#i should talk about them more but i feel like i don’t have many poe mutuals rip
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just remember una & tekehu exist 🥺😍🥴
#txt#that’s it that’s the post#the tekehu romance in pillars of eternity 2 and all my own headcanons about it is something that can be so personal#i should talk about them more but i feel like i don’t have many poe mutuals rip#una x tekehu
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The burns would heal, Doctor Kalonia said. If she left the bacta patch on long enough to do its work, no one would ever be able to tell how close she had come to losing half her face.
Paige almost felt guilty about it. (More than almost.) It seemed unfair, somehow, that everyone should die and yet she would walk away with nothing more than a stint in the infirmary, not even a scar to show how close she had come to burning up with the rest of the bomber crews.
She would never forget being in her ball turret and seeing the bombers go up one by one until only Cobalt Hammerwas left. All those beings gone. She would see it in her dreams, she knew, and she would see Nix...
It wasn’t that she wasn’t glad to be alive. Rose had cried and cried, clinging to her until the med droids had insisted she leave, and Paige was… The thought of leaving Rose on her own made Paige feel ill; she wanted to vomit thinking of how close she had come to doing it.
She wasn’t sure how long the figure had been standing in the doorway until she noticed. It was a bit strange, given how hard it was normally to get him to shut his mouth. “Come in, Poe.”
Poe walked forward, hands shoved in his pockets. He looked freshly clean and abnormally subdued, his skin tinged with a slight pallor.
Paige knew about the hangar, and the bridge, and the general.
He sat in the chair Rose had pulled up and said, “There’s something different about you. Changed your hair?”
It was a weak attempt at humor that had Poe wincing as soon as the words left his mouth, like he couldn’t believe himself.
“You’ve got a new jacket,” Paige said, rolling with Poe’s ineptly terrible teasing anyway. Talking felt a little awkward with the bacta on one side of her face, her lips stretching a bit stiffly.
“What? Oh, yeah. It’s not really new, I just gave Finn my other one.”
“It looks better on him,” Paige said, though she had never even seen Finn in person. She hoped to do so soon; she’d like to thank him.
“It does,” Poe agreed, and for a second or two there his expression almost lightened. “How are you?”
She shrugged. “Alive.”
Poe flinched; Paige immediately regretted her response.
“That wasn’t fair,” she said.
“No, it was. Dead heroes,” Poe said, nearly under his breath. “And I put them there.”
“They chose to be there.”
“They followed my orders. Bad orders, according to Leia.”
“Don’t do that,” Paige said, exhaustion and stress maybe making her irritation rise quicker. “Don’t feel sorry for yourself, and don’t pretend like they didn’t all have minds of their own.”
“They were soldiers on my mission! I--”
“They joined the Resistance because they wanted to be there!” It was difficult to raise her voice with the healing burns and the patch on her face impeding her speech but Paige felt like she was succeeding well enough. “They wanted to fight, to help, to make a difference! Just like I did. You were the officer in charge but every single one of us believed in our mission, and they died completing it. Don’t take that from us, from them, like it was all you.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Do I? Because you can be a cocky bastard, Poe Dameron.”
Poe sat back slightly, speechless for a second. “Okay, that’s fair. But Paige. Aren’t you… angry? Furious?”
“I’m too tired to be angry,” Paige said, leaning back against the pillow Rose had fluffed for her and stuck behind her back. Even her frustration with Poe was receding as quickly as it had come, leaving her with an odd emptiness. “I don’t… I’m not really sure what to feel yet. I’m alive, and so many of my friends aren’t. But we destroyed a kriffing dreadnought!”
“Yeah, you did.”
“We did,” Paige insisted. “You’re too cocky but you get the credit, too. We couldn’t have done it without you.” She wished she could have seen him taking out their weapons. That must have been some flying.
“Leia said I was wrong. She said I should have listened to her. It was a distraction and once the evac was complete I should have got you all out of there, left the dreadnought. The mission to buy time was more important than taking out that ship.” He chewed on his lip. “Dead heroes, and no leaders.”
“Poe,” Paige said, and reached out to him, pushing her fingers through his hair. Soft and clean and with that faint crispness to the ends that came from the sonic showers. “I’m not a general and I don’t know what it means to lead, but I know that you completed your mission, seeing it through to the end just like you always do. You did what you thought was right, and so did we, and we took out a dreadnought. A dreadnought that will never again be used by the First Order in their subjugation of the galaxy. I’m proud, and you should be, too.”
Poe caught her hand in his and dragged it down to his mouth, kissing her palm. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her skin, and Paige’s eyes fluttered closed. “I’m sorry. I’m… Blast, Paige. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d… if you hadn’t made it.”
Paige remembered Poe’s voice shouting through her comms, screaming at her to keep going. She would have done it anyway. There was nothing more important than their work here, nothing she cared more about aside from Rose. She believed in the Resistance.
She would have died for it.
But she was glad she hadn’t.
“Don’t be sorry,” she said, and tugged Poe closer until he slid halfway off his chair to press his face against her middle while she stroked his hair. “I was proud to be on that mission, and I’m proud of what we accomplished. We can mourn for our friends later, when we’re safe.”
Safe. She wondered when that would be; they were being tracked through hyperspace. She wasn’t supposed to know; no one wanted her to worry, after everything else that had happened. Kaydel had told her anyway and Paige was grateful. She didn’t like being kept in the dark, treated like an invalid.
Paige was afraid, but her fear eased a little knowing that at least one dreadnought wasn’t chasing them.
“This is actually super rude,” Poe said, voice muffled against her front. “The comforting thing going on here is the wrong way around. You’re the one in the infirmary bed.”
“Well, you’re very fragile,” Paige said, earning a snort. She kept brushing her hand over the back of Poe’s head. “But this feels nice for me, too,” she admitted quietly. Poe was so rarely still, and she thought she needed this.
“Thank you,” Poe said, and Paige didn’t know what exactly he was thanking her for but she supposed it didn’t matter. She needed time to process, and so did he.
She was so glad to be alive.
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Pssst! I sent an ask about this a while back, and I'm not sure if you haven't gotten to it, or the ask got eaten. If you haven't gotten to it, I'm sorry for the repeat ask and I understand, take your time :) But in case it got eaten, I'm curious: what are your fave parts of the star wars franchise? Like, which movie, characters, ships, etc?
alsofjfkfk im not gonna lie, anon, i saw it and went ‘oh cool i’ll answer that in a minute’ and the second i closed my inbox, my lack of object permanence kicked in and i forgot it existed. and then i repeated that process. many, many times.
but i will not allow it to happen again. we’re answering this now, damnit.
okay, see, the thing about me is i am an extremely basic star wars bitch. i have seen all of the movies. i have not read any books or comics. my friend in high school made me watch 1 episode of the mandalorian, and i went ‘haha cool! baby yoda!’ and then never watched more of it. (the fact that i don’t have disney+ contributed to this, but really, if i had tried, i’m sure i could have made do. i did not try.) i tried very very hard at one point to get into the clone wars show, and i remember only that there was some sort of small jabba the hutt and yoda telling some clones that their lives were meaningful in the force or something, so i have no idea how far i made it but probably not very. i have played exactly one game, jedi: fallen order, which my playstation tells me i 100%, but for the life of me, i can’t remember a single thing about it other than ‘robot buddy cute’ and ‘fun 👍’, which either is my incredibly small brain showing off its inability to store information or really doesn’t bode well for the quality of whatever story was in there lmao.
BUT. i love the movies. i’m a stupid sucker for the joy and hope of the original trilogy. i think the prequels are so fun and people are mean to them for no reason, like yes, they’re a mess, but you know how sometimes you look at a product and go ‘oh this is so corporate and soulless that nothing about it is worth seeing with my eyeballs?’ the prequels are not that. people cared about making these movies, and i can always be charmed when i can tell that there was love there, even if it didn’t work as perfectly as it wanted to.
which is probably why i’m so fond of the force awakens despite it all, because watching it feels like everyone there cared so so much about the new potential star wars. i remember watching behind-the-scenes when it first came out and seeing them talk about how they mixed practical and cgi effects for a bunch of the aliens, and i fell in love with finn because his character was basically catnip for me. my traumatized cat who was abducted and brainwashed and raised a soldier and still his heart was too big to be destroyed by the first order. poe was fun for the little screentime he had, and rey was aloof and fierce and hurt underneath it all, and kylo ren had so much fucking potential as the villain and foil for rey & finn that it actually causes me physical pain knowing what happened next. and han was there! until he died! i was heartbroken about it! it was a well-executed death! leia was there, and i could never shake the tragedy that this war she’d fought so hard to win in her youth had never really ended, that now she had to fight it alone again when luke left and han ran away. luke was not there, but this was pre-the last jedi, so i could actually be excited about what he might do when he showed up! the force awakens is a good movie.
the last jedi is a very pretty movie. the rise of skywalker feels like what everyone thinks the prequels are like. i do not watch those movies. i just mentally replace them with the utterly fantastic fic have you heard by peradi and pretend that we did get a stormtrooper rebellion <3 (if you haven’t read it, you should.)
what else, what else. i am incredibly boring when it comes to favorite characters in each trilogy, it’s just The Main Guy. i already talked about finn, but. anakin and luke. my little dudes. anakin has everything ever wrong with him, and i do not blame him for going of the rails. i mean, he did kill a lot of children and help install space facism but have we considered that the jedi were mean to him. and also that palpatine’s been grooming him since he was nine. and also that there is actual literal slavery happening in star wars and the response of everyone around him was to go ‘oh well anakin, guess u gotta let go of the fact that your mother will never be free. and if you can’t, that’s your fault.’ sorry. nope. feeling emotional about how one of the first things baby anakin asks qui-gon when they meet is if qui-gon is here to free them all, because that’s what jedi are supposed to do, they’re supposed to be heroes, and qui-gon tells him they aren’t. and then he does free anakin, and he’s got a fucking lazer sword and magic powers so who the hell would have been able to stop him from at least bringing shmi too, but instead he just takes anakin away. insane choices. george lucas im at your doorstep explain yourself.
and anyone who says they don’t love luke skywalker is a liar. u don’t like luke? luke who wants to see so much more of the universe than his little farm? luke who wants to believe in the force so strongly, his only connection to his father and soon, to obi-wan? luke who blows up the death star because he feels the force so strongly? luke who is such a shining star of hope and goodness and loyalty that han freaking solo turned around and came back to save his ass? and all that just in one movie. luke is so powerfully good, you know? and it had to be that way, the movies just wouldn’t work without him at the core of it. i love him so so much.
ships. well obviously im a c3po/r2d2 stan. as we all know, tragic love story for the ages. im a believer that r2d2 is unmemorywipeable, that trash can is too stubborn to let anything he stores be deleted, so really, we’re looking at the world’s shortest and rudest rebel spy and his overly polite amnesiac husband. im joking but im not.
