#Rampe-Ailes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unhinged-summer-fun · 2 years

Text

antiophobia

Din Djarin x F!Reader (22+)

antiophobia: n. the fear one sometimes experiences when leaving a loved one, a sudden wondering if whatever paltry goodbye left at the end would have to serve as your final farewell. Is this yours and Din's?

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: Descriptions of back injuries, panic, injury recovery, angst angst angst, hurt/comfort, Daddy kink, this is kinda heavy so you may wanna wait for the right headspace to read

Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ezrasbirdie I LOVE YOU SO SO SO SO MANY!! Here is your possessive growly daddy din with a huge serving of angst and hurt/comfort, just like u ordered <3

The longest he'd been gone before now had been four days. Even then, he'd typically had comms open to you, the majority of his time being spent in wait while he'd been gone—always in the same general area, however, and well within range to help you with whatever ailed you, even if you were just unable to sleep.

It's been six days.

Six days, and two days ago you started napping to pass the time a little faster. It only hurt more when you'd wake up and find that the dream you'd woken from had been just that. The feeling of his hands on your body again, his lips on yours, the warmth of his body, erased into the ambient coolness within the bunk. At least it smelled like him, but that was fading, too.

Six days, and you haven't gotten a single message from him besides the daily lifebeacon alerting you that his vitals were still operating as normal. It was an unconscious system, one that he received as well, when he was out in the field. His readout, you were certain, was more detailed and possibly came in much more frequently, but the only thing you received for the last six days was a perfunctory:

VITALS NORMAL.

You traced the swoops and turns of the Aurebesh on the monitor, the previous days' communications reading just the same. On another monitor, a red warning flashed but no sound came: incoming ground activity. The planet you were on had a deep system of volcanic fissures, making the surface near-inhospitable if you weren't within the boundaries of the energy shields. The daily rumbles and quakes were rote by this point, and you were certain you wouldn't even feel them if you were left here alone any longer.

Still, you braced against the copilot's chair with a vacant expression on your face, a tired sigh leaving your lips.

You wondered, not for the first time (not for the hundredth time, even) if you could play this off as an emergency, and try to hail Din on the end of the line.

Emergencies only, sweetheart.

His voice was a reminder, a personal admonishment. This job was different than the others before, and required a bit more stealth than he normally had to deal with. Those three words were all he left you with before the ramp had sealed the hot air out of the hull where you stood.

Sweetheart. He'd called you sweetheart. You weren't annoyed by the name, actually enjoyed all his names, but it wasn't what would have soothed you best upon his departure. Cyare, you would have preferred. Cyar'ika, even. That meant sweetheart, anyway. Why wouldn't he just say that?

He could have called you babygirl—

You shook your head at that line of thinking and stood up from the settling quake, rubbing a little at the small bruise on your forehead. The quakes had taken some time to get used to, and you'd found yourself as clumsy as you were at the start of your journeys with Din. Little bruises and sore spots had bloomed on your body, covering up (replacing) the marks of passion he'd left you with the night before his departure. It saddened you to think about for too long, so you'd treated the quakes as the only company you were permitted while waiting for Din to return.

You made it to the ladder headed down from the cockpit to the cargo deck, intending to reorganize something you'd already rearranged a million times, when—

The aftershock hit.

You'd done some research about groundquakes here and there, and as your foot slipped from the rung you'd stepped on a thousand times before, you recalled that the true danger lay in the moment of peace between the first quake and its aftershocks. This false sense of security, mixed with your lethargy about being alone out in the docking bay while Din was gone, had caused your literal downfall.

It was maybe a ten-foot drop, and with the ladder only being secured to the wall, and nothing else surrounding it, you had no hand-holds to slow your fall, just your clumsy feet scrambling against the rungs, pingpingpingping—

And then it was black.

Pain woke you, as you had expected it would in those half-a-thousand micro-thoughts that rushed through your mind between impact and unconsciousness. Your eyes swam, blinking against lights that were too bright, moved too much. You felt sick, nausea warring with the pain lancing up your spine. A soft whine fought to leave your lips, but the pressure on your diaphragm refused to let you vocalize your hurt.

Your head lolled sideways, trying to get a gauge on what happened, where you were, but your mind was sluggish and pulled in every direction but the answers you sought. Your shoulders wanted to curl inward to protect you, but you knew it might worsen whatever injuries you'd sustained. Your mind drifted into a fuzzy halfway point, where words and names bubbled up on your tongue that you forced yourself to swallow back down.

Tears had been streaming silently into your ears, making you shiver at the sensation. Fear gripped you tightly in its fist, and that paralysis was more comforting than the idea of actual paralysis. What if you'd broken your back or your neck and you became a burden again just when things were going well and Daddy wouldn't want you anymore—

You sucked in a breath and blew out a half-sob to the hatch at the top of the ladder. Stay big, stay big, if you don't stay big you'll die and if you die Daddy won't—

"No," you mumbled, your voice weak and almost inaudible.

Finger by finger you tested your nerves and sensation, gritting your teeth and ignoring the low whine that slipped between the gaps. Pain pounded your brain into a low throbbing mush, and you had to close your eyes to keep from watching the room spin around in front of you. But you could twitch your fingers and rotate your foot, your legs.

You could reach up and call. Press the emergency line. The specs are still on.

You liked to work with your hands, and hated toting a datapad around for reference while you worked. Din had splashed out a few months back, converting your prescription lenses into a HUD like his own, though with much less combat settings. You could control it by the movements of your eyes, you could access the comm channel right now if you just opened your eyes.

I just need to hear his voice. He can ground me back into big space.

