mirror. And I love that because of the way things play out, it shows that sometimes you gotta stare in the abyss anyway. Sometimes losing your humanity for the sake of someone else’s is worth it. And sometimes that damage has knock on effects for generations. And every one of those eggs you broke mattered.

Idk I gotta go do things but I’ve just been gnawing on this too long to keep it to myself. There’s so much to unpack with this show

[rotzaprachim]

i think there’s some massive parallels between cassian surviving narkina 5 and nina surviving the druskelle ship (particularly the version in the book on a lot of levels- nina escapes by using a broken-off piece of metal to cut her chains, very much like cassian in the bathroom cutting the pipe, the prisoners are civillians who were planning to stage an unprising and mutiny against the druskelle guards) except that one story is What if you were in a death camp and you swam to safety with only one other survivor who was another prsioner. versus what if you were in a death camp and the only person who could take you to safety was one of the death camp guards? 

[andorshitdaily]

Coming soon....The Dead Poll

Whaddup Wandor Wednesday Warriors. Happy Monday. As we know, there's just a couple days left of the Stare Wars so that means a new bracket will be on the way soon.

But!

The usual Wandor Wednesday Wars competition will be on hold for a week before we get to try out a new format (it's looking like a ninja warrior competition, which will be very fun to imagine).

In the meantime, in honor and remembrance of all the characters we lost in Season One, we'll be holding a new competition:

THE DEAD POLL

(originally going to be the Dead Pool, but a fortunate typo occurred)

Here's what you need to know:

MAJOR SPOILERS!!!! DO NOT LOOK OR PARTICIPATE IF YOU DO NOT YET KNOW OR WANT TO KNOW HOW PEOPLE DIE IN THIS SHOW!!!!!

A normal single-elimination bracket

Choosing the most ICONIC death from Season One (not the funniest or saddest or whatever else and definitely not a character popularity thing!!!)

Poll rounds will be ONE DAY ONLY -- not week-long polls like usual, so this whole thing will only take a few days

The bracket and matchups:

Xaul vs. Jayhold Beehaz

Karis Nemik vs. Pre-Mor Chuds

Maarva Andor vs. Verlo Skiff

Kenari Alpha leader vs. Alkenzi TIE pilots

Corporal Kimzi vs. Yellow Pincushion Republic guy

Ulaf vs. guy Nemik shoots

Kravas Drezzer vs. Arvel Skeen

Salman Paak vs. Corv

North-3 vs. Taramyn Barcona

Ferrix hotel guard vs. Birnok

Zap Rod vs. Nurchi

Timm Karlo vs. Narkina Newman

Lieutenant Gorn vs. Xanwan

Clem Andor vs. Colonel Petigar

Anto Kreegyr vs. Veemoss

Sparta vs. Sparky

If you can't decode my silly character names (and I doubt you can for some), send me an ask!

Polls begin Thursday!

[fallenrocket]

I love so much that the prison break on Narkina 5 isn't a deeply complex escape plan designed by a small group of highly-skilled individuals to get themselves out, but rather an intelligent, mostly low-tech plan to upset the whole apple cart and give everyone a chance to get out. I love that Cassian and his allies come up with the main pillars of it through careful observation, knowledge, and collaboration. I love that it's set into motion by unexpected variables--the imminent arrival of a new man on the floor, made more urgent by the reveal of what happened on level 2 and why. I love that they bring the whole of Room 5-2D into the plan and everyone takes part, including the new man who just got fried recently, is probably terrified, and isn't prepared for any of this. I love that they send guys to other rooms and up and down the stairs, confronting the guards and encouraging the other inmates to take up arms. I love that Kino's speech calls for them to help one another, and I love that, while the 5-2D guys are able to offer freedom to the rest of the prison, the other inmates still need to be the ones to take it.

[thevalleyisjolly]

[Image description: The first GIF shows Melshi at the prison worktable, looking up at the (offscreen) Narkina 5 guards with raised eyebrows and commenting "They're up there, laughing." to which Jemboc replies "Don't." The second GIF is of a conversation in the prison barracks; someone says "He never heard of it," to which Melshi, sitting down at the front of his cell and rubbing his hands back and forth, replies "Told you." with a small eyeroll. The third GIF shows Melshi telling Cassian, "Don't ever look at the number. Double, triple, it doesn't matter. You're here 'til they don't want you anymore. Get straight with that. Getting out now is just a dream. Those days are over." The fourth GIF is of Cassian in his cell, saying intently, "Melshi's right. We're cheaper than droids and easier to replace." The fifth GIF shows Melshi standing in line with the other Narkina 5 prisoners, hands behind their heads. As the other prisoners question "What happened on two?" and "We...We don't know," Melshi deadpans "They set 'em all free." End ID]

Enough! Melshi! I said, that’s enough!

[piedaterreincensorshipville]

Finally watched Andor season 1 (a delay caused mostly by the fact that I didn't have Disney+ until recently). What an incredible show.

It struck me that Luthen in particular has a quite interesting narrative arc if you watch the show in reverse:

Luthen is a man who favors striking blue outfits when in polite company.

He escapes the attempts of an Imperial cruiser to hold him captive high in the skies above Segra Milo. Incidentally, the cruiser is under the command of one Captain Elk (definitely not to be confused with the beast ridden by certain filmic Elvenkings).

Luthen cultivates the loyalty of a mole in the ISB, the sort of person you'd normally expect to be a simple Imperial attack dog.

Meanwhile, Cassian Andor is held on the island prison of Narkina 5, under the lidless eyes of the guards stationed there. During the escape Cassian befriends his future companion Melshi - but of course, reading the story backwards, Melshi disappears as suddenly as if he had died in prison.