taking it more seriously, i’m very easily convinced to see main character trios as poly ships. number 1 proponent of padme/anakin/obi-wan over here, a fate sealed by many good fics that i’ve read confirming this. if i may suggest one of my favorites, Queen’s Gambit by bedlamsbard, truly a fantastic star wars au work and it has an incredible podfic by reena_jenkins that inspired me to begin podficcing in the first place. following that, i also love han/leia/luke, in whatever configuration that comes, if it’s just han getting two skywalkers on his arms or if it’s luke and leia also following up on their kiss in empire strikes back. (‘i knew all along’ my ass, girl, either you didn’t or you did and you went straight for the lips alsjfjlssjkf.) From Orbit by gh0strobin is a favorite of mine for them, as well as a bed of daysided gold by lotesse.
and finally, most obviously, i was onboard with finn/poe/rey from day one of the force awakens. the reylos never got me. i was too busy thinking about the main trio kissing. (and i was a ‘rey & ben solo are cousins at least or somethjng’ truther back during force awakens, which for once, meant i had zero interest in shipping them and far more interest in using their possible backstories to explore this fascinating dynamic they had vis a vis the legacy and/or lack of one they inherited, what they were owed as children of legends. and well. i mean, i was kind of right by the end but by god i wish i wasn’t!!!) (and terrible news, i’m realizing that the majority of my post-force awakens reading on ao3 happened before i was bookmarking fics, so i don’t even have recs!!! >:( i need to rectify this immediately. but know that there are many fantastic fics for that trio and you should go looking for them.)
okay, one last round of fic reccing and i’ll leave it be, but there’s some great ones I’d be remiss not to mention. Double Agent Vader is a brilliant Vader character exploration series and it will hurt you and make u love him so so much. The Fires is a Mustafar groundhog day loop that Hurts (and fun fact, was the second fic i ever podficced for myself :( but the files are long gone. still have my first ever podfic though.) And The Force Breathes Once Again is a short and interesting fic about the force being Weird And Fucked Up. And Intertwine is a Padme Lives AU that’s just lovely. so many brilliant fics in this fandom, i swear.
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race & culture in fandom
For the past decade, English language fanwriting culture post the days of LiveJournal and Strikethrough has been hugely shaped by a handful of megafandoms that exploded across AO3 and tumblr – I’m talking Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Dr Who, the MCU, Harry Potter, Star Wars, BBC Sherlock – which have all been overwhelmingly white. I don’t mean in terms of the fans themselves, although whiteness also figures prominently in said fandoms: I mean that the source materials themselves feature very few POC, and the ones who are there tended to be done dirty by the creators.
Periodically, this has led POC in fandom to point out, extremely reasonably, that even where non-white characters do get central roles in various media properties, they’re often overlooked by fandom at large, such that the popular focus stays primarily on the white characters. Sometimes this happened (it was argued) because the POC characters were secondary to begin with and as such attracted less fan devotion (although this has never stopped fandoms from picking a random white gremlin from the background cast and elevating them to the status of Fave); at other times, however, there has been a clear trend of sidelining POC leads in favour of white alternatives (as per Finn, Poe and Rose Tico being edged out in Star Wars shipping by Hux, Kylo and Rey). I mention this, not to demonize individuals whose preferred ships happen to involve white characters, but to point out the collective impact these trends can have on POC in fandom spaces: it’s not bad to ship what you ship, but that doesn’t mean there’s no utility in analysing what’s popular and why through a racial lens.
All this being so, it feels increasingly salient that fanwriting culture as exists right now developed under the influence and in the shadow of these white-dominated fandoms – specifically, the taboo against criticizing or critiquing fics for any reason. Certainly, there’s a hell of a lot of value to Don’t Like, Don’t Read as a general policy, especially when it comes to the darker, kinkier side of ficwriting, and whether the context is professional or recreational, offering someone direct, unsolicited feedback on their writing style is a dick move. But on the flipside, the anti-criticism culture in fanwriting has consistently worked against fans of colour who speak out about racist tropes, fan ignorance and hurtful portrayals of living cultures. Voicing anything negative about works created for free is seen as violating a core rule of ficwriting culture – but as that culture has been foundationally shaped by white fandoms, white characters and, overwhelmingly, white ideas about what’s allowed and what isn’t, we ought to consider that all critical contexts are not created equal.
Right now, the rise of C-drama (and K-drama, and J-drama) fandoms is seeing a surge of white creators – myself included – writing fics for fandoms in which no white people exist, and where the cultural context which informs the canon is different to western norms. Which isn’t to say that no popular fandoms focused on POC have existed before now – K-pop RPF and anime fandoms, for example, have been big for a while. But with the success of The Untamed, more western fans are investing in stories whose plots, references, characterization and settings are so fundamentally rooted in real Chinese history and living Chinese culture that it’s not really possible to write around it. And yet, inevitably, too many in fandom are trying to do just that, treating respect for Chinese culture or an attempt to understand it as optional extras – because surely, fandom shouldn’t feel like work. If you’re writing something for free, on your own time, for your own pleasure, why should anyone else get to demand that you research the subject matter first?
Because it matters, is the short answer. Because race and culture are not made-up things like lightsabers and werewolves that you can alter, mock or misunderstand without the risk of hurting or marginalizing actual real people – and because, quite frankly, we already know that fandom is capable of drawing lines in the sand where it chooses. When Brony culture first reared its head (hah), the online fandom for My Little Pony – which, like the other fandoms we’re discussing here, is overwhelmingly female – was initially welcoming. It felt like progress, that so many straight men could identify with such a feminine show; a potential sign that maybe, we were finally leaving the era of mainstream hypermasculine fandom bullshit behind, at least in this one arena. And then, in pretty much the blink of an eye, things got overwhelmingly bad. Artists drawing hardcorn porn didn’t tag their works as adult, leading to those images flooding the public search results for a children’s show. Women were edged out of their own spaces. Bronies got aggressive, posting harsh, ugly criticism of artists whose gijinka interpretations of the Mane Six as humans were deemed insufficiently fuckable.
The resulting fandom conflict was deeply unpleasant, but in the end, the verdict was laid down loud and clear: if you cannot comport yourself like a decent fucking person – if your base mode of engagement within a fandom is to coopt it from the original audience and declare it newly cool only because you’re into it now; if you do not, at the very least, attempt to understand and respect the original context so as to engage appropriately (in this case, by acknowledging that the media you’re consuming was foundational to many women who were there before you and is still consumed by minors, and tagging your goddamn porn) – then the rest of fandom will treat you like a social biohazard, and rightly so.
Here’s the thing, fellow white people: when it comes to C-drama fandoms and other non-white, non-western properties? We are the Bronies.
Not, I hasten to add, in terms of toxic fuckery – though if we don’t get our collective shit together, I’m not taking that darkest timeline off the table. What I mean is that, by virtue of the whiteminding which, both consciously and unconsciously, has shaped current fan culture, particularly in terms of ficwriting conventions, we’re collectively acting as though we’re the primary audience for narratives that weren’t actually made with us in mind, being hostile dicks to Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans when they take the time to point out what we’re getting wrong. We’re bristling because we’ve conceived of ficwriting as a place wherein No Criticism Occurs without questioning how this culture, while valuable in some respects, also serves to uphold, excuse and perpetuate microaggresions and other forms of racism, lashing out or falling back on passive aggression when POC, quite understandably, talk about how they’re sick and tired of our bullshit.
An analogy: one of the most helpful and important tags on AO3 is the one for homophobia, not just because it allows readers to brace for or opt out of reading content they might find distressing, but because it lets the reader know that the writer knows what homophobia is, and is employing it deliberately. When this concept is tagged, I – like many others – often feel more able to read about it than I do when it crops up in untagged works of commercial fiction, film or TV, because I don’t have to worry that the author thinks what they’re depicting is okay. I can say definitively, “yes, the author knows this is messed up, but has elected to tell a messed up story, a fact that will be obvious to anyone who reads this,” instead of worrying that someone will see a fucked up story blind and think “oh, I guess that’s fine.” The contextual framing matters, is the point – which is why it’s so jarring and unpleasant on those rare occasions when I do stumble on a fic whose author has legitimately mistaken homophobic microaggressions for cute banter. This is why, in a ficwriting culture that otherwise aggressively dislikes criticism, the request to tag for a certain thing – while still sometimes fraught – is generally permitted: it helps everyone to have a good time and to curate their fan experience appropriately.
But when white and/or western fans fail to educate ourselves about race, culture and the history of other countries and proceed to deploy that ignorance in our writing, we’re not tagging for racism as a thing we’ve explored deliberately; we’re just being ignorant at best and hateful at worst, which means fans of colour don’t know to avoid or brace for the content of those works until they get hit in the face with microaggresions and/or outright racism. Instead, the burden is placed on them to navigate a minefield not of their creation: which fans can be trusted to write respectfully? Who, if they make an error, will listen and apologise if the error is explained? Who, if lived experience, personal translations or cultural insights are shared, can be counted on to acknowledge those contributions rather than taking sole credit? Too often, fans of colour are being made to feel like guests in their own house, while white fans act like a tone-policing HOA.
Point being: fandom and ficwriting cultures as they currently exist badly need to confront the implicit acceptance of racism and cultural bias that underlies a lot of community rules about engagement and criticism, and that needs to start with white and western fans. We don’t want to be the new Bronies, guys. We need to do better.
#race#racism#c-drama#fandom#fan wank#fandom wank#microaggresions#culture#the untamed#bronies#whiteness#ficwriting#fanwriting#cultural bias#discourse
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Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place
Part Two of The Bet series
Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 22.5K DONT say shit alright just don’t
Warnings: Okay. There is degradation in this, some name calling and heated interactions. There is a LOT of smut, dirty talk and rough sex. If these things offend you, please do not continue reading.
***
It’s recommended to read part one first.
***
Getting into the x-wings is always fun.
It actually might be your favorite part. Granted, alarm bells ringing and thousands of jumpsuits scrambling in all directions is never typically a good thing, but there’s also an inherent rush about it, a thrill in launching up the metal paneling as quick as you can and suiting up to provide aid. It’s a side-effect of camaraderie, of being surrounded by like-minded individuals willing to do everything they can to help. You never feel like you’re going to your death, even though that’s often the grim reality for at least one of you on a good day. There’s always a roaring in your ears while you do it, adrenaline sharpening your senses and preparing yourself for conflict, not thinking anything beyond gogogogogo—
But getting out of the x-wing is… not great. At least for you. It’s sluggish. Your body is always completely drained and you never come out of it feeling the same way you went in. Even in times of victory, there’s a somberness inside you after battle. As much as you tell yourself you’re fighting for good, for prosperity against an evil machine hellbent on enslaving the galaxy, there’s only so many explosions lighting up in front of your eyes and screams cutting out through your comms you can take before winning just doesn’t really feel like winning anymore. Most pilots are able to handle it better than you are, but since you joined the Resistance, you’ve never truly felt the desire to celebrate. Not even when you serve a massive, glaring defeat to the other side. There’ll always be at least one missing x-wing, one empty seat at the table, one person not here to celebrate with you.
You came back in one piece this time. Barely.