You shook your head a little, gasping at the infernal pain that flooded your spine. It wasn't broken, thankfully, but you didn't think you could get up on your own, even to the 'fresher. No, calling Din would be a mistake. This was an accident, your own stupidity and carelessness leading to you immobile on the floor.

You had to get up. If Din came back now and saw you like this, he'd never get the image out of his head. You couldn't do that to him. But you still couldn't tell which way was up, you couldn't even be sure that you had moved your fingers and toes, you couldn't tilt your head downward without screaming pain overtaking you.

You knew you weren't bleeding, thankfully. You would have smelled that. Though, even the ambient scent of the crate that sat too close to your head was nauseating. You'd had migraines on and off for most of your adult life, and Din did his best to accommodate you, but the fact was that you still felt great shame in having to deal with them. You didn't want to be too much, didn't want him to have any more justification to abandon you at the next outpost—

Maybe that was why he hadn't come back in so long. You'd been wearing this ship down to its chassis, the both of you complaining about its awkward layout and terrible maneuverability since you got it. He'd been looking for a larger ship he could outfit with more offensive upgrades, but the focus had been on comfort, on space.

He wouldn't need more space if you weren't here.

Another hiccuping sob tore from your lips, the tears falling hotter and hotter as you tried to stop them.

He'd never been gone more than four days, and even on those missions, he would be in constant communication from the second he stepped off the ship. He hadn't said a word to you since disembarking. Was he even on-world? Were you just too pathetic to see that he'd stranded you on this hellish planet, alone?

Your breath hitched around another sob, breath coming faster and faster as a panic attack crept up badly on you. Your voice pitched higher, and you knew you were rocketing into a headspace you shouldn't be in alone.

Only Daddy knows how to fix it.

Daddy's not here anymore. You're alone. He left you.

No, I can wait, I can be patient…

You can't even climb down a ladder. You used up the last of the painkillers and stretched him too thin, he'd said he shouldn't have even taken this job. You pushed him. This is your fault, and now he's gone.

I can call him, he said only emergencies, and this—

You think you're worth an emergency to him? You're worth distracting him from his mission, from his job? It's like you're asking to prolong your suffering, his suffering too.

"No…" you croaked again, fully crying now. The small lights blinking above you didn't answer, only stoically watched as you collapsed like a dying star.

And like a dying star, a black hole welcomed you once more.

"…cyar'ika, come on, answer me…"

The voice was worried when it woke you. You felt it inside your head, and for a moment, you wrote it off as just another dream. Another dream where he wasn't there. You just wanted to wake up, already miserable and in pain.

"I hear you moving, can you hear me? Can you respond?"

"Just let me wake up," you mumbled past dry, cracked lips.

A noise of panicked relief, if there was such a thing. "Baby, you scared me. I got the fall alert on my comm, it said you fell and weren't moving."

You frowned. This was oddly-specific, for a dream.

"Huh?"

"Did you fall? Or did you drop the specs?"

You opened your eyes, catching the ticker-banner at the top indicating an open comm line. What?!

"I'm on the ground," you said dully. "Where're you?"

"I'm in the city still, do you need me to—?"

"No!" you said vehemently. "No, don't. I'm fine, I'm just. I just slipped, and—"

"Babygirl, don't lie to me," he warned. You gulped, your mind swimming into darker, but warmer, depths. You couldn't handle hearing him speak like that right now. You were already so close to breaking. But he didn't know that.

Your voice trembled. "I'm okay," you tried one last time to fight your need to ask for help, for comfort. Your spine and jaw screamed at you, and you only hoped he couldn't hear you grinding your teeth to keep quiet against the pain.

"Are you on the ship? Comm says—"

"In the hull, Da—Din."

"In the hull, okay." His breath had caught in his throat for a second, and normally you loved hearing every small nuance over the comm, especially when he was getting you off over the line, but now, it only served to make you feel worse. He was affected, and if he was affected he was distracted, and if you were distracting him you were a burden and— "Are you hurt?"

You didn't want to lie again. You stayed quiet, lip wobbling as you reached for him through the connection. You heard him breathing softly, like he was listening for you just as hard as you were listening for him.

"Can you move?"

"I don't know," you choked out, shaking a little as a sob clawed its way up your throat.

He stifled a gasp for a moment. "Are you bleeding? How long have you been there? The alert came through five minutes ago but—"

"No blood. I don't, it's been six days, I don't—"

A weak noise you didn't want to hear him make. Was it regret? Remorse? Not that he'd left you, but that you couldn't be left alone. "I'm so sorry, babygirl. Wh-where does it—?"

"Daddy," you wept, feeling cold and afraid. You couldn't open your eyes, couldn't do anything but break down and cry.

"B-baby, I need you to. I need you to talk to me, I can't hear you very well, please-please talk to me…" You'd never heard his voice like this; soft and intense and urgent, but trying to be gentle all the same.

You sniffled. "Okay," you pouted, trying to steel yourself and ground yourself enough (ha!) to do as he says.

"I'm going to walk you through a checklist, and I want you to tell me what you're feeling as we go, okay?" his voice wasn't shaky like yours, and you couldn't even feel that shame and fear anymore, you had this lifeline keeping you conscious. At your pathetic hum, he cleared his throat. "Let's start with your feet. Are they warm or cold?"

"They're not anything."

A panicked kind of noise.

"I can feel them though. My whole body is throbbing. Hurts."

"Ohh okay. Okay. Okay okay okay. Thank the stars, okay. You feel them. Focus on your ankles, your ankles and your shins. Is there anything that stands out here that you can't relax around?"

"No, not there."