Luthen masterminds the theft by Cassian and other accomplices of a massive payroll from the underground vaults of an Imperial garrison on Aldhani. The survivors of the assault team escape with their treasure thanks to a celestial phenomenon that locals see as a messenger from the divine.

Luthen gives Cassian a fabulous necklace of nigh-incalculable value, and saves him from certain death at the hands of Pre-Mor Corporate Security, but Cassian suffers a notable arm injury.

And at one point in the show, he attempts to get Saw Gerrera (whose name comes from Spanish guerrero, "warrior") to work together with Anto Kreegyr (whose name comes from German Krieger, "warrior"): a feat as much of philology as of warfare.

I at least might surmise that, when he wishes, Luthen can walk "as light as leaf on lindentree".

[tarabyte3]

Title: Wants, Needs, and Clerical Errors

Fandom: Andor

Characters/Pairings: Kino Loy, Kino Loy x F!Reader

Chapters: 3/3 (8.8k words)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

AO3 Link | Playlist

Summary: You're only on Narkina 5 due to a mistake on your transfer paperwork and no one in charge seems to care. The work is horrific and being the only woman there is a nightmare, but Kino Loy is... intriguing. (Okay, he's hot. He's very hot.)

Tags: Explicit rating, smut, prison, prison sex, sex, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, attempted sexual assault, fear of sexual assault, violence, blood, minor character death, fluff, happy ending

A/N: In terms of writing style, chapter 3 is my favorite. 🥺 If you've read this fic before, if you're reread it again because of this post, or you just discovered this fic for the first time: Thank you. I really hope you enjoyed it.

Chapter 3 - Like a flower waiting to bloom, Like a lightbulb in a dark room

Like the desert waiting for the rain Like a schoolkid waiting for the spring I'm just sitting here waiting for you To come on home and turn me on - Norah Jones, "Turn Me On"

You get out first.

You have two hundred and thirty eight days without him, which is fewer days than you had with him, but it still feels immense. Before, you had guards and work and routine keeping you apart, and now you have time. Though you're free and can move about as you please, or sit and do nothing if you want, there's still a weight on you that's holding you back from truly savoring it. As if a part of you is still in there, and, in a way, it is.

You have two hundred and thirty eight days and so you wait.

Your first stop is home to collect your meager possessions. You didn't have much to begin with, and, over the years while you were in prison, you ended up with even less. You don't blame your former flatmate for slowly downsizing your belongings. You're grateful she kept any of it at all. And she did keep the important stuff, like most of your clothes and gear, as well as a few sentimental items—the most important of which is a trinket box with a false bottom that holds credit chips you'd squirreled away in case of an emergency. It isn't much, but it's something.

No, having fewer things means there's less to get rid of yourself. So you grab your belongings, make the most uncomfortable attempts at small talk in which she intentionally avoids asking about or mentioning prison at all, you say thank you, and then you leave. And you don't look back.

It's all very anticlimactic. You imagined this scenario many times in your head your last few weeks on the inside because you weren't sure how it would go, and you couldn't exactly message her to let her know you were getting out. Now that it's over so quickly, you have no idea why you were worried. Even as you realize you'll never step foot here again, you feel nothing. No lingering sadness or regrets. No yearning to give the building one last look. That place stopped being home a long time ago.

You go directly back to a transport and purchase passage off planet. You and Kino had discussed this part many times. What you would do, where you would go, and where he would meet you. You'd settled on a colony in the Mid Rim that you both knew of, one with less Imperial control than some of the others—or last you heard anyway. It had plenty of people and industry so it wouldn't be too difficult to blend in and make a living. Two days after he gets out, you'll meet him at the station in the capital. It's a long journey to get there from Narkina 5. Your first flight doesn't take you all the way to your destination, either, but it gets you closer.

It also takes you farther away from him.

You'd wanted to stay close so that when he got out, you could travel to your new home together. But Kino had insisted you go ahead and settle in. Get as far away from Narkina 5 as you could. While you understood why he wanted that for you, you didn't have the heart to tell him there is no way you can be comfortable anywhere until he's with you.

Because leaving him behind means not knowing. Things can go wrong in a prison. Accidents, illness, over eager guards. Thinking about it makes you feel helpless and also a little pathetic. He had survived just fine without you. He isn't helpless. He's smart and he's good at his job. He's going to get out.

You repeat that to yourself the entire time on the transport while you're trying to avoid the gazes of the other passengers. The last thing you want is more uncomfortable small talk. You aren't sure you remember how to do it anymore. "How's the weather? Where are you headed? Oh, do you have family there? Have you heard about the news out of the Senate?" You'd rather be building parts.

Your next transport is longer and you have a cot that folds out from the wall. It's more comfortable than your prison bed, but that makes it rather uncomfortable. Your body doesn't fit in the dips the way it should, and the softness of it makes your right shoulder ache so you can only toss and turn instead. You've been out for nearly two days, but you haven't slept more than a quick doze in your seat. The adrenaline of freedom and a plan is forcing your body to keep moving. Now, maybe, you're overtired. Even the air feels wrong. Heavier somehow.

It reminds you of your very first night in prison—the women's prison. You had cried, feeling scared and sorry for yourself, because everything around you seemed so hostile. You had to sew, press, and wash uniforms all day—three different shift rotations—and your hands hurt and your back ached. The dormitories were rows of bunk beds in an open room, not the isolated cells of Narkina 5. The guards had locked all of you in at night without a care of what happened inside. There wasn't anything for the other prisoners to steal or any reason to be violent, but a few of them were just cruel and bored. That was how you learned to fight. It was all you had outside of work and you were eager for the distraction. Some way to protect yourself and the more vulnerable women in there. To feel like you were doing anything that meant something. You didn't sleep much those first few weeks, but the first night was the worst.