The whole mission went sideways—literally. You’d purposefully stationed the tandem just outside the coordinates you were meant to be surveilling so that you’d be hidden from sight and dead to the scanners should the fleet arrive, but something must’ve happened. You must’ve powered down a few seconds too early after he turned the thrusters off, because apparently the ship drifted in dead space for close to eight hours without either of you noticing, having no working computers to actively read your location and correct it. You were sitting ducks right in the hyperspace drop zone by the time the First Order showed up, and by that point you had no choice but to engage.
“Gold-Ten,” a voice murmurs from behind you, and you blink, suddenly seeing the base landing platform stretching out long in front of you, hundreds of docking ships and boisterous pilots scrambling out of them to hug their comrades and congratulate them even as medics rush past with white coats and gurneys. They’re never for the pilots, but they dispatch healers anyways whenever a convoy returns in case a straggler gets picked up. There’s an unspoken understanding in space battle—pilots never get injured. They either come back unharmed, or they don’t come back at all.
Dameron.
You turn around and watch him slowly approach you with an unreadable expression, his jumpsuit still bunched halfway down his torso. The once bright white sleeveless undershirt is now greasy and damp with sweat, his dark curls sticking to his forehead. He winces with every bow-legged step—you know the feeling—before he’s standing directly in front of you and something is carefully being pulled out of your hands. You didn’t even realize you were holding onto anything.
Your helmet. You forgot to leave it in the x-wing, and you’ve been carrying it around under your arm aimlessly while mentally checking off the squadrons as they return, counting the numbers you lost today while everybody else hugs and whoops and claps each other on the back.
It’s not as bad as you were expecting it was going to be, not as bad as it seemed just an hour earlier when you were listening to Dameron bellow out evasive flight maneuvers a millisecond before he enacted them and you adjusted your firing at the TIEs accordingly. You used to think you were quick with how rapidly you could suit up and fly out, drop in to assist and engage, but on the other side, it felt like your reinforcements lollygagged for ages before arriving. You were left to defend against an entire fleet in one stupid ship, more lines of TIEs sinking like flies from launch decks every second.
“Gold-Ten,” you hear again, and you blink a few times, needing to focus your vision before you can find his gaze.
Dameron’s palm, previously hovering a few inches above your shoulder, suddenly drops to spread along the curve of it and you take a deep breath, almost wanting to shudder at the feeling of something touching you. You channel all your focus into it, feel his fingers branch out strong along the tight muscles in your neck, giving you an anchor you automatically lean into.
You and him are no strangers to touching. Before today it was mostly reserved to poking and prodding and flicking and light slapping in an effort to piss each other off, but now… you can’t even think about it right now, your body will just fucking glitch out on you. After everything that just happened, you cannot think about where else that hand has been recently, not right now.
“You did… you did really fucking good today,” he tells you quietly, slowly trailing his hand down the length of your entire arm until he catches your wrist and a few of your fingers in his loose grip. “Seriously. That was… we were…”
His touch is so present, so reassuring. Grounding, when all your mind wants is to just float away. You glance down at where his fingers are gently tangled with yours and you feel your hand tighten just slightly, the smallest squeeze while he blinks down at you.
“We almost died, like… every single second,” you barely manage to croak, not really having the words to express it right now. You always need at least an hour or two after missions like this to just sit in one place and regroup. Usually you find yourself wandering back to your room to lay on the bed and stare up at the ceiling while you consider your own mortality, but Dameron interrupted you this time before you could process it by yourself. “We…” Your voice sounds absolutely shredded. “W-We shouldn’t even be alive right now.”
“I know,” he nods in soft agreement, taking a small step closer to you. “But we are alive. Hey.” He dips his head as soon as your gaze starts to drift, catching your eyes once more and drawing your attention back to the present with a squeeze of your hand. “We’re alive, right? Be alive with me.”
You take a big breath in and close your eyes, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs once more, but this time, it’s… restorative. A wonderful, beautiful reminder of your existence. You’re alive. Usually the word just feels like a synonym for persevering. Pushing onwards despite trials and tribulations, not looking back. But the way he says it, especially with his hand in yours and a quiet invitation to tag along, it sounds… breathtaking. Full of light, and hope. It suddenly leaves the dim shadows and slides into a completely different category of feelings, feelings you’d never imagine being able to conjure so quickly after such a close brush with death. Alive—it slots right in next to words like colorful, radiant, sunshine, and butterflies. Enchanting words, ones you’d like to hear again and again.
Your eyes slowly open and there he is, the man you were sure was going to accompany you to the afterlife. You were stuck with Poe Dameron in one of the closest calls you can remember, and strangely, his presence was nothing if not… a comfort. For the first time in your life, you were grateful he was there.
You open your mouth, suddenly feeling the needy, unfounded urge to tell him that. “I’m gla—”
“Dameron!” You hear a series of voices call from somewhere to your left, and he immediately drops your hand to whip his body around and place himself directly between you and the approaching onlookers, using his large frame to hide you from their sight.
“What’s up, Briggs?” Dameron projects to one pilot in particular that seems to be leading the group, his back oddly close to you in this position. Your fingers still feel tingly from where he was holding onto them.
A chorus of congratulatory, “Nice flying, Captain!” and the like can be heard floating through the air from beyond his shoulders, before the leader speaks loudly over them. “Hey—me, Seven, Six, and Twelve were gonna grab some drinks in the mess hall with a few of the Blue girls,” he tells Dameron, slowing to a stop as soon as he sees you standing awkwardly behind him. “Oh hey, Goldie.”
You lift a hand and clear the remainder of the dissociation from your throat, not knowing him well enough beyond the squadron he and his group fly with. “Greenies.”
“Anyways, I guess they wanted to know if you’d come too. These idiots are convinced they’re never gonna give us the time of day unless you—”
“Uh—fine, whatever, just give me a few minutes alright?” Dameron quickly assures him with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ll meet up with you guys later.”
A few of them take turns giving him heavy claps on the shoulder and acclamatory words before the group eventually disperses, and he waits a few more seconds for their attention to fully scatter in another direction before turning back to you.
Shit, he’s standing really close. Why is he so close to you? You take a step back and blink up at him, the noises of the landing deck gradually amplifying back up to normal volume as you retreat back into your own space. Since when did he have that effect on you? You suddenly feel wide awake, and the chorus of happy chaos surrounding you is something you’re finally able to take in. You knew it was happening before, but it was like it just existed outside of the creeping numbness. Now, the knot of internal turmoil has untied itself a bit and you feel your surroundings start to fight for your direct attention.
Dameron continues to look at you the same exact way, though. Like you’re still the only one here.
You look down at his half-suited figure and blink at the helmet loosely held in one of his hands. Hey. Hey, that’s yours—
“Give me that,” you hiss, suddenly snatching it from his fingertips. “You have people waiting.”
The cutting words serve to snap him out of whatever spell he’s under. Dameron quickly lifts his head and looks around a few times with sharp eyes, before hooking your elbow and twisting you into a complete 180 until your back faces most of the excitement. You resist, immediately trying to push him off you and worried he’s going to confront you about… things, but he’s determined.
He doesn’t say anything to you at all, though. His fingers quickly grasp the baggy fabric of your jumpsuit even as you sputter and start to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, and you glance down just in time to see him yanking the gaping velcro closed at your crotch.
Your cheeks instantly start burning as he tugs and smooths the fabric down until it’s seamless once more, especially when his eyes flick up to yours without moving his head. Fuck, you’re instantly hot with some wicked emotion, a mixture of embarrassment and outrage and… something else. Maker, you almost wish you were numb and disoriented again, if only so you could avoid feeling whatever the fuck this is.
You quite suddenly shove your helmet back into his stomach with an infuriated sound even as he doubles over with a shocked whoosh of air, changing your mind about returning it to the ship yourself before storming off without another word.
***
Okay, so you’ve done some thinking, and. Well. Fuck him, that’s what you’ve decided.
No—not… fuck him. But like, fuck him. You know. In the negative sense of the word. The bad fuck.
There’s a full tray of food sitting in front of you but you’ve so far been unable to touch it. Mostly you’re just wondering why the fuck you’re even here. Well, you know why you’re here—you should eat, it’s dinnertime and this is the mess hall. You’ve been known to skip out on meals after heavy missions, secluding yourself away and just wallowing for a bit, but you… strangely didn’t feel like doing that today. You don’t want to self-isolate when you feel okay enough to avoid it, not again. So you’re here, because the clock says your tummy should want food, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at it.
No, you’re looking at him. Glaring, actually.
Across the mess hall and beyond the transparisteel divider that separates the cafeteria from the bar area, Dameron is all eyebrows and smiles and side nudges and winks right now. You can’t hear him—the sound won’t travel this far, but you can see him situated in the middle of a rowdy group of pilots. He laughs in that disgustingly charming way of his, where his stupidly cute nose scrunches up all cute and stupid and you want to just ask the Maker why he’s doing this shit to you. What have you done to deserve this torture? Sure, you may have willingly agreed to it, even… conceived and propositioned the idea, and sure, absolutely nothing is stopping you from forfeiting and walking away at this exact second, but does that make it okay? No, you’ve decided. It’s not okay. He’s not allowed to… to make you feel like this, so fuck him. In the bad way.
“Just fuck him already,” a voice suddenly grumbles as someone plops down into the seat to your right, plastic trays of food clattering loudly on the table and snapping you out of your reverie. Gold-Sixteen blocks your view as he silently drops into the seat in front of you and wraps his green lekku around his neck a few times before immediately beginning to shovel food into his mouth, while Gold-Three opens her box of blue milk next to you and continues. “The Blues never fucking shut up about it, it’s getting annoying.”
“Don’t listen to her, Dime,” Gold-Eleven tells you, quickly occupying the seat on your left and biting into a crunchy piece of fruit, talking loudly over the chatter even as he chomps. “Rossi just knows her pool is up tomorrow, she doesn’t want to lose any of her precious credits.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Gold-Three immediately snaps, leaning forward and around you to point the prongs of her fork at Eleven threateningly. “Zhang’s pool starts on Sunday.”
“Oh fuck off, you guys are betting on this now?” You groan, shoving your plate away with a flick of your fingers now that you’re certain you’ve completely lost your appetite. Sixteen immediately snatches up one of your bread rolls while Zhang swipes your juice and Rossi goes for a packet of glockaw sauce.
“You’re the one who announced it in front of everybody, we’re just being active spectators,” Rossi returns, ripping the packet and pouring the sauce on her vegetables with a shrug. “How the fuck do you bet against fucking each other though, that’s my question? It’s a paradox, wouldn’t you both just lose at the same time?”
“Dameron and I aren’t going to fuck,” you tell her very slowly and clearly, starting to get a headache. Why is it impossible to avoid this conversation topic, even with an entire Resistance base to roam around in? “Ever. The bet never had anything to do with fucking each other, it’s about not fucking other people.”
“Literally what is the difference?” You hear Rossi ask with her mouth full, but Zhang speaks over her.
“Somebody should probably tell Nine that, she’s the bookie,” he tosses out carelessly, dropping the core of his piece of fruit to his tray before wiping his hands on his jumpsuit. You bury your face in your hands and let out a loud, exhausted sound into your palms, not knowing which response serves to aggravate your already emotionally overloaded ass even more. Nine is the bookie, of fucking course she is. “But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of it actually goes outside of Gold, so.”