"Good job, babygirl. You're doing so good for me. Smart girl. Move to your knees. Do they feel lined up right? Tense your thighs a few times, for me."

You pulsed your muscles as directed, but felt nothing more than the full-body ache you couldn't pinpoint. "My knees are okay. I think it's—"

"We gotta go in order, babygirl. When you moved your thighs just now, did it hurt anywhere on your legs? Is anything getting very hot or very cold?" You refocused yourself, letting his voice drift like soft touches up your body.

"No."

"Good. That's good. Now see if you can roll one leg side to side, then the other. Like they're big logs. Stop if you can't."

Moving in general hurt, but focusing your attention on one part of your body helped to lessen the pain, and your panic as well. Your legs rolled left and right, then stopped. "I did it."

"Great. Now if you can, do the same motion on your butt, roll your whole lower body back and forth but just from your hips down. Can you do that?"

You wanted to be able to do everything he asked of you, if not because you liked pleasing him, then to prove you weren't completely inept. Wiggling like this, you felt pain flare up elsewhere, but it wasn't in your hips. You relayed this to him.

"Okay, baby, make sure you're breathing. Breathe in for me, just a little. Good. Hold it, and out. Breathe in a little deeper? Hooold it, and out. How did that feel?"

"Fine."

"Perfect. You're being so good for me right now. Such a good girl. I'm proud of you. This is really scary, huh?"

"Yeah…" you whimpered, lip wobbling again. Before your traitorous mind could continue spiraling, he picked up his list again.

"Okay, baby. Let's think about your belly. Not your back. Your belly. Can you take a deep breath and try to fill it up as far as you can? How big can you get your tummy?"

Doing this made you whine in discomfort, but you were focusing only on your tummy.

"That sounds like it hurt, where'd it hurt? What'd it feel like?"

"Not good," you sniffled. "M'sorry, Daddy." More tears fell.

"No, no, no, don't worry about Daddy right now. Did your tummy hurt? Or was it your back?"

"Not my tummy. Back."

"Alright. Thank you for being honest with me, I know it's hard and you're very sad right now. I—" His voice cut off for a moment, and part of you that wasn't at the controls assumed he was muting himself and letting his distress be voiced so he could be calm for you. "Please don't apologize. Just listen to me. What about your chest. Is anything hurting in your chest? Your collarbones? Think slow, babygirl. Keep breathing and notice the small things, like Daddy does."

You lay there and breathed in and out in time with his exaggerated breaths, concentrating on making concentric circles outward from your breastbone until they hit the tops of your shoulders. "It aches a little, like I coughed too much," you whispered.

"You probably got the breath knocked out of you. You do that to Daddy sometimes, you're so pretty when you smile it makes Daddy's chest ache." He sounded so sweet, and you wanted to keep hearing him talk like that, but he wasn't finished. "Let's skip the back for a second. Tell me about your shoulders and your elbows."

"…they're okay."

"Roll them like you did for your legs."

"I did it."

"Can you make a fist for me? One finger at a time. Start with your pinky." You grunted when you made a fist. They were weak, but you could do it. "Can you knock on the ground so I can hear it?" You managed to thump both fists three times, but it was exhausting. "Great job, baby! Great job. I love you so much, you know that? I'm so proud of you for listening, I knew you could do it. You're very brave, my brave girl."

You couldn't help the weeping that inspired, despair slicing at the tender moment. He called your name a few more times before murmuring, "baby, cyar'ika, sweetheart, babygirl it's me, shh, shh it's alright…"

"Daddy, I'm scared."

"I know, I know you are. Daddy's scared too, he just wants to get there and be with his baby. Been scared since I stepped off the ship."

"Why?"

That question gave him pause, like he hadn't expected you to answer, and he also hadn't expected the truth that came first to his mind.

"…I'm scared every time you're away from me. I want to keep you safe and protected. I know you thought I was being silly when I said no to you staying planetside at the Palace, but I can't… I can't be that far from you anymore. And I know you're on the ship when I go, but… if I can't see you with my own eyes, I'll never be sure."

"And n-now I'm—"

"No, baby no!" he cried, picking up his soothing tones as your cries grew more wretched. "We're almost done with the checklist, can you help me f-finish it together? Daddy's doing it too. Let's think about our neck. Can you move at all? Please only move an inch at a time."

You could move your head side to side, but you still didn't want to risk looking down. When no immediate pain came of the motion, he encouraged you to try looking down. You were totally surprised when you could! It still hurt, but you could move.

"How about your mid-back?"

"Hurts."

"I know, baby. My back hurts too. Can you squeeze your butt for me? Does anything hurt when you do that?"

"No…" you bit your lip. You knew you were honing in on the pain, and the hyper-focus on the sensations made you even more aware that you'd feel more of it when you thought about it.

"Alright baby. Let's take it slow. This is going to sound strange, but since you can move your legs, I want you to move one of them up in the air, inch by inch, and when it hurts too much that you can't go any higher, you tell me. Does that make sense, babygirl?" he sounded out of breath, and he kept muting himself when you spoke.

"I'm scared," you whispered. "Don't want it to hurt."

"I know, baby. And that's Daddy's fault, Daddy wants to know where it hurts and this will tell him. Are you ready? Good. I'm going to count to ten, really slow, and I want you to keep moving. When I get to ten, one of your legs should be straight up, okay? You tell me when it hurts too much, okay? It's going to be alright."

He started counting, and at seven, you cried out, dropping the leg back down to the floor with a loud thunk. You sucked in air, wheezing and whining as you shook from the acute pain.