When you do finally sleep in your transport cot, you wake up in a panic because nothing is familiar. There should be masculine voices throughout the hallway and the sounds of people getting ready for your shift. Instead the only thing around you is the hum of the ship and soft whispers of casual conversation, and it's so dark. But then you remember, and you're relieved and heartbroken all over again.

You wonder what Kino is doing at that moment. Based on how long you've been traveling, it's evening there. So you imagine Kino sitting on his bed, legs stretched out in front of him and hands folded in his lap as he leans against the wall. Maybe he's talking to your replacement. Telling him all the things he needs to know to survive and help keep the shift moving. Or maybe he's sitting quietly and thinking about you, too.

"If we met in a different life, do you think we would have still ended up together?"

He turned to look at you sitting next to him. "What do you mean?"

"If we weren't in prison, but we were in, say, a cantina, and you saw me across the room. Would you be interested?"

"You're serious?"

"Yes! There's nothing else to talk about in this bloody place, so this is what I've got. So. Would you hit on me?"

"Absolutely not! I wouldn't think for one second that you'd look twice at me, so I'd sit there like a coward and steal glances at you all night."

"Kino! You're one of the most determined men I've ever met, you're not a coward."

"I am when it comes to beautiful women." You scoffed, but he continued, "Did I or did I not run away from you in the locker room?"

"I thought that was because you thought it would be inappropriate."

"It is inappropriate, but I ran because I was terrified."

"But I was practically begging!"

"And I still thought it was because I'm floor manager! Not because of me."

"I can't believe this."

"You asked!" He gave a quiet, gruff laugh. "What about you? Would you hit on me?"

"Yes! I would see your dour, grumpy face sitting at the bar and immediately want you, just like I did looking down at you from the lift—before your charming speech, by the way, so before I ever knew you were the floor manager. Then I would go stand next to you and make a fool of myself giving you heated looks and biting my lip until I had your attention." You looked him up and down with a heated gaze as a demonstration. Then you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes with your best flirty smile, and gently bit your lip as you let your eyes roam hungrily over his face. "Like that."

He exhaled, long and ragged. "That would have been effective."

"Then would you've flirted with me?"

"I probably would have been scared shitless, if I'm being honest."

You gave a fake, exasperated sigh and thunked your head back on the wall behind his cot. 

At the next transport station, a man walks by you and, as he passes, he tries to steal your pack. That's when you remember you are still capable of surviving on your own. Your heart aches, yes, but you're still alive and still in the best fucking shape of your life.

Your grip on your strap tightens as it's pulled away, keeping it held in your grasp. He seems caught off guard that his momentum doesn't carry him forward with his prize like he planned. So when you turn and your fist meets his stomach, he doesn't see that coming, either. He doubles over, collapses to the floor, and curls in on himself, his hand falling from your bag to clutch at his middle. You stand patiently over him as you settle your pack back onto your shoulder.

There's a guard there in moments. 

"What's going on here?" He shouts. He has all of the puffed up entitlement of someone that thinks they have authority, so you give him a placating smile.

"I'm so sorry, sir! It's really nothing. This gentleman and I bumped into each other. Must not have been watching where we were going! I can't believe it." You plaster a look of concern on your face and bend over who you now realize is a young man that can't be more than twenty years old. He's still groaning slightly and rubbing over his stomach where you punched him. "Are you alright?" The concern in your voice is genuine, you realize. "You hit my elbow pretty hard while you were hurrying. I'm so sorry about that! Let me help you up."

You hold a hand down to him, and he looks between it and the guard with suspicion before hesitantly taking it. With a tug, you help him to his feet, though you make a show of it being at least a little difficult. He's scrawny, all long limbs, and weighs barely anything. His hand feels small in yours. Fragile against your calluses. He's still just a dumb kid. You feel a twinge of guilt for how hard you hit him. However it is outweighed by the fact that he just tried to rob you.

"There you are. Good as new." You wipe off his shoulder and give him a forceful pat. He jumps at the contact. Then you level your demure smile back on the guard. "Thank you for the assistance, sir. I think we'll be alright."

"You're sure?" He doesn't look convinced. He probably wants an excuse to do more. To throw his self importance around and have one of you arrested for some reason or another so someone can tell him he's doing an excellent job keeping the peace. But you've gotten quite good at defusing these situations. Of handling men like him.

"Oh, absolutely. No trouble here."

"Alright, but in the future you should both be more careful. Watch where you're going or someone could get hurt."

You give him a serious nod. "Understood. Eyes forward at all times from now on, promise. Have a good rest of your day, sir."

He looks between you one last time and, with a grumble, returns in the direction he came from.

Once he's out of earshot, you turn on the would-be thief and hiss, "You have no idea what I just saved you from! How lucky you are. Trust me when I say the places they'll send you aren't worth a few credits. You'll be my age by the time you get out. So either be smarter or knock it off. Got it?" He just stares at you, wide eyed in confusion, so you press closer with a look of fury and keep your voice low. "Answer me! Got it?!"

"Yeah, okay!" He takes a step back, cowering slightly, with his hands raised in submission. "I got it."

"Good." You relax your posture and adjust your pack one last time. "Now fuck off."