“I’ve heard the Blues talking about it, but that’s it,” Rossi chimes in while chewing some of her veggies. “Maybe some Reds. Point is everybody else thinks it’s already happening, honestly.”
“What the fuck,” you whisper, using your knuckles to rub at the backs of your eyes until bright spots appear. Where are stress headaches localized? Are those the ones right under your brow bone? Because stars, you feel it. “Fucking… why? Why do people think that me and Dameron are…?”
Nobody at the table immediately responds, and you drop your hands after a moment to look at each of their astounded faces in turn.
“You fucking serious, bitch?” Rossi blurts first, her voice completely deadpan, and you growl in vexation.
“Have I not been vocal enough about my severe dislik—”
“And yet you kicked Nine out of your room to let him bunk with you,” Zhang immediately suggests.
“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.
“Spend your off-days together,” Zhang continues.
“You’re both really weird about how long it takes the other person to shower,” Rossi tacks onto the list Zhang is now making on his fingers and you shake your head frantically.
“No—no, that’s so that we know neither one of us is cheating,” you try to explain, and you already know it sounds unconvincing without needing the two quick, lofty and sarcastic nods on either side of you. “Showers and off-days are prime masturb—no, you know what? No. I’m tired of the assumptions, I don’t owe anyone shit. This is super fucking uncool of you guys, you know that? It’s insane that this is what counts as gossip in the Resistance nowada—”
“There’s only so much bad news people can take, Ten,” Gold-Sixteen grunts down at his almost finished plate, and all three of you snap your gazes across the table at him. The forest-tinted twi’lek doesn’t speak much, it’s uncommon to hear his voice without distortion over the comms, but you blink as his sharp teeth continue to form words without looking at you. “Quit being so sensitive. Rather bet on this shit than which system is getting demolished next.”
And with that, Sixteen excuses himself with a silent nod, having gobbled down his full plate while you, Three, and Eleven were bickering. You feel your cheeks flare with anger and shame—you didn’t deserve that, you immediately reassure yourself, but the hidden self-doubt the comment sows just further contributes to your upset. You want to call out to his back that just because the First Order exists doesn’t mean you have to put up with your own fucking squadron turning you and your mortal enemy into glorified race fathiers, but he’s already leaving the mess hall while Rossi and Zhang have moved on to other topics, both of them continuing to grab more food from your tray as they talk.
You have a tough shell. But today was… a lot. You bite your lip down at the table against the sudden wave of emotion, blinking quickly to clear the weakness watering your vision.
See, this—this right here is why you use last names. These people aren’t your friends. Betting on who you fuck for laughs, using you as a source of entertainment without your consent just because they’re in the middle of a war, and then guilting you into feeling like you’re the one acting like a stuck up bitch about it? You’re fighting in the same fucking war—you’re on the front lines just like everybody else and nobody gets to lecture you on the devastation of battle. You almost died today. You fought tooth and fucking nail to stay alive and by all accounts, you shouldn’t even be sitting here right now, much less dealing with this childish shit. This is your squadron. These people are supposed to be the ones closest to you out of everyone, the ones you’ve been flying into chaos in formation with for years, and yet not a single damn person has even mentioned your performance to you today, all anyone can ever seem to talk about is—ugh.
Unfortunately, your unobstructed view also allows you to look at the source of your bad mood once more, immediately noticing the way more people have crowded around him now, and the headache continues to throb painfully behind your eyeballs. You were in the same ship, does nobody realize that? You were gunning, he was flying—you were offense, he was defense—that’s the only fucking difference, and yet, it’s like that side of the mess hall is just completely lit up with hearty laughter and music playing from someone’s holopad and congratulatory drinks being passed around, while yours is… well.
You continue to fume inwardly, struggling somewhere between bitter and hurt, and you can see your reflection through the transparisteel giving him a death glare, wondering how many of the people surrounding him have made bets with Nine. How many of his little entourage have their money wagered on Dameron getting in your pants by a specific dat—
You stop short while staring at his handsome face, an infuriating, horrifying thought suddenly striking you. No… no, he wouldn’t…
“Does he know?” You immediately interrupt the chitchat between Three and Eleven to ask with a deadly edge in your voice, tipping your forehead at pretty boy. Ooh, you can already feel it burning. It would be so fucking typical. Oooooh, Maker, if he’s heard even a fucking whisper about this outside wagering going on amongst the pilots, you will fucking smother his ass in his sleep tonight. How could he not know? With as many friends as he has? If you’re just being made aware of it, then it’s a given that somebody has to have told him by now, which just means that it’s all the more possible—shit, even more likely—that he’s… participating, too. You do your best to keep your voice even, but you can hear the quiet fury shaking in it. “The bet about when me and him are gonna fuck, does he know about it?”
“Who—Dameron?” Zhang turns his head. “No, I don’t think s—”
“Yeah,” Rossi says at the exact same time, and your blood instantly turns ice cold as Zhang leans around you to blink at her stupidly.
“No. Yeah? What?” He says, sounding genuinely confused.
“Yeah, remember?” Rossi confirms with a shrug. “Nine was mad as all shit, came at me in the rec room a few weeks ag—fucking Maker, Eleven, you were there.”
“Oh,” Zhang suddenly exhales, “yeah, that’s right. Oh, yeah, Dime, he knows.”
You’re—fuck, you’re about to rampage. You’re burning a fucking hole through Dameron while he converses animatedly with his numerous buddies, waving an open hand and shaking his head at someone with a smile and then gesturing broadly to this side of the transparisteel. His pool is probably up soon, you figure. That’s why he came onto you so strong earlier today. He was going to get two weeks of your pay, plus whatever he must’ve offered up to Nine that says he’d get it to happen within a certain amount of time. Perfect, your old roomie and the arch nemesis you stupidly agreed to trade her for, two asshole peas in an asshole pod.
“—she thought I was the one who told him—” You know Rossi is still talking but you’re not actually hearing any of it. Nobody has any fucking idea. Nobody has any idea what he did to you today, how unbelievably close you were to… to actually… “—was all just for fun, but then he had a few choice words for her and told his squad that if any of them had made a—” You don’t know why you’re so surprised honestly, you should’ve expected…
Wait.
“Wait,” you suddenly blurt, and while she shuts up immediately, your mind starts whirling even faster. Dameron had some… what? “Wait. Explain. You’re saying he didn’t…” You slowly shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows and trying to piece it together. “He didn’t… place a bet with her, or anything?”
“What? No,” Rossi shakes her head a lot more forcefully than you, getting frustrated. “No, fucking—didn’t you hear anything I just said, Ten? He got all high and mighty for some stupid reason, totally reamed her ass out for it.”
“But…” You blink, stunned. “But… why? Why would he…?”
Rossi shrugs. “Fuck if I know. All she said was that he ordered Black not to throw in, made her lose a fuckton of money from it. Had no idea Dameron would be so touchy about his sex life, honestly.”
He… he isn’t. He isn’t touchy about his sex life—you feel like he never shuts up about it.
Rossi continues talking, but you’re not listening again. You stare stupidly at yourself in the clear transparisteel as Dameron’s voice comes back to you, repeating something you specifically remember him saying earlier today. Something you thought was just a careless jab at the time, aimed blindly at one of your comrades with nothing more than the intent to piss you off.
…I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half…
You blink beyond your own reflection to focus on him once more, still lost in his own little world, not paying a single lick of attention to you while you’re essentially having a fucking crisis over here. You didn’t think the insult had any real substance to it at all. You just naturally assumed that was the result of him wanting to lash out at anything or anyone remotely close to you, if only to get a reaction, so you never gave him one or paid it any mind.
This is why he said that about Nine? Because he knew she had organized this fucked up betting pool behind your back?
Stars, you need to get out of here, all these rumors are fucking with your head. Your assumptions and the hairpin turnarounds are giving you worse whiplash than Dameron’s… well, admittedly spectacular flying today. You were wrong about wanting to avoid isolating—in fact, that suddenly sounds like a phenomenal idea.
So, you just get up and leave right in the middle of Rossi’s sentence, needing some time alone. Neither of them call out to you as you quickly walk around the table and through the barrier towards the exit, thank the Maker, and you’re just about to retreat with no interruptions until suddenly two Greenies step in front of you and block your path.
You halt immediately, looking up at them with a furrowed brow. “What now?” You grunt, not having the patience to even wait for a response before attempting to squeeze around them.
“Hey, so you really saved our asses out there today, Goldie,” the one on the left quickly sidesteps in front of you and rushes to say, and you settle your weight back on your heels with a huff.
“What are you talking about?” You glance back and forth between them, not recalling a time you’ve ever spoken to either one, before jerking your head to gesture over your shoulder. “Go congratulate trophy boy over there, he was the one flying.”
“We did,” the one on the right tips sideways to look at Dameron behind your shoulder, likely still laughing and joking with someone about something, something super fucking dumb probably. “Well, uh. We tried.”
“What?” You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples. “The fuck is that supposed to mean? I don’t have the time.”
“He won’t take any credit, just keeps saying that all he did was steer you around,” the other one shrugs as his companion straightens and looks down at you once more. “Wouldn’t accept any drinks we offer him, nothing. So we thought we’d buy you one instead. Unless you’re… leaving?”
It takes you a few seconds to process that, even as he allows the open invitation to hang in the air. You can’t stop the way your torso automatically twists around to study your copilot from across the mess hall in baffled silence, suddenly realizing that they’re… they’re right. Dameron has no congratulatory drinks sitting in front of him even though more and more people have made their way into the bar. He’s just sitting there grinning and nodding along to something someone else is saying, completely and blissfully unaware of the extent to which he’s fucked with you in the past twenty minutes. The past… whole day. Month and a half. Or… fuck, how long have you known him? Two years?
But then Dameron’s gaze gradually drifts this way, before suddenly locking with yours. His eyes flick behind you to look at the two Greenies blocking your exit, and then back to the way you’re staring at him, wide-eyed and startled.
He suddenly stands up and starts to take a few steps towards you, and the sheer abruptness of the movement causes you to react immediately. You stumble your way backwards through the two pilots, feeling a few hands reach out to steady you through the awkward fumbling, but you slap them away and announce loud enough for Dameron to hear beyond them that you’re taking a shower, and you don’t give a fuck how long it’s gonna be this time.
***
The knob squeaks as you turn the water on. Usually you’d step back and wait the grueling five minutes or longer it takes for it to heat up with your arms crossed over your naked chest, but this time you move directly under the freezing spray, hoping to use the ice cold to shock your system.
You're finally alone.
Technically solitude doesn’t really exist within this base. You’ve heard of others that are a little nicer, having a little more room for the ranks, but not here. Housing assignments, showers and restrooms, mess and recreation halls—they’re all communal. Everyone is given rotating shifts, so while that means there’s never any true quiet to be found, it also means that showers are spread out well throughout the day and night.