Through it all, he murmured praise and soft noises of encouragement, but his voice was cracking and it sounded thick, wet with tears you didn't think he ever cried. "Easy, baby, easy now…"

"D-daddy, hurts…" you wailed, arms and hands shaking as you tried not to curl in a ball.

"It's okay, you're okay, please don't move, stay on the ground, breathe slower for me, babygirl, please breathe slower. Breathe with me." He had to steady himself with a catch-breath, but eventually you synced your breaths together. You just wanted his hands to soothe away the pain, you wanted him with you, you needed him there, you couldn't handle him leaving you, you couldn't— "Babygirl please breathe with me again, I'm right here, just close your eyes and imagine I'm right there with you, I'm going as fast as I can, I'm so sorry…" He was crying now, voice tight and almost strangled as he spoke.

He was still the only thing that kept you tethered to consciousness. He asked you questions about your neck and your head, but you could barely answer them through your hysterical cries. Eventually, your tears subsided to silence, shock setting in while he spoke to you. You didn't even register the things he was saying, just that he was promising something and asking for your patience and calling you his good girl.

Even in the darkness behind your eyelids, things swam around like you were underwater, and it sounded like he was oceans away as he repeatedly called your name. You felt nothing but sadness as even that drifted into silence.

The familiar sound of the ramp lowering down jolted you from unconsciousness. It's just another cruel dream, just a dream, keep resting…

Something dropped heavily to the ground, another quake, and another drop came by your body. Something touched your neck, pressing in and poking here and there before it rested firm and insistent to your pulse. You tried to twist away from the feeling, but another hand on your forehead stilled you.

Hand.

As you realized that, you felt a thumb brush hair off of your forehead, followed by a kiss to the skin. Something was familiar about it, something was… You whined and leaned into the touch again, but then the fingers on your neck and face were gone. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," a voice murmured, whispered in a cool breath near your nose. The voice was honey-sweet and low, almost a growl. You wanted more of that touch.

Something pulled your specs off, and you made a panicked noise of protest. If you didn't have your specs, you couldn't comm Din, and if you didn't have Din's voice on the comm, you'd— "Daddy," you croaked.

"I'm here, babygirl. I'm here. Right here. I'm so sorry. Keep your eyes closed a second. Shh, shh…" Something wet landed on your cheek, and a thumb brushed it away. Your mind still hadn't made the connection about whoever was there with you, only that you needed them more than anything. "Drink this for me, just a little."

Water dribbled into your mouth from a small dropper, just a little at a time to not choke you. It tasted like heaven, clean and pure as it washed away the taste of fear that had taken hold of your tongue like an oily film. A small pinch at your shoulder, followed by blooming warmth that took away the pain, came next. You let out a long sigh, feeling your muscles relax all at once.

"That's good. Nearly robbed a clinic for this. Suppose we don't need to resupply painkillers for a while."

You didn't laugh, because you felt so good you were crying again.

"Does something still hurt?" the voice asked. You shook your head, slow like he said. One inch at a time. Wait, who said? "I'm so fucking happy you can move your neck, baby," the voice choked out. "I'm going to roll you on your side and touch your back."

He didn't wait for confirmation, knowing you were flying high on whatever the hell he'd given you. The world shifted, and you found yourself facing the 'fresher, one arm flopped over your body while the other lay squished against the deck. Fingers played over your body like a musician and their instrument, poking softly, before going deeper and pushing a groan from your mouth. Some part of you didn't like that, but you were mostly offline.

You were put on your back again, and your head lolled over to the left, catching the sight of Din Djarin with his face in his hands, weeping quietly against his palms. You couldn't choose which emotion to feel first, panic at his open emotion, relief at his presence, concern at… this whole situation.

"Daddy," you slurred, pulling his attention to you again. His eyes were red, like he'd been crying for a long while before now. "Y'here?"

"I'm here, I'm here, I promise. I'm here. You're okay. I'm okay. I've got you. Never gonna leave you again. Never." He lays down beside you, taking your hand in his and kissing all over your knuckles. You closed your eyes and smiled, deciding on joy.

He didn't leave you, then.

Eventually, you both were able to get you standing, but that was cut short when he ordered you into the bunk, demanding you stay there while he took off and got you to a clinic where you could be checked out. You stared up at the top of the bunk, immobilized by whatever soft things he could provide for you as cushions. You followed his instructions numbly, staring up as he took off, getting into hyperspace after about an hour. You heard the carbonite chamber hiss once, and you assumed he'd gone to pick up the bounty before you left this volcanic hellscape in the dust.

You slept. You woke. Din was there with you, stripping you out of your clothes but only to do a full injury check, rolling you slowly and walking his fingers down your spine again to feel for anything he'd missed before, in his fervor. You let him touch you, drifting in and out of that drugged haze he kept you in.

You slept. You woke. He'd dressed you again, and you were on a hoverskiff with him standing at your side. It was too bright, and you frowned in confusion. A hand stroked your cheek and faded away. You couldn't even see him anymore when—

You slept. You woke. Something was humming softly to your side, your arm being jostled here and there. Someone spoke to you, and you didn't remember what answers you gave, because—

You slept. You woke. Empty room.

You slept. You woke. Someone asleep beside you, though from their slumped position, it hadn't been a willing slumber. You kept watch until you couldn't.

Eventually things made sense again. The sprain and spasm were handled in a bacta tank while you were out, and some part of you was uneasy about this fact. You didn't trust bacta as more than a pain reliever, didn't trust whatever healing it had done to you. You felt blind, your field of vision gone blurry around you without your specs.

You were brought out to a medical ship, an interplanetary transport. You always felt a presence, dark and looming, at your back. It never touched you, and you didn't even understand it until the door to your private room slid shut with a whir.