He doesn't need to be told twice and scampers off so fast that he trips a bit on his own feet. The encounter lifts your spirits somewhat. Not because you enjoy punching people, especially not kids, but because it reminds you that you could protect yourself if you have to. It makes you feel confident you can get through this—physically, at least. Plus, hopefully you just scared some kid straight enough that he stays out of prison. If not, he'll have plenty of time to think about what you meant and wish he'd listened.

You're suddenly starving. You buy your first real, solid meal of a kebab, a savory hand pie, and purple chips from a kiosk, instead of just downing a quick protein bar out of necessity. You eat exactly like a person that hasn't properly tasted food in years. Which is to say you shovel it into your mouth with so much enthusiasm that you don't savor it and the pie burns your tongue, but it's the best thing you've ever eaten. Nearby, a couple watches you with concern and trepidation, but you just smile back at them, wide and uncaring, between bites. Nothing is taking the joy of this moment from you.

"And you're sure it's what you want?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"I can't cook very well."

"I don't care."

"I leave my towel on the floor sometimes."

"I don't care."

"I get distracted halfway through doing something and leave things sitting out in a mess until I remember what I was doing and go back to it. Sometimes for days."

"Oh." His eyebrows furrowed in thought.

There it was. The other shoe dropping. You braced yourself, ready for the distancing and the apologies to start, but then he smiled and pulled you against him. He kissed your hairline and murmured against your scalp, "I don't care. So stop trying to talk me out of it."

"I'm not trying to talk you out of it, I'm giving you full disclosure of what living with me is like." You thought of sitting with him on a couch, curled under a blanket as you both watched a holodrama together. You wanted it so desperately that you were almost afraid to hope for it.

"It sounds perfect to me."

You get a place within walking distance of the station. It's a long walk, but it's the best you can do. The flat is nice—it even has a little balcony overlooking the street—though you aren't sure if it's actually nice or if you are just grateful to have space and furniture again. Still, it's comfortable and roomy, and it has potential. You walk through it and see the foundation of something you can build on. You and Kino.

Paying the first month of rent uses up most of the remaining credits you had saved up. It's okay, though, because they had served their purpose. Gotten you this far. The rest is up to you, and the thought isn't as scary as you expected. You're truly on your own, but you've been through worse. You are strong. You can do this.

You buy some paint and a large piece of scrap and make yourself a calendar to lean against the wall. You carefully draw out the months and days in neat grids. Inside each square is a number. It starts on the day you got out, because you wanted the relief of crossing those off, and ends the day he should be here with you. All two hundred and thirty eight of them—now two hundred and thirty three. Every night, before you go to bed, you mark off the day and look at how many are left. Some days it surprises you how much time has passed, and other days you lament how many little squares there still are. They pass regardless.

You get a job at a small factory that builds transport and mining vehicles. They had laughed at you initially, until you told them you had over two years of experience building heavy machinery parts on an assembly line. Technically. Before prison, you would have grimaced at the thought of a factory job and missed the shop you used to work at, even though you had been accused of stealing. It hadn't been you, it had been your co-worker—the owner's son—so your innocence hadn't mattered when you were arrested. But for now you need something to keep yourself busy and the pay is decent. Plus, the work is just strenuous enough to stop you from feeling something that seems too much like homesickness for your liking. You know you shouldn't miss that place. It isn't healthy.

However, the work's still not nearly as labor intensive as what you're used to. Maybe because they put you on lighter machinery. Most of your job is operating lifts and welding vehicle frames, and you find, after training, you're actually quite good at the steady precision needed for the work. You even come in and practice on scrap to get better. Or maybe it just seems easier because the intense pressure to produce, to keep moving under threat of pain and death, is finally absent. You even get weekends off and leave days.

Some of your co-workers invite you out for drinks at the cantina down the street after work. At first out of interest, and then out of concern because you don't have anything resembling a social life. A few of them even hit on you in the beginning, but you tell them bluntly that you aren't interested. That you have someone. One of them asks where he is, and the broken look on your face when you say, "he'll be here soon," puts an end to any attempts to flirt with you. They don't ask again, and you don't offer anything more.

Thankfully that allows room for casual friendship, the kind you once had with the men at your pod on Narkina 5, and it's nice. It feels less lonely, though that ache in your chest never goes away completely. It follows you around like a constant companion. Wraps its way up your throat, even as you laugh at a joke. You do go out for drinks occasionally, but mostly you go home, read a romance holonovel, and wait.

You masturbate a lot, as well. Every night, you lie in the large bed and think about finally having him there with you. About all the ways you'll kiss and touch under the covers. How he might bend you over the bedside and fuck you from behind, or sprawl across the middle while you climb on top of him and ride him, his hands on your hips and your toes bracing against the sheets. You think about all the ways he touched you before, a slideshow of memories while your fingers work between your folds and against your clit as you desperately seek a release that makes you feel a little closer to him. You climax moaning his name.

Your last night together had been tender. Everyone cleared out of the showers early and left you alone for longer than you usually had together. They all knew what was happening and what it meant, and it was the one thing they had to give you as a going away gift. He braced you against the tiled wall of the shower stall like he had the first time you'd had sex, but this time he had been so gentle. You both relished every touch, every kiss, every slow, deep thrust of him inside of you. You made love like you would never see each other again, though you would never say the words out loud. Never give voice to those worries, even if they hung unsaid between you. Afterwards, you had sobbed as he held you and whispered that everything would be alright. You clung to him like he was a rock in a storm at sea up until the very last minute you had. You'd been so afraid that if you let go of him, you would drown.

But there you were, going through every day. Surviving and waiting.

"If you find someone else, I'd understand."

"Kino!"

"Someone young and attractive."