But, at least for this moment, there’s nobody else around. At least in here, in the tiled chamber with multiple shower heads stationed around you—you’re sure there are a few girls lingering in the locker room and the entry area beyond it, but for right now, you’re blissfully by yourself.
And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.
You know you should be basking in the isolation. You should be thrilled at the rarity of only hearing your own flipflops slap against the floor as you turn around and drench your hair with the icy spray, but the lack of an immediate distraction for your focus allows it to wander to things you don’t want it to.
Explosions, mostly. Lighting up like fireworks in front of your eyes even as they flutter closed and let water drip down them. Constant, never-ending. Some of them small—TIEs you shot down, allies drawing fire away from you and then subsequently getting overwhelmed, zipping through dense debris from deadly collisions so quick that you had trouble distinguishing friend from foe. Some of them were massive—star destroyers splitting apart, warp drives overloading, enormous casualty counts. You don’t know how many lives you took today, not directly.
The beginning was the worst—when you were still slightly disoriented, when you were panicked and screaming into the comms for assistance. Then the closest stationed tandem showed up first—Red-Two and Eight, you think it was. Doesn’t matter now. They took some heat off you before the cavalry arrived, but you remember Dameron barking out your name the second their left thruster got nicked and they started spiraling, a ferociously deep, “With me!” cutting through the white noise. It was enough to snap you back, forcing you to instantly flick your eyes away and focus dead ahead without witnessing their demise.
It wouldn’t have normally been necessary. You’ve been flying with the Resistance for years, you’ve seen way too much bloodshed by now. But you’ve never been the catalyst of it—you’ve always been able to confront threats accompanied by your squadron, right between Nine and Eleven, the flight controls rumbling steady under your palms. You’ve never faced down an entire fleet in one single ship. You’ve never had to rely so directly on the skills of another pilot in order to stay alive.
The water slowly heats to a lukewarm while you reach for the shampoo.
Surprisingly, for as much as the two of you clash in normal interactions, it was like everything eventually became… synchronized. Spectacularly so. Dameron started off the enemy confrontation by calling out his flight patterns to give you a chance to adjust your firing in real time, but then at some point, it just stopped being necessary. There was a moment where you both were able to suddenly… get it. Get each other. He didn’t have to say anything after that—you could predict each other without second guessing, react instantaneously, and work your way through the littered battlefield accordingly. You never thought it would be possible to collaborate so well with someone you’ve spent ages despising. Sure, you’d both die if you didn’t—shit, you’d probably still both die regardless—but this kind of teamwork extended beyond the need to survive. It doesn’t matter how much you want to stay alive when reading someone else’s mind is physically impossible, but for some reason… You have no idea why, but it apparently came naturally between you. It fell to pure instinct, pure reaction, and remarkably, his would somehow match yours perfectly, every single time.
You lather the shampoo in your hair, remembering how his voice changed over the course of the mission. How it gradually shifted from panicked roars and barked orders into ecstatic cheers and genuine praise after landing a difficult shot, how he just couldn’t seem to stop whooping.
You smile softly as the tepid water rinses away the dirt and sweat from your body, until the temperature is brought up to a gentle, comfortable warmth raining down you and echoing in the empty shower room.
And, your first name. Dameron kept calling you that, the whole time. The one you’re now absolutely certain you’ve never personally given to him. The one he would’ve had to have listened for specifically. Remembered, or at least asked the right person about. But why? It’s not… it makes no sense, he doesn’t give a shit. He’s notorious for not giving a shit. He can’t even be bothered to remember the names of the girls he’s actually with—so why did he go to the trouble to figure out yours? You’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side the same way he is to you, right?
Right?
Your mind starts recollecting more recent events, trying to work through and process it by yourself. He was… singing your praises today. He was openly giving you credit for the win while you pouted in the corner and assumed the absolute worst of him. As much as you’re frustrated that nobody else seemed to give voice to your contributions, you’re even more surprised that he was the one who did.
And then even earlier. Gold-Nine, holding wagers with members of your squad (and others, apparently) about when you’re going to fuck him. Dameron, tearing her a new one for it, forbidding Black Squadron from throwing in and not attempting to hide his disdain for her from you. He… he defended you. Stood up for you when your own squad was being a bunch of dicks behind your back. And nobody ever fucking mentioned it to you. What did Rossi say—a few weeks ago? He’s known all this time and only today, only after you… openly showed more interest in him than you ever have, after you worked up enough nerve to try in your own little way to flirt back this time instead of responding to his casual comments with contempt and disgust, only today is when he decided to make a real move on you.
…Your mind is completely blank and yet you still feel yourself start to heat up just a bit at even alluding to the events that took place earlier. The way his fingers felt—
Steam begins to fill the open concept chamber while you shake your head against the train of thought and reach for the soap, beginning to circle the bar along your arms and shoulders with a sigh. This is already the longest shower you’ve taken in almost two months, and your body slowly relaxes under the mist and heat as you take forever cleaning yourself, slowly and hypnotically rubbing the soap along your skin.
The second you let your eyelids dip shut at the feeling, you immediately shiver at a flash of Dameron dragging his finger out of his mouth and blinking dark eyes at you through the transparisteel.
Fuck. The soap slips from your hand and you quickly catch it against your body before it falls to the ground completely, suddenly feeling the need to breathe in the misty air a bit harder. Shower, you’re in the shower. Come on.
The dirt and grime is scrubbed from your face and you tilt your head to move the bar of soap across your neck. As it lathers, you can’t help but remember the way his lips felt against the skin right there, the scratch of his beard. You keep working the soap against that same spot for a while, not knowing if you’re trying to wash away the sensation or simulate it, until you gradually slow and make it lighter, softer—yes, that’s closer to how it felt, that’s—
Soon the water is boiling hot and you’re trying not to boil along with it, remembering everything he said against this spot, the filth he whispered to you here. Your pussy starts to throb between your legs as the memories play out in your mind, how close he got you to shattering bliss without even really working for it. If you put it all together collectively, you don’t think he actually touched you for more than a minute or two total today. Mostly he just talked to you, but stars, he hit buttons you didn’t even think you had, had you a split second away from cumming harder than Maker knows while his finger rested just above your clit and provided no stimulation whatsoever.
Fuck, you enjoyed it. You did, you’ll admit it when there’s no one else here but you. You enjoyed the fuck out of it. You wish he’d do it again. Force you to lose, force you to cum so you can at least blame him for it, remove your responsibility from the equation and allow you to put just one more thing on his shoulders, to taste ecstacy instead of expecting you to bear the weight of pretending you don’t need it any longer. He was doing you a favor, you realize that now. Your body is staging a fucking coup and you wish you could’ve called mercy before it got to this agonizing point. He turns you on, you fucking admit it. He inspires violent emotions in you—jealousy, arousal, anger, temptation—thoughts you don’t want to have and consolidating it all into various forms of hatred makes the finer details easier to ignore. Your perception of him has always been skewed by your iron will, but he all but took a fucking sledgehammer to it today, dented it beyond all recognition. You want him, you want to him to take it all away, you want him to fuck you—in the… fuck, in the good way.
You don’t have a thought beyond that. Your hand quickly falls down the length of your body to wash your private parts, biting your lip as your hips slowly start to rock into it. You’re getting clean, you’re getting clean, this is how you clean yourself, this is… yes, as long as you keep the bar of soap pressed between your palm and the top of your curls like this, you’re cleaning yourself and you can just… ease your finger down just a little bit and—
Flipflops suddenly echo from the twisting hallway leading to the tiled freshers, and you immediately snatch your hand back up again, not needing to turn around to know another girl is walking into the room. A knob somewhere to your right eventually makes a dull squeak as you quickly finish washing up and turn your showerhead off, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself.
Maker, you feel like your pussy is plotting your demise. Fuck, you can’t believe you almost cheated in the fucking showers just now where literally anyone could walk in, you thought you would’ve had more self-control than that. You make your way into the changing rooms and grab your pajamas, starting to tug them on without fully drying your body and having only one thought in mind.
Dameron will probably be celebrating late tonight. You can tuck in early, scurry back to your room and cheat there.
Well, no, not cheating, because you clearly remember making a very compelling argument about wet dreams earlier today. Maker, a freebie, the word has never sounded so enticing. What you’d say amounts to a… bye-week orgasm basically, since you know he’s already lost at least one match against his own body and you’re meant to be competing on the same level. It’s only fair to let you persevere through the toughest part of the challenge if he was allowed to throw a game early on and still stay in the competition. Maybe he threw multiple games, you never got a straight answer concerning that, so it’s still under review. He could’ve thrown… three games, even. Or four.
You dress as quickly as possible and then nearly bolt through the entrance area to the restrooms with all the sinks and stalls. The balled up dirty clothes and wet towel in your arms allow you to hide the way your nipples are stiff and tender against your thin pajamas, and you can’t wait to climb into your bunk and take everything off under the covers. You’ll be able to cum, at least once. It’ll relieve so much stress, get rid of this nightmare headache, rip through your body like lightning and paralyze it until you can start over from square one and think like yourself again.
And, you’re just about to power walk your ass back to your quarters when a body nearly slams into yours as soon as you step foot outside the door, your shoulder jerking back just in time to avoid a collision.
A mechanic, you think. You’re not exactly sure, you don’t hang out with too many of them—he’s Chiss and his glowing red eyes don’t even land on you as you gasp and sidestep him at the last second, but it’s not him that catches the majority of your attention. He just exited the men’s room at the same time you left the women’s, and the door takes a moment to swing shut behind him.
You freeze. It can’t be more than a few seconds—but it feels like everything slows down and it lasts a fucking eternity.
Dameron is standing at a sink in the far corner of the room, naked except for a towel identical to the one in your arms wrapped loosely around his waist. He cradles the base of his own throat with one hand and gently drags a razor down the smooth contour of it with the other, his chin tilted up high and regal while his eyelids dip low to concentrate on his movements. He glances down and holds the foamy blade under the running faucet, tapping it twice against porcelain before the door slides him out of frame.
I can shave, a low, silky murmur slowly fills your ears, heat swelling low and hot in your tummy. Tonight, I’ll shave it off. Make it nice and smooth for you.
You feel like your body is just a collection of rigid knots all tied together, and the one between your legs is the tightest it’s ever been. Stars, on another day you’d say it feels like a bad cramp, even though you know your injection makes your period rare and like clockwork. Regardless, the split second image makes you shudder and clamp up painfully, and you just stand there and stare at the closed door for a second, trying not to shake.
Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.
Realistically, you know it could have absolutely nothing to do with you. It’s his face—you’re not self-centered enough to have completely lost your concept of autonomy. He can do whatever he wants to his body, and that includes facial hair, full stop. You also know that he’s not being… obvious about it, no matter how much it feels that way to you. He’s using the sink and mirror at the very end of the room, not any of the ones nearest to the door—but even if he was, it’s not like he could’ve planned for you to walk out at the exact moment the metal hinge was angled wide open. He couldn’t possibly have intended for this, for you to see him doing this. He wasn’t making a show, didn’t even notice you standing there. You blame literally everything on him, or at least you always try your absolute best to—but this one…
It sends a hard shudder down your spine and you clutch the fabric in your arms tighter, trying not to drop it. Fuck. This is torture. Fuck him. Good and bad—both ways, all the ways he can be fucked, fuck him. Your head is spinning, you’re sweating fresh out of the shower, you need to cum. Maybe if you hurry, you can get that precious orgasm before he’s finished, because if Dameron is able to intercept you before you can tend to this, you’re… you’re not sure how you’re going to say no to him.