Din didn't remove his helmet, but he didn't approach you either. He stood in the opposite corner from you, still in that way you'd only ever seen him to be capable of. It made the small twitching of his fingers that much more noticeable. "Din," you said softly. It's the first thing you were aware of having spoken in a long time.

He nearly flinched, sucking in a breath like he'd forgotten you could speak. "Are you in pain?" he nearly barked.

You were confused, shaking your head slowly. Only a small ache, now. "What's going on? Why aren't we on the ship?"

"Too risky. Medical freighter is safer." His answers came clipped and to the point. "We'll be on Tatooine in a few hours."

"Are you planning on standing there the whole flight?" you said, crossing your arms. You didn't even have an IV port anymore, the painkillers unnecessary thanks to the rapid healing of the bacta. You itched over an elbow while you waited for his answer, though from his tapping fingertip against his thigh, you were leaning toward the affirmative.

"I should get you something to eat," he said abruptly, turning toward the door. Your heart leaped into your throat as you tried to call for him, but you knew it wouldn't do any good. It wasn't like you could stop him anyway.

When he returned, you'd moved yourself from the chair to the bed, and couldn't swing your legs up over the side. Your energy had been completely sapped from your body. He was holding a small tray with nutrient-rich, and delicious-smelling, food. This was an expensive flight, you could tell. He halted for a moment when he saw you like this, all lax and tired, but recovered quickly to help situate you into a better position. His touches were so quick and light, you weren't entirely sure he'd touched you at all.

"Will you lay down with me?" you asked tiredly after he helped you eat the meal. The ship was so solidly built, you hadn't realized you'd jumped to hyperspeed until you'd blinked and been shocked by the blue streaks screaming past the viewport.

"No," he said, but it was a struggle to get out. He never denied you that, even when you were nothing more than day-old acquaintances. But now, with your injury standing between you (in the place he'd put it) he would not risk your health, even if it were for your comfort.

"Back injuries aren't contagious, Din," you sighed, looking out the window with resignation. You'd been prepared (not really) for an abrupt abandonment, but this slow leaving, this extended breaking, it felt a billion times worse. There was no amount of bacta that could heal this wound.

He compromised and scooted his chair up to your bedside, taking your hand when you didn't protest his touch. "I'm glad you're safe."

It was a careful collection of words. It conveyed his relief at your healed state, and his acknowledgment of your hunger for his touch and presence. He said nothing else, which spoke volumes to the restraint he normally didn't keep around you. It felt like time moved backwards, like all those lapses in your memory and consciousness were indications of your jumps in the opposite direction.

"You don't seem to believe I'm actually safe," you said, calling his bluff.

He admitted to his cowardice in silence, and you let the tears fall just as quietly.

Tatooine was ever-moving and changing, but you were still. Technically, you and Din shared a room, but he slept on the low sofa at the other corner while you took up the bed that was five times too large for you. For all this distance, he kept true to his vow to never leave your side again. It was torturous, having him there but unable to let himself be with you.

It killed your confidence, and even when he saw you crying, he wouldn't so much as move his hand from your leg. You hadn't seen his face since he'd found you on the ship, the ship he said had been sold and paid to be demolished. He wouldn't let that cursed thing fly again.

You felt much the same.

"Do you even still love me?" you asked, after you'd stood and walked a lap around the room to get your body moving again.

"What?" he'd said, shocked. He'd been following you—hovering. "Of course I do!" he said, holding his hands out in supplication.

"You seem to hate even looking at me anymore. You can't stand being here."

"I'm here because I want to be!"

"To torture yourself with a mistake that wasn't even yours?" you shot back. The quick-turn to look at him had twinged a muscle in your back, and the fight had been paused for your pain, and near-forgotten when your tears had intervened at his impersonal comforts.

He'd slept in the bed with you that night, but he didn't touch you, even when you rolled over to put your hand on his shoulder and apologize. You knew he was awake. But he'd only acknowledged you with a small nod.

You attempted stairs again, eventually. Din was sitting closer to you, and you were glad for it, but you missed the shape of his hands in your skin. All signs of your injury were gone now. No bruises, hardly any mobility issues except before a large storm rolled in. He'd even let you see his face again. A selfish and mean part of you wanted you to believe that it was so he could school his expression into something that wasn't horror or disgust when he looked at you, but you never voiced that thought to him. At least he was kissing you.

Piece by piece—no, crumb by crumb, he gave you back pieces of the love you'd once shared together. You were starving for his affection and attention, and couldn't believe this was happening because of one stupid mistake. He countered your self-loathing with affirming words, but you missed his touch. You missed having his body in you, around you.

Fennec had suggested you work out your frustrations in the training center. While her major injury had been to her gut, a lot of the exercises she led you through were similar to the ones she practiced when she was still getting her strength back. She knew what you were going through, and all the frustrations that came with it. Din had been banished from your presence at least four hours a day, which you spent doing exercises for your flexibility, strength, and stamina. Your anger bled out of your skin and landed in the sweat beneath you, and confidence and self-assuredness replaced it.

When you were able to finally pin Fennec to the mat, you let yourself feel victory for just long enough to give her an opening to roll and pin you down beneath her. When your shoulders hit the mat, arms pinned above you, a moan caught in your throat.

That had been a problem, too. Din never wanted to aggravate your injuries, perceived and otherwise, but before he'd left you for that six-day job, he used to be almost feral in his need for your body beneath his, an unquenchable thirst for you that he never got enough of. Now, you didn't even hear him getting off in the 'fresher, like you'd resorted to doing. Your attraction to him hadn't waned even a little after you'd been injured, and even now, being pinned by the only person who knew exactly what you were physically capable of, you yearned for his body above yours. Fennec smirked, knowing exactly how the position and activity had affected you.