"You're crazy."

"I'm realistic."

"You're not." You climbed into his lap on his cot, uncaring who was watching, and straddled his hips. He hissed a protest, but you ignored him and held his face in your hands. "There's no one in the whole galaxy that can hold a flame to you, do you hear me? When I'm out of here, the only thing I'll be doing is working and waiting for you. Because I love you." You leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "And you're so goddamn sexy, why would I want anyone else? If the floor was asleep right now, I'd be on my knees showing you just how sexy I think you are." Then you placed a kiss on the scruff of his cheek. "And you're brave," a kiss on his temple, "and brilliant," a kiss on his nose, "and noble—"

He interrupted you with a kiss on your lips and you smiled into it as he wrapped his arms possessively around you.

Months pass. Five, then six, and finally there's less than a month before he's there. Your mood picks up and hope fills your lungs. You catch yourself smiling and humming at work. Your co-workers, the ones you occasionally think of as your friends, notice. When they ask what's up, you smile, maybe the first true smile you've ever given them, and say, "Kino is going to be here in twenty days." And that is enough of an explanation.

You haven't talked about him often. Not because you're ashamed, but because it hurts. And because, selfishly, you want to keep all of him to yourself for the time being. But they know the general idea of your circumstances. That'd you'd been in a men's labor prison due to a clerical error. The only woman—or at least you had been when you left. That he's still there. That you'd risked your lives to be together. That he's a good man that tries to keep everyone going and out of trouble so they can get out. That now you're waiting for him.

A few of them seemed skeptical about your story, whether it's disapproval that you met someone in prison or disbelief that he'll actually turn up when the time comes. You didn't care then and you don't care now. All that has ever truly mattered is that date, looming in the distance and drawing ever closer. The others were—are more supportive because when you do talk about him, you know your face lights up. The clouds of your gloom part for the briefest of moments with his name on your tongue. So twenty days is revelation.

You start to fret that you haven't made your flat welcoming enough. That he's going to come home to something just as sterile as what he left behind. You buy better sheets, a comfortable blanket to drape on the couch, a vase for the table, good towels, any luxury you can think of that neither of you had on Narkina 5. You have the credits for it. Other than rent, food, a few necessities, and the occasional drink out, you've saved everything. You want to enjoy it with him. To build your home and your life with him. Plus you have to admit, while standing in a street market, looking at baskets and rugs and decorative hangings, you aren't even sure what he likes. The thought makes you laugh.

You count the squares.

19.

You get promoted at work to a senior welder position. It's fast, but everyone has to admit your work is high quality. A natural talent. You relent to a last drink out to celebrate. You still go home after one.

13.

You buy a nice dress to wear to the station. Something that flatters your frame and waist, in a color that complements your own coloring, and it dips low between your breasts. You hang it on the wall of your bedroom and admire it every time you wake in the morning.

8.

You get a haircut. A proper one, not just a trim so you can keep it tied back and out of your face while you work. It's layered and feminine, and it's the first time you're reminded of the person you had been many years ago. Though looking in the mirror now, you're still so different. The rounder, softer features of your youth are completely gone and have been replaced with high cheekbones and a graceful jawline. Getting older suits you. Reflects the new confidence you have in yourself.

5.

You buy a bouquet of flowers to set in the vase on the table.

4.

You clean. The place is already tidy because you don't have or do much, but you're so full of nervous energy that you're starting to fret over the small things. It has to be perfect.

2.

You're convinced you're going to pace a permanent line on the floor. You beg your supervisor to let you work overtime, but they don't need the extra hands. He tells you to go home with a knowing look.

1.

Tomorrow. He gets there tomorrow. You want to crawl into bed and sleep as long as you can to make the time move faster, but you're too excited to sleep at all.

0.

You have an entire week off. You'd traded shifts, worked a few weekends and longer hours when you were needed to build good will, and never took a day off your entire time there, so your supervisor gave you the whole week. A whole week with just Kino.

You get to the station early because you have no idea what time he'll get there. Or which transports he's taken during the trip, so the screen that displays times and ships is no help. You're in your dress with your hair done and just a hint of makeup to accentuate your features.

You alternate between sitting on the bench and pacing around. Whenever a new crowd of people appears, you stop to anxiously look for his face, only to be disappointed when he isn't there. You smooth the fabric of your dress for the hundredth time. It's plenty smooth, but you don't know what else to do with your hands.

He arrives early in the afternoon. You've been waiting for over seven hours, but in your anxiety and impatience, it's felt like an eternity. Your feet hurt a little because you aren't used to the nicer flats, just your work boots, and you're so glad you didn't pick out heels.

You see him first.

He's in a blue jacket and a black shirt and pants, and you realize you've never seen him in anything other than the white and orange uniform. You also realize the uniform hadn't been as flattering as you thought. Because right now, surrounded by so many colors, flashing ads, and the warm station lights, with his beard a little longer and his hair relaxed from travel, he looks stunning. The most handsome man you've ever seen in your life. If you weren't already madly in love with him, you would have fallen for him completely the second you laid eyes on him.

His expression, however, is grave as he scans the crowd, and you note the tension in his shoulders. The way his hand is nearly strangling the handle of his bag. It occurs to you that he's worried you won't be here. Because just as you didn't know what was happening to him in there, he had no idea what was happening to you out here. He didn't get to see how you had survived and waited and built everything for this moment. The thought causes a pang of heartache for him that you feel like a punch in the gut, and your eyes sting with tears.