You don’t even think you want to anymore.
You feel like you’re just… holding onto it on principle now. Too stubborn and hardheaded to want change. Too stuck in your own ways to recognize how much everything already has changed.
Somehow, you end up making your way back to your room, but the whole thing is a blur. Your flipflops plap against your heels as you navigate through hallways as quick as you can, emptier than you’ve seen them in months. You know most of the pilots are probably out celebrating in either the mess hall or rec room, but the thought doesn’t really presently register. Almost nothing registers besides your continuous forward motion and the way you feel yourself throb with every step, aching for something you are going to get tonight. Fuck, you are so attached to this orgasm now, it’s not going anywhere and neither are you. You deserve this, you deserve some relief. Come hell or highwater, it’s happening tonight.
As soon as you step into your room and slap your hand blindly against the wall panel to close the door behind you, you’re carelessly dropping the bundle of fabric to the floor and then shrugging out of your pajamas in the cool pitch darkness, having exactly one mission in mind. You don’t bother with lights, with brushing your hair, with literally anything besides clamoring up the ladder to your top bunk and wiggling under the thin bedsheet, making sure to pull it up to your chin before your legs butterfly open. The tip of your finger wets itself on your tongue and then you’re dropping it down and sliding it against your poor clit, the pleasure arcing and flaring so sharp and sensitive even from your touch that you have to give it just a second.
…No, no you don’t. You don’t have to give it fucking anything. You keep moving your finger hard and quick even as your hips naturally want to jerk away from it, shoving yourself through the sensitivity with gritted teeth and a ferocious will.
Fuck, how long do you think you have? Was Dameron shaving pre or post-shower? You can’t remember, all you know is he had a towel around his waist. And that thin gold chain hanging down his neck. Was his hair wet? Fuck, why can’t you remember? His chin and jaw were smooth as silk, you know that much. Post-shower, then. Probably. Probably?
His chin and jaw were smooth as silk. You keep getting stuck on that no matter how chaotically your thoughts whirl; they fling out in different directions at different velocities but all somehow manage to go in a perfect circle and end up at the same place you started. His chin, his jaw, his mouth, his neck, his chin, his mouth, his jaw, his mouth, his mouth, his mouth—
You feel yourself start to clamp down and you speed up, chasing it. The pleasure starts burning deep inside you, the fire slowly licking down your thighs and rising up into your abdomen, and then—
And then a series of quiet beeps from the hallway practically blare like alarm bells to your frantic mind.
You immediately stop moving your finger, snapping your legs tight together and flat to the mattress as soon as the door to your room shifts open and fluorescent light spills inside, and you feel like you could actually fucking cry right now.
All this edging is just a form of self-flagellation at this point. You lay there and try not to make a sound, try not to tremble hard enough to shake the whole bunk with it, but even your breathing feels like it’s going to give you away. Dameron, shirtless with his towel draped over his shoulder, slowly steps into the room and then pauses almost immediately, making your heart stutter for a second at what so blatantly caught his attention.
One quick glance down towards his feet confirms the simultaneous hope and fear—you left everything on the floor. The towel, the dirty clothes, and your pajamas are strewn about haphazardly right where he needs to walk.
You know what it must look like to him. A trail of clothes leading directly to an occupied bed isn’t exactly subtle, even though you didn’t necessarily intend it that way. Still, what can you say? Your hand is shoved in between your legs right now and you’re in your birthday suit under this thin sheet, what the fuck can you say to him? Sorry Dameron, got too caught up with how stupid wet you get me that I left those there on accident on my way to cheat, but totally not because I lowkey want your help doing it. Convincing, that’ll go over great.
Dameron slowly lifts his head to look at you. Or, at least you think he does—the light from the open door behind him casts his body in a dark silhouette, but you know your face is perfectly illuminated for him right now. Blinking down at him from the top bunk with your brows pulled up in the middle, wide-eyed and desperate and caught red-handed. Fuck, you don’t know if he can see the way your knees are clamped tight together and your hand rests perfectly still against your pussy like this from the angle he’s at, but you know it has to be super fucking obvious either way. You’re breaking the rules, you’re touching yourself, and you both know it. You can’t lie, you can’t even sit up without confirming his very valid suspicion. He can call the game at any point, but…
You watch his head fall back down to study the mess you left for him once more. Fuck, are you positive that was an accident? Normally you wouldn’t second guess anything about your own understanding of the interactions that occur between you and him, but—you’ve never done that before. You’ve lived with roommates on this base for years, you don’t just… get naked before getting into bed, that’s bad form. How are you going to get up in the morning without having your pajamas shoved near your feet while you sleep? Wrap this thin bedsheet around yourself and scamper down the ladder until you can snatch them up from the floor, and then what? Climb all the way back up just to wiggle the clothes on underneath the blanket before going back down again? Maker, you fucked up, your pussy is plotting your fucking demise.
But then everything inside you pulls taut as Dameron suddenly decides to move. Slowly, he leans down to catch your orange jumpsuit closest to his feet with a few fingers, before he stands upright and carefully begins folding the fabric without saying a single word to you. Electricity buzzes through you as he very obviously takes his time with it, using nearly his whole armspan to lengthen and fold the sleeves while his chest and chin meet for support. When he’s eventually satisfied with it, he takes a few steps toward the empty desk on your side of the room and then sets the neat rectangle of fabric atop it where you usually keep it.
You bite your lip and you can’t help it—you start to move your finger as he goes back to sort the pajamas you wore for barely two seconds from your dirty clothes, folding and putting away whatever is clean and then tossing the rest into the shared laundry basket that gets collected every week. Somehow it makes you feel even more naked, seeing all your clothes be returned to their proper places, realizing that this is your base state now, this is what you’re going to wear tonight. Nothing. You left everything on the floor and trapped yourself up here, he’s simply shifting a pawn forward two spaces in kind now that you’ve made your first move.
You can feel yourself pulse threateningly against your own fingertip while he collects your wet towel and drapes it over your closet door to dry, and your breath comes louder through your nose while you bite back the noises you want to make, the way your movements so desperately want to speed up. Your hand working the way you want it to under the white sheets would be too much, too revealing, but you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to care.
But then of course, the asshole has to go and put away his towel and clothes, and you endure through the whole thing while pressing back and forth against your clit so hard and slow that your toes curl and pull the sheet tucked under your chin taut. After that’s done, he makes his way over to the portshade above his desk and slowly slides it open a few inches, the light of three moons outside gradually filling the room. However, when Dameron goes back to press a button on the wall panel and close the door to the hallway, you immediately see how much softer it is in here, how the artificial fluorescents have thankfully disappeared and the room illuminates more than it blinds, glows more than it beams. He presses one more button as the lock inside the paneling slides into place.
You bite your bottom lip and try your best to hide the pleasure you’re building for yourself while he makes his way back to his desk, quietly swiping the radio off it and lowering the volume knob completely before he flips it on. The noise slowly amplifies until you’re able to catch two distinct voices conversing in Huttese—it’s the only lingua franca that still broadcasts on this old technology in this part of the galaxy, but he’s already flipping through the stations in search of something specific.
If you were thinking straight, you may have actually recognized this for what it is, but you’re having trouble even processing the details of your general surroundings right now, your mind is lagging and too slow at reading between the lines. Dameron’s doing exactly what he said he would do. He laid it all out earlier for you in the x-wing, telling you exactly what he wanted plain as day, and now he’s checking the whole list off one by one. The shade is open and the room is lit just enough to make him out, the door is locked, and he’s finding something to listen to. Something quiet, and easy.
If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that there’s a much more obvious reason why he shaved his beard—you never told him the truth about how much you liked it. You never tell him the truth. You allow—even encourage him to think the sharp things you say to him are exactly how you feel. He did it because he believed you.
Oh, but you’re not thinking straight. Your thoughts are scattered and the only thing they can agree upon is how good this feels, even as your breathing starts to grow heavier, grow louder underneath the sound of the radio. The thought stays right beneath your consciousness, tugging at your preoccupied mind. You work your finger with just a little more verve now that he’s flipping through the stations, knowing he’s distracted by spinning the dial through intermittent white noise while different voices and songs fill the room for just a second at a time.
Your bed, his voice suddenly echoes through your thoughts, originating from your subconscious but almost sounding like it’s coming from the radio in your delirious mind. I want you comfortable.
Fuck, the understanding finally clicks the second he flips to a slower song and you start to burn at the thought of what’s next. The silent promise that his actions allude to. You have the realization way too late but at least it still comes at all with the state you’re in. Your hand slows down immediately, not even needing to consciously consider the choice between achieving orgasm through your finger or his mouth. Still, it’s hard to stop touching yourself completely when it feels so fucking good to your deprived body.
Fuck, it’s barely been a few seconds since your realization and yet you immediately bristle in distress at how fucking long he’s taking.
So you open your mouth. You’re desperate and needy and on the verge of something, and it comes out without thought. You don’t think it’s loud enough for him to hear, but his head immediately lifts and looks unseeingly at the wall in front of him for a second, as if he’s questioning if he imagined it. A soft melody plays on a bluesy guitar while you hiccup and wait, but he doesn’t move.
And then you say it again, higher and tighter in your throat, pitched up to an impatient, girlish whine. “Poe…”
The radio is tossed onto the bottom bunk as soon as he spins around and walks towards the ladder, but it’s like your finger has a mind of its own the moment he disappears underneath your line of sight. Your legs spasm against the mattress and you bite your lip, not caring about the frantic way your hand begins moving under the sheet as his muted footsteps climb up the rungs.
Your eyes snap to his as soon as you can see him beyond the railing at your feet, heaving himself up until everything above his waist is above you, too. His pauses there and his lashes quickly dip to the shameless movements between your legs as you work yourself towards that approaching bliss, and then flick back to the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him so torn, wanting so badly to wait for it but not being able to right now.
Slowly, he begins to move forward, crawling his way up the mattress and over your body, noticeably careful with where he places his limbs. You’re not hard to dodge, though—you’re like a rigid stick of desperation under him, knees and ankles still clamped tight together and your arms streamlined as close to your body as possible with tension as you keep rubbing your clit. Not to mention the sheet is thin and shows your figure almost perfectly with how tight you’ve hooked it under your chin, only leaving the finest details to the imagination.
But then there starts to be a little strain against the fabric, an unspoken question he’s still bothering to ask even though you could’ve told him to fuck off ages ago. Poe could yank the sheet down and flip your shit over and destroy you right now if he wanted—fuck, like you want him to do—but his face slowly appears in front of yours instead and his dark eyes search your features for answers. The length of his chain dangles from his muscular neck and glows against his golden skin, his whole upper body stretched long and bare over you.