"Need to cut this short, sweetheart?" she asked in a teasing tone that made your face flare with heat. She released you after another moment of reveling in your embarrassment, and you took a shuddering breath. "I'll clean up here. Go."

You didn't need to be told twice.

Din was brooding in your room when you stormed in, nearly falling to the ground in your impatience with the fucking door. He looked up, surprised at your appearance. You cut him off before he could speak.

"I'm really surprised, you know." He looked even more bewildered. "I thought that you would have more faith in me. I thought you would encourage me, and be there with me at each step. But I guess I was right. You did abandon me. You didn't ever come back from that mission. The Din I knew was left behind on that lava planet, wasn't he?"

You expected him to return your venom with acceptance, but after a heart-skipping moment, he rose to his feet and quirked an eyebrow up at you. "You wanna tell me who you think you're talking to?"

His voice was low, and sexy, and full of the authority and guidance you'd been dying to have him give you again. But you couldn't submit now. You couldn't back down.

"Someone who said they would care for me, and about me, and do what was best for me. Someone who wanted to be my daddy until he breathed his last. Is that why you're so sullen? Did he die?"

He took a step forward. Even without his armor, he was broad and strong as mountains, arms coming to cross over his chest. The loose clothes everyone wore on Tatooine for comfort did not hide the hardness that lay beneath the linen.

"That's two," he said. "Do you want to get to three, or do you want to—"

"Fuck you."

His jaw worked side to side, eyes flaming hot as they shifted into the kind of dark that got you wetter than water. You felt that heat raking over your body as he looked you over, assessing your state as he weighed the punishment to the crime. You loved being his good girl, his sweetheart, but you had your moments of brattiness that he claimed were legendary.

And this was whatever step stood above legendary. This was dynastic, this was eternal, immemorial, this was opening a door to a devastating hurricane, this was the kind of behavior immortalized in religious texts and deeply-carved warnings set in statues commemorating casualties of disaster.

He moved.

In a flash, you were pulled in by the hand which had previously been on your hip, and your feet stumbled forward as he tugged you to him. Your hands were caught in one of his, and for your part, you did struggle. A little. His other hand shot up to your face, not in a slap, but a grip so quick that it made noise as he held you close. His own face wasn't even any distance from yours, his nose pressing into the apple of your cheek as he looked you in the eye and snarled.

"How deep do you want to dig this hole, babygirl? You wanna run your mouth some more?" The hand on your face released you, but only for a moment, snapping down to spank your ass once through the fabric of your training clothes. The slap jolted you, and instead of a cry of pain, brought out a whine of need. "Oh, I see. I see." He nodded, squeezing your cheeks and pouting your lips outward, so they brushed his mustache a little.

"Daddy," you whimpered.

"No, no, you seem to not want that anymore, you don't need someone to be your daddy anymore, huh?"

Your lip wobbled as his words sunk into your heart like talons. He watched you like you were under observation in a lab, taking note of every flinch, every tremble, the heavy mist in your eyes. "D—"

"If a good girl wants something from her daddy, what does she do?"

"Asks," you whispered, the noise almost swallowed by his hot, vicious kiss.

"Asks, how?" he said, his voice getting even lower in that way that informed you just how fucked you were.

"Asks nicely."

"And what happens when good girls yell at her daddy?"

Your mouth didn't want to form the words, but he waited. You knew just how patient he could be. "Punish. They get punished."

"That's right. Even good girls get punished, even good girls make mistakes. Was yelling at Daddy a mistake?" he said, leaning back to watch you nod. You barely moved against the steel grip of his hand. Beskar, some part of your mind supplied. "Words."

"Yes, Daddy. I made a mistake."

"Now I have to make sure you don't make that mistake again."

But he didn't move, he didn't let you go. He didn't get right to it, he just looked at you. He took in your tears, took in your flushed face, the way you grasped his arm though you were still in his hold. He whispered your name gently, a question on his lips that didn't join the syllables.

You'd almost forgotten this part of it all. For all that Din was rough at the edges, almost aggressive in his passion for you, he always ensured that your comfort was his main priority. Even when he punished you, it was a means to the end which meant your happiness and security. He checked in often, almost to the point where he knew your body better than you. But it had been a while. Your body had changed, and you were once again at an advantage where you could hide things from him that he didn't recognize. So he needed your words now. He needed you to tell him he was okay.

"I want this," you said. He let the furor of the previous moment fall away, resting his forehead against yours in silent thanks. His eyes closed in surrender, gratitude radiant off of his heated skin, warmth he passed to you as he centered and grounded himself in your touch. You squeezed his arm and brought him back to you, and after blinking up at you once, twice, the domineering facade returned. Your stubborn one took her place as well, but you couldn't help the delighted smile on your mouth.

"We've got to sort this behavior out, little girl. I can't promise you'll like it."

"Guess we'll have to see," you snapped, and you didn't miss a moment of the shiver that zinged up his body. His cock wasn't fully hard, but you could feel just how excited he was getting, now that he could let himself be.

"Naughty."

He pulled you backward with him, sinking on to that damned sofa and pulling you across his lap. He had your shoulders and legs both fully on the furniture, alleviating any pressure on your back. But your mind wasn't on your back, it was on where his hand was pushing into the back of your shorts. They were stretchy, good for training, and great for what he wanted to do to you right this moment. He let out a deep growl at realizing you'd been training without any underwear, nothing but sweat between your skin and the shorts.