Right then, as if he can feel your gaze on him, he turns to you. You see the recognition on his face the second he lays eyes on you, and your breath catches at the way his uneasy expression gives way to relief. You both stare at each other, absorbing the moment. Processing that this is real. He's right there and you're right here. It's finally happening. The noises of the station fade away and the only thing you can hear is the blood pounding in your ears.

Then the moment passes and your feet are moving. You're running towards each other as if you're both terrified the other one will somehow disappear if you don't. That, in your desperation, you somehow imagined this. Someone is shouting at you to slow down as you run by, but it doesn't matter because you fall into his arms and then that's the only thing that matters. He drops his bag at your feet and hugs you to him so tightly that he nearly lifts you off the ground, which is good because the relief of his touch makes your legs unsteady. You're surrounded by his arms, his warmth, his scent, and you think it can't get better than that, but then he's kissing you with two hundred and thirty eight days of pent up grief and passion.

Every part of you feels like it's being ripped from a deep sleep. You feel it in your throat, in your chest, your fingers, down to your belly, where it finally pools to your core and you ache. Of course you had touched yourself at night while you thought of him between your legs, but having him in front of you once more is a jolt to your system. You feel alive.

You finally pull away because you want to see his face and hear his voice, to learn the new feel of his softer beard beneath your fingers, because you've missed him—all of him—so much. There are tears in his eyes and he gives you a watery, joyful laugh as your hands run over his cheeks and chin.

"My god, you're beautiful." He finally says in his low, gruff voice, and fuck have you really missed that.

"Kino," you sob because you have a million things you want to say to him, but you're so overwhelmed that you have no idea where to start.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here." He caresses your face back, and swipes his thumb over a tear on your cheekbone that has escaped your eyelashes.

"You are. I almost can't believe it! I've missed you so god-damned much. I–" You take a trembling, calming breath and look into his eyes. They're so blue and warm. His hand on your jaw and the feel of his beard beneath your fingertips is comforting. It grounds you. "Welcome home."

He kisses you again, right in the middle of everything, as people continue to part and file around you in irritation. It quickly turns desperate and heated. Your hands tangle in his hair while he moves to grope along your ribs, and you convey every ounce of your yearning against his lips and tongue. But you know this has nowhere to go. Not here. So you force yourself to part from him again, placing a few final kisses on the corner of his lips as an apology. Because when you start this, you want to finish it.

"We have several blocks to walk home. We should do that now before we make everyone uncomfortable. Besides," you place a kiss on his temple, "we have a rather nice bed waiting for us when we get there."

He groans your name into your hair, but doesn't need any further convincing. He picks up his bag, and you take his free hand and lace your fingers together. It's the first time you've ever been able to casually hold his hand, and even this, something so simple, is a balm on your tender heart.

As you walk through the city, past store fronts and food stands, the two of you finally get the opportunity to talk. You tell him about your job and how you surprised yourself by enjoying it more than you expected. How you'd just gotten a promotion for your skill. At that he stops to sweep you into his arms again and to tell you how proud of you he is. You beam at his praise. Even now, it still means more to you than any incentive or reward you could ever get. You tell him about the co-workers that have been nice and are eager to meet him, though you leave out how, in your misery, you've kept them at arm's length. When you're both comfortable and settled in together, maybe then you'll pick at that wound. Or maybe, with him here, that wound will heal. You'll let your walls down and you won't have to.

You ask about what happened after you left, and he says there isn't much to tell. Other than someone from table one also getting out, things had continued on much the same—just without you. Your replacement hadn't been as fast at the delicate work like you were, though, so your table hadn't gotten above third place after you left. You try not to feel smug about it because you do feel sorry for your old pod. And even for the new man because you know it isn't easy. You know how scary all of it is. For a moment, you also feel a pang of guilt that you hadn't thought as much about them as you had about Kino, or wondered how they were fairing. He can sense the slight shift in your mood and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. He doesn't need to say anything because you can hear his words in your head: "None of this is your fault." You give him a small, grateful smile.

You stop him when you finally see your building down the street, and bring his hand to your lips and place a kiss on his knuckles. "See that building right there?" You point to it and he follows the line of your finger to the corner. "That's it. That's where we live."

He looks at it with awe, and it softens him. He always looks younger when he isn't frowning or so serious. As you watch his face, you realize how overwhelming all of this must be. It had been for you, too, but you had something to do—to focus on—to help you process the emotions. You were also the one paving the way, so it happened for you in steps. He left Narkina 5 and then walked into a whole new life.

"It's perfect." His voice is shaky, far from the commanding shout of Kino Loy, shift manager, and you tilt your head to rest on his shoulder so you can admire it with him.

"I think I appreciate it a lot more right now." You stand there with him, holding his hand and offering him comfort, until he's finally ready to move on.

You both make it up the stairs to your second story flat while he absorbs every detail of the short trek. Inside, you expect him to look around some more, to take everything in and explore the rooms after you've removed your shoes. Instead he drops his bag by the door, closes the space between you, and pulls you in for a deep kiss. In the privacy of your home, you finally allow yourself the low, shameless moan that has been building up inside of you. It feels like its own release, an expression of the longing you've felt all the way to your core.

His arms roam your back, slide down to cup your ass and squeeze over the fabric of your dress. He uses the grip to pull you flush against him and you can feel the firm thickness of his arousal straining against his pants. Your hands slip inside his jacket to run over his chest, along his sides, and around to the planes of his back. The shape of him feels familiar, and yet it feels different. The fabric of his shirt is softer, clings to him in a way the uniform hadn't. So you appreciate his form in a new way with your exploring touch, and it feels like rediscovery. Relearning how you both fit together now, and the thought is exciting.