From the gradually increasing tightness pulling on the fabric, you expect the sheet to rip down your body as soon as you lift your chin and let that resistance go, but instead… stars, it’s slow. Why is he going so fucking slow?? The bedsheet barely flutters down to your collarbone before he’s able to stop tugging on it so hard, and then he just gently inches the hem down from that point on.
Fuck—your eyes drop to his lips as he eventually reveals your shoulders and sternum to the room, and then lower to your cleavage while you let out a hushed whimper, praying he understands the extent of how vulnerable you’re allowing yourself to be. You don’t do this often—and you definitely don’t do it with someone like him. He’s the one who said you needed this, isn't he? So why the fuck is he dragging out the anticipation? Pretending like he doesn’t see the way you’re begging for help in the middle of another warzone that’s breaking out for the second time today?
Poe’s head drops down to give the contour of your neck a long drag of his tongue, slow and hot and wet, the sheet eventually dropping beneath your nipples and exposing them to the cool air. You bite your lip and keep working yourself under the fabric even as it’s led down the length of your tummy, and you just get wetter and wetter feeling him mouth at your skin as the radio continues to play soft from the bottom bunk. He follows the skin as it’s revealed, licking down from your collarbone and working with the increasing rate of your breathing. His lips never feel like they vary in pressure, even as your chest heaves up and down and your lungs work hard for air.
His open mouth slowly drags down the curve of your breast and it makes your blood burn fire through your veins. You nearly choke when your nipple is enveloped in soft heat, his tongue quickly fluttering up under the stiff peak and giving it to you so gently, contrasting so light and vernal with how brilliant and neon bright the need between your legs is. Your hand starts to work quicker, and fuck—you can hear it now, your desperate movements audible over the shallow breaths and the sound of one song gradually fading into another below you. You’re just too fucking wet and your pussy is smushed with how tight your legs are pressed together—the noise is unavoidable, and Poe’s knees are planted too close to either side of your thighs to spread them really at all.
Fuck, you knock against the resistance regardless to let him know what you want, but he doesn’t budge and it makes you just about lose your damn mind. Does he have to make everything so fucking difficult? You couldn’t close your legs earlier and now you can’t open them, and it’s like he’s able to take perfect advantage of each opposing position to prolong your torture.
But then his tongue leaves you even as his jaw opens just slightly, and that’s the only warning you get before his teeth graze your nipple with a sudden arc of sensation and you flare up all at once.
It’s a miracle and a curse that you’re able to stop at the very last second, your hand jerking away from your pussy and flexing into a fucking death claw on your thigh at how close you were, and you don’t know why. Why did the fuck did you stop? There’s nothing standing in your way right now, you’ve consciously given yourself express permission to cum, but still. It must just be learned instinct at this point—hammered into your muscle memory for weeks on end to not allow the pleasure no matter what, especially when you’re this fucking close to it.
Nonetheless you garble out nonsense and cinch inwards on yourself to fight it off now that you’ve apparently decided against it. There’s nothing worse than a half-assed orgasm, and you have to quickly summon the conviction behind your split second reaction before it’s too late and your body takes the pleasure any way it can get it.
Poe’s mouth releases your nipple at the way your whole spine suddenly hunches in and he drops his forehead to your chest, breathing heavy down the slope of your breast as you tremble and grapple for your sanity.
“Did you just cum?” Is the first thing he says to you, his voice is so ragged and stony it’s practically gravel crunching as he speaks.
“N-n-no,” you quickly stammer at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe correctly. Inhale, exhale—fuck, which one is inhale again, which one comes first? Maker, does he need to call a fucking medic? “Huhhhhalmost?”
Poe takes a deep breath and slowly releases it with a bassy and warm mmmm rumbling against your skin, so coarse but pleased enough to sound like melted chocolate dripping down your body. The noise sends a violent shudder through you and it’s almost enough to knock you back to that edge again, even without your fingers assisting it.
His head dips and the sheet pulls down even more, just below your belly button now, and you let out a quiet gasp in anticipation, nearly on the verge of begging him to keep moving downwards. But when Poe’s eyes close and his mouth suddenly moves back up to open over your other nipple instead, your patience snaps.
Fuck him, bad way. This is your orgasm, you’re done waiting.
“I’m gonna cum,” you snarl furiously down at him, shoving your hand between your legs even as Poe’s lips quirk against your skin. It’s not a warning, it’s a threat. If he’s gonna be like this, he doesn’t get to share it with you. It’s your orgasm, you’ll give it to yourself if he doesn’t give a shit about it. “Thought you wanted it, guess not.”
You immediately feel his teeth again in response to your admittedly slightly bitchy comment and this time he lets your nipple roll just a bit between them, making you jerk at the sensation and quickly find your clit again. Oh, you’re soaking fucking wet, you’re wet everywhere. Slick and swollen and burning, and it’s not going to take much at all. The sheet sticks to your overheated body and you can’t tell the difference between your sweat, his saliva, or wetness from between your legs—it all just feels damp and slippery as you gradually lose your bearings under his mouth.
“Fuck this, I’m gonna cum,” you breathe once more, possibly nothing more than a mindless reiteration but most likely just one last veiled plea for him to give you what you both want. As if he can tell, Poe quickly lifts his mouth and suddenly the sheet is ripped the rest of the way down your naked body completely, sharp and frustrated, and then his lips brush against your elbow as it twitches, nipping the sensitive skin there.
“Brat,” he growls quietly against your forearm as he keeps dragging his lips down further, following the path it makes along your tummy. “Just likes making shit difficult.”
“You’re the one—” you hiccup, trying to sound angry but just melting into a puddle at the tip of his tongue slowly trailing down your frantically moving wrist, “—you’re the… the o-one who… who…?”
But you’re already sprinting towards that edge, feeling him drop even lower and his hot breath fan against your fingers, and at this point you’re too far gone. Poe gently kisses at your closed thighs, in perfect position and ready for you, but you can’t stop yourself anymore unless he makes you stop, and the longer he waits down there without grabbing your hand to replace it with something better the more you don’t give a shit about whether or not it’s going to happen. You can feel the orgasm rising, you can feel your toes flex and everything start to lock down for the approaching tsunami. You’re going to get it this time, you’re going to cum, you’re going to—
“This is—” you rasp, “—this is a f-free, a fffff-ffreeeeb—”
His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.
And then there’s a moment. A suspended moment that seems to go on forever, where you’re launched directly over that cliff and yet you still seem to be gaining altitude. Where’s the drop? You’re already cumming—you can feel it, there’s absolutely no fucking going back now, but it’s like your sheer desperation has so much momentum that your body tricks itself into believing there’s nothing to land on, no gravity to immediately rip you straight down to your demise.
You choke out his name and your back arches with it and that must be the signal, because Poe finally pulls your hand away and lets his chin dip, and then his jaw falls open and allows you just enough time to catch the glimmer of his pink tongue before it slides wet and slow through your swollen folds.
Heat. It sears through your whole body with a wracked shudder, the slick glide over your clit as his eyes flutter closed, and within the very first second of feeling his mouth on you, you’re instantly cumming inside it.
There. There’s the drop.
The burning erupts into molten chaos, crumpling your whole body on impact like an accordion, but he sinks all his weight down on your legs and forces you to endure it with everything below your waist pinned to the mattress. It’s fucking mayhem. You feel like your voice actually rips itself in half with the ragged cry of blinding relief, so enormous and soul wrenching in power that you couldn’t even hope to muffle it. You can’t move your hips through it, you can’t stutter up to ride it out—you have to experience the whole thing with your lower body completely still while his tongue takes slow, gentle licks at your throbbing clit, only able to sit your shoulders up and slam them back down and grab his head as you endure.
You cum hard. Fucking hard. It’s daunting and explosive and utterly devastating in the havoc it wreaks, and just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, it’s just so slow. Creeping along and obliterating everything in its path, taking an eternity to pass because of how fucking big it is.
When you’re finally able to float back down into your own body again, the first thing you notice is how tight his hold is. Poe’s arms are wrapped around your thighs to keep them pressed tight together and you can feel the wetness all the way down to your fucking knees as they tremble against each other. Stars, what did he do to you? You feel like you actually wet yourself, there’s way too much dampness on the mattress underneath you to feel anywhere close to normal for you.
His mouth eventually leaves you but his head doesn’t move, nothing else moves. Even his hot breath feels like rough stimulation to your throbbing pussy.
And then Poe shifts and adjusts his body just enough, catching the backs of your knees and slowly spreading your legs up and apart like you wanted to do ages ago. They feel like jelly, wobbly and unsteady even as his thumbs hook right under your knees and easily support most of their weight. Your pussy is soon exposed completely, and his shoulders move down just before his head drops to lick the collection of wetness right from your entrance. Fuck, he couldn’t get it from the previous angle your legs were at, just your clit at the very top—but this is deep and personal and you know he’s probably getting mouthfuls of how hard he just made you cum, using the tip of his tongue to scoop your arousal up and swallowing it quietly before going back for more.
“Poe,” you whisper, and he rumbles low in his throat in response without stopping. This isn’t for you, this isn’t for your benefit right now. Your pleasure receptors aren’t concentrated right here, just the physical evidence of them being overloaded just a few moments ago, but he stays for longer than necessary. He keeps his mouth here far longer than you need to push past the throbbing sensitivity and start to crave the sensation again, forcing you to bite your lip to stop yourself from telling him to move back up just a couple inches.
So you seek it out instead, the lower part of your body clearly not listening to a damn thing your mind tells it right now. Your hips drop and his velvet tongue catches your clit at the apex of its repetitive motion, and you gasp and rock upwards again as Poe groans and immediately rises with you to chase it. He attaches to the swollen flesh and sucks at it gently for you, following your lead, letting your wet fingers comb his hair back from his face and clutch a good fistful of it as you plant your feet and slowly grind up into his mouth.
Fuck. He was right. You needed this. Everything about it is heaven—endorphins pour off you in waves as you roll your hips against his face, and he lets you do it. He’s not just pliant, he’s willing. His tongue works diligently, his eyes close and he moans into your pussy, allowing you to tug his hair and fit to his mouth exactly how you want.
Oh, everything burns. Everything smolders and sparks, because he’s always been so withholding and now he’s just going for it. He’s reading your mind better than he did during the battle today, not necessarily submissive in his approach but… servicing. Accommodating. Finally giving in and putting real effort into helping you chase after another shot of ecstasy without being so stingy about it like before.
As soon as you feel another familiar swell of something deep down, your mouth is suddenly dropping open.
“How many—” your ragged voice comes out without thinking, and it takes so fucking long to actually attach the train of thought to its conduit of translation. You swallow thickly and flex your fingers in his hair, tugging at him to ground yourself, trying to anchor yourself to the very thing that’s about to fling you into oblivion again. “—fuck, how many times did you… how many fr-freebies do I—do I…”
Poe eases his chin back just enough to respond, and the slick sound his tongue makes leaving your clit makes you shudder and miss the wretched words at first. “Mm. Just the one.”