His thick fingers dove between your cheeks, hot and dangerous like the path of a match, moments from igniting. When he touched your asshole, you keened and bucked against him, but he wasn't done. His hand continued, rolling the waistband's edge down all around your circumference in his journey to—

"There she is. Been neglecting this pussy, haven't I? Fuck, you can hear how wet you get for me. Listen, naughty girl." As his fingers played with your soaked folds, you heard the squelching wet noises he wanted you to hear. You whined openly and rocked your hips. His knuckles were broad, spreading the fabric up and away from you far enough to pull his fingers back and slap your cunt playfully.

You cried out and shook. Just this bare amount of sensation was enough to get you excited, shaking and near climaxing though it had been just seconds. "Daddy—!" you cried out.

Seams popped and burst behind and against you as he tore his way out of your clothes from the inside, ferocious and possessive in every twitch of his fingers. When the cooler air of the room hit your scorching-hot pussy, you gasped and squirmed. He shut you up again with one thick finger pressing into your cunt, firm and steady in that way you'd missed so fucking badly. You let out a surprised shout of pleasure, hands scrabbling in their hold that Din still hadn't dropped.

"Let me take a look at you," he said, shamelessly grinding his dick up into your belly as you dangled just out of reach from your own pleasure. He sucked in a gasp and let it out in a low, slow moan. "Take me so good, always. Fuck, look at how wet you are, soaking my palm and we haven't even started."

"Need you," you whimpered, fighting the urge to rock back on that finger. He noted your good behavior and gave three deep, satisfying thrusts of his hand. You were near-crazed with need now, shivering when he pulled his fingers from you.

"Easy," he murmured, pulling his hand back and spanking you lightly. He was adamant about warming you up, not wanting to bruise you too greatly or damage the nerves of your ample backside. He loved you too much to deprive you of any of it, even for the sake of one pleasured night.

When he'd worked up a steady rhythm, you felt hot all over, your ass nearly glowing with heat and sensation. His commentary made it so much harder to bear, at least in the way you wanted to bear it.

You wanted to deserve being his good girl again. You wanted to be worthy of the praise he gave you. You wanted to prove to yourself that you were worth loving, worth coming back for. And Din wanted to prove much the same: he wanted to deserve your trust, wanted to have the honor of knowing you this way and protecting you how he needed to. He wanted you, all of you, and he wanted you to want him back.

The first real spank came down like lightning, stunning the breath right out of you. Muscle memory alone pulled a strangled, "One!" from your lips, and you felt him grind up against your tummy again.

A hand came down onto your back, steadying to keep you from squirming around too much. You kept your hands out in front of you, and he trusted you not to move them. Another spank. "Two!"

"Good girl," Din said. "You're going to be such a well-behaved little girl for me after this, aren't you? You're going to be so good for Daddy."

Slap! "Three, Daddy!"

When he got past six, he stopped, his hands shaking a little as he gathered himself. You almost looked over at him, but he had other plans, spreading your legs and hauling your body up so you could face him while he sat beneath you.

You saw the tears in his eyes. "Six for six days," he said in a broken voice. He'd been punishing himself, you realized. Punishing himself every day since he came back to you, until he'd been given permission to punish you again. He would have never asked you himself. Din was the kind to suffer in silence, quiet and spending every second dying in secret.

"Need you," you mumbled, rising up and pawing at his trousers. He helped you out, the both of you holding your breath until you sank down onto him, wrapped around him in every way you could be. You hid your face in his shoulder, and he did the same as he rolled your bodies together. The pleasure was secondary, now. The intimacy, the trust and forgiveness and gratitude, those came first. You felt yourself crying as you lifted your body up, and Din pulled you back to him with desperate hands.

You felt his shoulders shaking, your skin growing wet from his tears as you shook together, holding on while the rest fell away. You were bones again, bones or atoms or whatever tied you together. You had him, and he had you. What were six days to an eternity before his appearance? What were six days to the promise of forever?

"I love you," you cried, rolling your hips and taking him deeper, deeper. "I love you, I love you."

"Love you, love you so much, I—"

Your words became one, two hearts speaking in unison. They eventually fell away into silence, nothing but the touch of your bodies making any noise in the room. You gazed into his eyes, falling deeper and deeper in love with him and forgiving him the faults he let become rifts inside himself. He did the same with you, soothing the scars of subducted zones, past hurts rubbing against each other until one gave way.

There was no separating you now. There was no leaving, no abandoning, no doubt here. Even when you were apart, you knew that part of the other's soul remained with them. No, not part of their soul.

The entirety.

#din djarin x reader #f!reader #unhingery #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #birdie my beloved #HBD BB <3

193 notes · View notes

icebrooding · 11 months

Text

Twilight Blooms (Malomedies/Kahedins)

1.3k words. On AO3

Kahedins is quiet as he approaches Malomedies’ home, careful to mind the delicate, innocent blooms flourishing by the waterside. He is unsure if his brother is still asleep and resting, or has woken and in need of company while he is still unable to venture out.

“Brother?” His voice is soft as he climbs the small ramp of delicate vine—something he himself cultivated years ago when he realised he and his siblings needed more than just their mother’s bough to shield them when the sun was reclusive and the sky was dark.

“Kahedins?”

The man ventures the last few steps upward, reaching one hand out to the open framing of the door. “I came to see if you needed anything. And to replace your bandages, of course.”

Malomedies lay in his bed, propped up against pillows made of tightly-woven reeds cushioned with moss. By his side rest several pieces of parchment, a small pot of ink, and a pen of carved wood.

It makes Kahedins smile somewhat, recalling his brother’s restrained excitement when Dagonet had brought to them paper and together they had learnt to write. He wishes he had the time to invest into such a simple and peaceful hobby, but the Grove will not mold itself in the same way the saplings will not heal themselves.