"You look incredible," you murmur against his lips. "You didn't warn me you look so fucking hot in blue."

He chuckles, deep and rich, and the vibration tingles your chest. "I didn't know. No one's told me before."

"Galaxy full of idiots," you grumble.

"What about you? God, I love this dress. Look at you," he growls.

"I'm glad. I bought it just for you." You give him a heated look and whisper, "So that you can enjoy taking it off of me."

He sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes flutter closed. He takes a second to center himself. When he opens them again, he levels you with the commanding, determined stare that you're so familiar with. The one you can never resist.

"Show me the bedroom."

You take his hand and press it to your chest. The heel rests against your cleavage and his fingers brush your collarbone, covering your pounding heart. You walk backwards, slowly, not taking your eyes off of him, and pull him down the hall with you. It's a straight shot until you reach the door, but you take your time and the effect it has on him is palpable. He stalks after you, frame tense, predatory and hungry. It sends a thrill down your spine.

The room beyond the doorway is tidy, the sheets and blankets are clean and fresh, and the bed is made. You had only added a rug and airy curtains, so it's a little sparse, but it's light and cozy in off whites and peaches. More importantly, it's yours. Before you can say anything, he scoops you up into his arms. You almost forgot how strong he is. How effortlessly he can carry you around. It occurs to you that you can finally explore the implications of that now. You have that freedom.

He walks you past the threshold, across the room, and sets you down on the edge of the bed. Rather than push you back against the covers, he straightens to stand in front of you. You look up at him expectantly and he brushes the back of his knuckle down your cheek.

"I want to appreciate this. Truly, I do." He begins to casually take off his jacket. He pulls his arms out of the sleeves, unhurried, as if he's getting undressed after a long day. Then he meticulously folds it over his arm and tosses it to the floor without looking. "But that will come later. Right now, I just want to fuck you."

There's a responding throb of wetness between your legs. You nod eagerly and choke out, "Yes."

"I want to show you how much I've missed you." He starts on the buttons of his shirt. You wonder if you should be helping, but your hands are trembling. You're not sure you can work a button right now without ripping the threads. You aren't sure how he can work a button right now. He only pauses to pull the fabric from his waistband. Otherwise his pace is infuriatingly steady. "I want to hear how much you've missed me when I do."

"God, Kino." You reach out to greedily touch his exposed skin. You didn't think his outfit could get any hotter, but now his shirt hangs open and untucked from his pants, leaving his chest and stomach bare, and you couldn't have been more wrong. You want him to walk around like that from now on. You imagine him standing in front of the kitchen sink, barefoot and shirt open as he washes a plate. Him on the balcony at dusk, leaning against the railing, looking out across the city with those piercing blue eyes as his hair is ruffled by a breeze and he's bathed in rich, fading sunlight. Him entering the bedroom, rolling up the cuffs of his sleeves on his undone shirt, pleased to see you lounging on the bed and reading, and his trajectory changes towards you as—

His finger under your chin pulls you from your thoughts and you note the hint of amusement on his face. As if he can read your mind. You flush and, with only a small amount of regret, help him push the shirt off of his shoulders, letting your hands skim across his arms as you slide it down. You can feel him shifting beneath your palms as he moves to pull it off the rest of the way. It joins his jacket on the floor.

As his hands move to work on the button of his pants, you climb to your knees before him. You're eye level now and it helps you feel more in control instead of at his mercy. He stops to watch as you reach behind yourself and unzip the back of your dress. The fabric relaxes on your body, no longer pulled taught around you. You don't take it off, though. You still want him to do that.

He doesn't pull it over your head. He pushes it off your shoulders and drags his rough hands along your arms as he peels it down, just as you had done to him. He leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Soon it's pooled around your waist and your top half is exposed. He hungrily takes in the sight of your naked breasts and stomach, but doesn't touch you. Your body has softened while you've been apart. There is still strength there, but your curves are rounder without the constant demand to work or fry. You think it's the perfect balance of toned muscle and feminine figure. He clearly agrees by the way he almost loses his composure. Almost.

"Lie down." His voice is still low and steady. At his command, you sit back down and lay onto the covers. He braces a knee next to your calf and grips the sides of your dress. You raise your hips to give him better access, which earns you a grunt of approval. As he slides it down your legs, he's very focused and gentle, taking care not to rip or damage it, then he lays it on the floor with more thought than he had given his own clothing. It's only when he turns back to you that he realizes you aren't wearing any underwear. And you've let your legs fall open. He groans at the sight of you.

"I just got here and you're already trying to kill me." His gravelly voice rolls over you and you let out a faint whimper.

"No, I'm trying to encourage you."

"Like I need any encouragement." But his eyes continue to linger on your damp sex.

"You're still wearing pants." You spread your legs wider, exposing more of yourself to him. Reluctantly, he looks down at himself, as if he's only just remembered, and he quickly pushes his pants and underwear off in one motion. You can't help but notice that he still carefully steps out of them, an echo of his previous control, which is rapidly dissipating. Finally, he's completely nude before you.

Your memories hadn't done him justice. Hadn't captured the way his muscles flex as he moves or how his chest rises and falls as his breathing quickens at the sight of you. The mesmerizing pattern of grey in his beard and hair. The little curls at the nape of his neck that refuse to lay flat. Hadn't captured the play of light on his skin and the shadow at the hollow of his collarbone, or the lines of his hips when he's poised and ready to climb on top of you. Hadn't captured the view of his thick erection framed by your own legs. Or the way the wrinkles on his forehead deepen with stern concentration when something has captured all of his attention, like the way you're drawing your fingertips along your inner thigh.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" You sound far needier than you meant to. It's almost petulant, but you've waited so long for this and you do need him.