One day, perhaps.

“You needn’t worry so. The bandages are fine, they will last.” Malomedies complains even as Kahedins reaches out for them, carefully pulling them back from where they cover the worst of his injuries.

When he first dressed them, it churned his stomach in ways nothing else had. None of them had ever known what lay beneath their bark, and the sight of exposed vine barely holding itself together peeking through the jagged areas carved out of Malomedies’ upper body was enough to haunt him for days after. But he was careful to hide the horror—he didn’t want Malomedies to think he was disgusted by him.

It was the things done to him that made him sick.

“I won’t risk you developing an infection.” Kahedins says, reaching into his pouch to retrieve several dozen leaves carefully woven together into a long, thin strip. He motions with one hand for his brother to lean forward, which Malomedies’ complies with, sighing deeply.

“You are ailing enough as it is,” Kahedins murmurs, fingers deftly working to loop the bandage around Malomedies’ torso and shoulders. “You don’t always need to put on a brave face for us.”

He pulls back, allowing Malomedies to sit upright once more. Their gazes connect for a brief moment before his brother looks down and brushes his fingers against the leaves, and then he looks back up again with his brow furrowed.

“I thought you looked a bit different today,” he murmurs.

Kahedins blinks. “What?”

“These leaves, where are they from?”

“Various plants around the Grove,” he explains, “I tried to find ones I knew had any sort of pain relie—”

Malomedies shakes his head, eyes closed. “I recall no flora in our home in such vibrant shades of red and orange.”

Kahedins shifts where he is seated, glancing out the open door with a look of embarrassment adorning his features. “You’re… correct, there are none.” He mutters, almost inaudible.

His brother sighs again, deeper and heavier than the last, and reaches a hand out to his remaining fronds. “If you haven’t the resources, don’t substitute it with your own leafage.”

“It’s fine, it’s not like—” Kahedins catches himself, biting sharply down on his tongue to prevent another word from coming forth.

It’s not like they were your leaves, he wanted to say. While he always thought his own were rather unremarkable, Malomedies’ once had the most stunning of hair—shimmering and vibrant, almost iridescent. The damage had begun to heal, but those beautiful leaves had never grown back, his hair remaining as branches that could barely flower at all.

He shakes his head, but Malomedies’ hand does not retreat. There is a momentary pause as Kahedins looks up at him, asking something he is a bit too awkward to say aloud, and then leans into the touch.

“Maybe you could do with some forced bed rest,” his brother says as he takes a closer look at him. The exhaustion is apparent only in his eyes, while every other part of Kahedins exudes his typical high energy. “Do you ever sleep between tending the Grove and the saplings and myself?”

Kahedins chuckles, “I’ve discovered that certain types of beans can alleviate tiredness, so I’ve been making do.”

Malomedies scowls.

The healer ignores it, instead asking, “but while I busy myself with not sleeping, what have you been doing?”

While giving him a look that reads very much like ‘we’re not finished with this topic’, Malomedies reaches down beside him to the sheets of parchment. He gives them a quick straighten out before handing them over to his curious sibling.

Kahedins takes them and his brow rises. Numerous scrawls, words he can’t recognise, and small sketches of clusters of dots litter the pages. “What is this?” He asks with a perplexed look.

“The sky,” Malomedies answers, taking his gaze off his brother to look through the open door. “The night sky, to be exact. It has been my company when you and the others are elsewhere.”

The healer turns his head to follow his gaze up to the twinkling lights high above them. It clicks then what the sketches were. “You’ve been observing it?”

“I think it can hold a great many secrets. It is mysterious and beautiful both.” Malomedies says, and his voice sounds fonder in a way. “It was what I first saw when I awoke, and it remains here with me while I lay recovering. I wish to understand it as intimately as it understands me.”

A smile tugs at Kahedin’s lips. “Your Wyld Hunt, perhaps?”

Malomedies can only laugh in response, a short, breathy sound. “Why, does that explain your fancy for shaping our home?” He shakes his head, still smiling. “No, it is a pursuit of my own. I may not have been chosen like some of our siblings were, but I still find great purpose in this.”

“I’d love to give it all a read when you’re done. Or, as done as you could get with this,” Kahedins says, handing back the sheets. “I might not understand it yet, but maybe it will make sense down the road.”

“Even if that were to take several years or longer?”

“I don’t plan on leaving the Grove, so I imagine I will be here when that time comes.” He smiles, bright and wide.

“As will I. So then I suppose you shall be the first to read my work when it is complete.” Malomedies smiles back at him, far more subdued, but still there.

“I look forward to it.” The healer looks back out the door for a moment, and then his shoulders slump. “But I suppose I should be going, lest Niamh scold me for staying up so late again.”

Malomedies nods at him as he stands, teasing him in a rare display, “Pale Mother forbid you incur her wrath.”

Kahedins gives him a sarcastic little laugh as he walks past the frame of the open door, and then he pauses. “I’ll send Dagonet your way sometime this week,” he says, “he’s learning how to bind parchment together, it might help with your writing venture.”

“It would be appreciated.” Malomedies takes a momentary pause, before calling out again, “and, Kahedins?”

The healer looks over his shoulder, “yes?”

“As frustrated as I am over this,” he gestures at the bandages wrapped around him, “I do appreciate what you have done for me.”

Kahedins turns to walk away, but Malomedies can still faintly hear as he says, “it’s what big brothers do.”

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #fic #malomedies #kahedins #i'm hot and cold on this but! here it is!#firstborns more like firstboyfriends

4 notes · View notes