"I'm making up for lost time." His heavy gaze rakes across your body as he drinks in the view.

"Would you like a show? Or would you like to make up for lost time in a different way." You trail a finger from your thigh towards the mound between your legs.

His hand twitches and his jaw clenches in thought as he weighs his options. Or he's waiting for you to beg, and you're getting close to that point, but you want him to just take you.

"Because I can give you a show." You inch further down, barely brushing along your folds, and you watch his length twitch with interest. "I can show you what it was like for me here every night. How I touched myself as I thought of you." You press your finger so it's just breaching your entrance and you react with a tiny gasp.

At that, he stares down at you, lips parted in agony, torn between wanting to watch you and wanting to be the one pressing inside of you.

"How badly I wanted you." You drag your moistened fingertip up across your bundle of nerves. Your hips buck, seeking out more contact, and your head lolls back as you moan out, "Kino!"

The mattress dipping as he presses a knee onto the bed is the only warning you get before he's on top of you. You pull your hand free just before he dives forward and buries his face into your neck. His erection is pinned between you, laying flat against your stomach. You immediately wiggle your hips, trying to bring your arousals closer together, but he's strong and unyielding above you.

"I almost forgot how little it takes for you to drive me absolutely fucking mad," he says against your throat. He nuzzles where your pulse flutters beneath your skin, and you continue your vain writhing beneath him. "I hope you're prepared to not leave this bedroom today."

You want to give him a smug grin, but are incapable of doing more than reacting to the attention he's lavishing on the spots he knows get the biggest rise out of you. Because driving him mad had been your intention and you're getting exactly what you want, but you also forgot to mention: "I have the whole week off of work."

He stops for a second, lips frozen below your ear, and then he pulls away to raise himself onto his hands so he can look down at you. "A week?" His expression is intense and inscrutable, which accentuates the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

You nod, still breathless. "And the weekend."

Without another word, he moves and positions himself between your legs—exactly where you've wanted him this entire time. And for a brief moment, right before he plunges into you, you're nervous. It's ridiculous, you think, but it's been a while. And this feels so much more real compared to sex in a closet, which had also felt real until you could compare it to this moment. This is your first time together in your home, on your bed. It feels significant. Transformative in a way you weren't expecting. As though every decision you've ever made led you to this moment.

You're so full of desire and nerves and anticipation about finally getting what you want, and it blurs together in a heady mix. Then finally, after what feels like a lifetime of waiting, he buries himself into you with one hard thrust. At his deep groan, the noise and static in your head are silenced, and all that's left is him.

"Kino," your voice is pleading, desperate, but you don't have to say anything more. Don't have to beg because he's rocking into you at a frenzied pace before his name even dies on your lips.

His lips find your neck, your collarbone, your cheek. He kisses and bites, causing you to gasp and cry out, and his beard rasps your skin. You hope all of it leaves a mark—that you're a canvas of bruises and burns later. His.

You grip his shoulders, hook a leg in the crook of his knee, and curl the other around his waist so that you can hold on to him. It's all you can do to keep yourself steady while he fucks you. Every snap of his hips sends a spark of pleasure through you that continues to build, wave upon wave.

You want it to last, to stay in that heightened state of arousal, wrapped around him, full of him, skin burning—but then you hear the low rumble of his voice.

"God, I've missed you." You can feel his hot breath on your cheek and his voice in your chest. "Missed fucking you."

You turn to capture his mouth in a hungry kiss. He grunts against your tongue and it's all you can stand. You surrender to your climax, unable to moan or breathe until that first peak finishes rolling through you—and then you are gasping and sobbing his name. His hips pick up speed, relentless through your pulsing and clenching around him. He has a solemn look of concentration and his jaw clenches from the effort. Finally, his whole body stills, tenses against you. Then he follows you over that edge, his face slack with bliss, and spills himself inside of you with a moan that sounds like your name.

Every part of you is satisfied and at peace. The sex was fast, and hard, and desperate, but it was the best sex of your entire life. It was two hundred and thirty eight days ending. It was both of you free of that place. Free of the masks and roles, and never having to keep your distance again. It was the two of you as you are and as you can be from now on.

You pull him down and into your arms. He goes willingly into the embrace, bonelessly tucks himself against you and under your chin. You run your fingers through his thick, grey locks and feel him give a content hum. Your poor heart, which is still trying to calm down, lurches in your chest.

"Kino Loy," you smile, "I think I might be completely and hopelessly in love with you."

He tilts his head to give you a tired hint of a smile back. "And I think I might be desperately in love with you, too."

You continue to lay there, nude and intertwined, because you can, and say the words back and forth to each other, each phrase more certain than the last, until you fall asleep.

"I suppose I should get rid of this now."

"Get rid of it? Why?"

"I mean, I don't need it anymore. You're here."

"Why don't we hang it on the wall?"

You look at him in confusion. "Why?"

"Because it shows what we both went through to be together. Every X is a day we survived so we could get back to each other."

You love it. Suddenly the visual reminder of the time between you was a reminder of a time passed. It didn't seem quite so depressing anymore.

"Plus, it's cute. You made a calendar, love. For me. And look at the little heart over today!"

You blush, a little embarrassed. "I told you all I was going to do is work and wait for you."

"You'll never have to wait for me again. I'm here and I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."

"Hmm," you pretend to think, "I don't think either of us will live that long. Forever is a long time."

He laughs deep in his chest, his eyes and nose wrinkling in amusement, and, finally, you're home.