And then his tongue is already sliding back through your pussy by the time your eyes pop open in immediate panic, and your clit is in his mouth again as soon as yours drops to frantically contest.
But the words aren’t coming, it feels too fucking amazing. Your jaw goes slack and your fingers tighten in his hair. Maker almighty, the orgasm swells up so sharp and quick that you have to fucking kick him at the very last second to get away from it. Thankfully Poe’s mouth abruptly leaves you with his oof of shock at your audacity, lifting his head as you snap your legs together and grit your teeth through your miserable retreat from ecstasy. You don’t even notice the way your knee almost knocks into his jaw with it—you just focus on shamefully easing your way back down again from the platform overlooking bliss like you’re too afraid of the high-dive. After a second, you actually have to turn on your side and rock yourself like a child as Poe slowly sits up with a grimace, lifting his arm to rub at his ribcage where your heel slammed into him.
You peek an eye open to watch him do it and oh no, it’s not a good plan. He’s so… fucking hot. Fuck. He’s unbelievably good-looking—his hair curls and frames such handsome features, his body is lovely and warm and seeing his chest bare and up close like this makes you want to reach out and slowly drag your hand down the smooth curve of his side. But then your gaze catches on the dark sweatpants tented shamelessly between his legs and how he’s glistening with perspiration, too, and how he tugs at the fabric covering his crotch and sighs softly, blinking down at you slow and intoxicated with lust.
You have to close your eyes and bury your face into the pillow because your body is latching onto anything to keep you within inches of that edge. The mere sight of him is enough to make you worry for yourself. You take deep breaths and do your best to tune his existence out entirely. Just you, just you in your bed, trying desperately not to cum without even touching yourself. You’re naked and curled up and there's no one here to look down at you with deep brown eyes, no one else breathing and especially not equally as loud as you are. Just you, just you.
And, just when you think you might finally get to the point where you’re not teetering anymore, where you’re at least mostly certain that moving around and looking at things and just existing in general isn’t going to make you completely unravel hands-free at any moment, he has to fucking… go and be himself.
You peek up to see him staring down at you, dark and intimate and devouring, before his hand gently brushes down the curve of your hip. “Maker, you are so fucking hot right now. Was that a close one, pretty baby?”
Your hand snaps out to grab his wrist with a whimper and you don’t know if your intent is to stop him or just hang on for dear life, but your grip is weak and you shake and Poe takes the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass while you do absolutely fuck all to stop him.
“Mmmm. Open your legs,” he murmurs, releasing your flesh just to give it a soft smack. “You’re only making it worse like this.”
“What? W-What do you—” you stammer, but Poe drags his hand down your thigh to catch one of your knees and pull it up without waiting for your babbled reply. Both knees go with him, your pelvis wound too tight and frozen to do anything but rotate your whole entire body on your tailbone.
“You’re just adding more pressure by keeping them closed,” he explains, wiggling his fingers in between your knees to try and get enough of a grip to pry them apart. “C’mon—open your legs, let yourself breathe.”
“Nnnnnnstop talking,” you groan, trying to slap at him, but he’s strong enough to force the movement regardless, levering your knees apart and then pushing them tight to the mattress. And, though he would normally be right about it, you’re fighting your mind to get away from the orgasm just as much as you are your body. The sudden exposure and the positioning and the way he automatically drops his gaze down at your needy pussy with his cock still hidden in his pants like that only serves to displace the cause instead of eliminating the effect. Closing the door and opening a window, shifting the stimulation somewhere else but allowing it to throb steady and aching regardless.
“Much better,” he sighs lowly, digging his fingers into the sore muscles inside your thighs and you just keep your hands loosely attached to his wrists as he works. “Fuck me, baby’s got such a pretty pussy doesn’t she?”
“Poe,” you wheeze up at him, hearing him rumble at the sight of your cunt contracting around nothing, probably shining and glistening with your desperation for him. By this point, you’re worrying again. You have no doubt whatsoever that he could talk you into cumming just like this, with your hands trembling and clutching at his wrists. If he keeps murmuring filth while holding your legs open and staring at your pussy like this, you have no doubt you’ll find a way to get there somehow.
Thankfully, he seems to understand. He goes quiet and just keeps massaging your sore muscles while you try not to writhe underneath him. Stars, it’s like he’s genuinely doing what he can to take it easy on you and you’re still all kinds of fucked up about it, still frantic and desperate while all he’s doing is just squeezing your legs.
“Calm down,” he gruffs, but you can’t. “You’re working yourself up, don’t—”
“Stop talki—” your ragged growl is cut off by your own hiccup as you quickly find the strength to shove at his hands, knowing they’re at least mostly to blame for your prolonged tightrope walk. You can’t fucking think when he’s touching you, you become too hyper-aware of your own body, it feels too good in a way that’s hard to describe and impossible to explain. Poe’s palms immediately listen and raise in front of him in surrender, his back lifting to give you space while you hide your face from him with shaky hands and gasp. It’s pathetic and your legs are still held wide open and your fingers tremble hard enough to resemble a malfunction.
You just. You need a hard reset. You need that thirty seconds of complete idle, of figuring shit out on your own without an electric current running through you before you can start working properly again. It can’t be rushed, it’s necessary when most people just want to power down and then right back up again. The wires connecting your parts are all criss-crossed and tangled and sparks are lighting up at the slightest stimulus, you just need to experience absolutely nothing for thir—
“I’m sorry,” Poe murmurs, still staying in his own space but the gravelly voice shooting a bolt of lightning down your spine. Thirty seconds, of course he couldn’t give you thirty fucking seconds. “Fuck, you’re so hot, I’m sorry—”
“Please stop talking,” you beg him, your fingers curling against your face, “Maker, I—I don’t want to cum—”
“Fuck, I know, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucki—”
You go to kick him again and even though it collides wrong and does nothing more than get your message across, the jostle is enough to knock you back from the approaching oblivion just slightly. It serves to wake you up way more than it remotely hurts him, the equivalent of someone just smacking a piece of machinery and fixing the problem temporarily.
You heave an enormous breath and blink your eyes open behind your fingers, immediately locking with his. Poe’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip but he’s mercifully silent, even when you drop your shaky hands down to your spread thighs and stay equally silent another full minute while you make the effort to right yourself. After awhile though, you realize he must be taking cues from you, waiting for you to speak.
Only, you suddenly don’t know what to say. You’re at a complete loss, looking up at him through your eyelashes in uncertainty now. Something you’ve never been around him, even as your pussy is wide open for him to look at. He hasn’t recently, though, you don’t think. He’s just keeping his eyes on your face, watching you bite your lip and blink up at him while your mind whirls, the only sound that can be heard is the radio continuing to lull from the bottom bunk.
You wish he’d say something. How come he’s choosing right now to listen to what you tell him to do? You don’t… you don’t know what to say to him. Why can’t you figure out something? You fidget but then suddenly feel your expression lose all its struggle and just look… innocent. Needing his help.
“Do you want me to leave?” Poe eventually asks after another moment, tentative of breaking the silence, and you frantically shake your head before he’s even finished speaking. Fuck, something drops in your stomach at how desperate you’re probably coming off right now, but you’re so lost and you know that’s at least one question you know the immediate answer to.
Poe tilts his head thoughtfully, slowly reaching a hand towards your thigh without removing his eyes from yours. “Want me to make you cum again?”
You shake your head again, wide-eyed and worried. He immediately pulls his hand back and blinks slowly at you.
“You want to be edged more?” He asks lowly, and you shake your head vehemently for the third time. Poe sighs and sits back, planting his palms to his thighs and pulling at the fabric of his pants in budding frustration, clearly tired of playing twenty questions. “Well what do you want, baby? You wanna just hang out? That’s fine, I don’t care, but you gotta tell me.”
Fuck, he’s right, what do you want? The only thing that’s standing in your way of feeling better, you soon realize.
“Want you to cum first,” you mumble, cheeks warming at how childish you sound.
“Not a fucking chance,” Poe immediately scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “And pouting at me isn’t gonna help.”
“Why not?” You breathe, dipping your gaze down his body. “I can use my mouth.”
“I don’t—” he stops short, suddenly registering what you said and switching gears. “You can—?” Poe narrows his eyebrows and looks suspicious. “You’ll let me… cum in it?”
“Okay,” you whisper in breathless agreement, sitting up and reaching for him, but Poe groans and pushes you back down on the mattress with a flattened palm against your shoulder like you just aced a test he was hoping you’d fail.
“Fuck whoever’s idea this was,” he grits darkly to himself while you arch up against his hold, wanting him to grab your tits but knowing it’s not a good idea right now. “Maker, I’m so fucking hard—fuck whoever’s idea this was, making me turn that down—”
“You said,” you pant, licking your dry lips and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to control yourself, “before, you said that you’re… you’re not doing this for a bet, right? So why not?” Your voice goes softer when you flutter your gaze back at him, even though the accusation feels like it should be sharper if anything, since it comes from a very real place of distrust. “Were you just… lying to me about that?”
“Fuck, come on,” Poe groans, his voice starting to waver as he shakes his head and squints one eye at you, exasperated. “You don’t get it. You can’t think of a single fucking reason I don’t wanna blow my load just yet? Really?”
The sentence coupled with his rock solid hold on you skitters a thrill through your body and you automatically reach up to run your hand along his forearm. He looks down at the caress and then back to your face and fuck, even you feel like you’re sending mixed signals right now.
“You could… fuck me,” you whisper, and Poe’s dark eyebrows pull up as his gaze falls down your naked body, nodding and digging his teeth into his bottom lip. An agreement backed by so much unspoken desire that it looks like it almost hurts him just to hear you say it out loud. “And we can just… see who cums first.”
“Yeah?” He croaks, his eyes pinned between your open legs. “Just say fuck it all and race for last place? Okay.”
Your heart pounds, having just enough wherewithal to preemptively establish a safety net for yourself. “And—and we can’t finish at the same time or we both lose.”
“Fuck,” Poe groans, reaching down to catch the hem of his sweatpants with his thumb and lifting his hips until his cock is exposed to the dim room. “We can’t stop once we start, then, we’ll have to see it through.”
Except you don’t catch any of the last part because, uh. Well, to sum up. May the Maker have mercy on you all.
Just like that, the only thought in your mind is… you get it. Okay, you get it. He told you before that girls were only interested in him for his cock, and it actually… stars, it makes so much fucking sense now, you totally get it. You thought maybe he was just boasting as a form of overcompensation at first—or, to put it another way you’ve probably used in conversation with him before, talking big talk but walking small walk. Only now, you’re… humbled. By a fucking dick, you’re humbled.
You haven’t seen more than a few of them in this context, so you know you’re not necessarily qualified to give an informed opinion, but heavens it’s a sight. It’s thick and swollen and just a shade darker than his complexion and everything inside you rockets to attention as soon as he wraps his hand around it. It’s big. It fills his whole palm without much room to spare. Far larger than what you’re used to, and you know that no matter how he fucks you with it, you’re gonna feel it tomorrow. Next weekend, probably.
Your eyes must betray you, because Poe suddenly loosens his grip and breathes your name softly, causing you to flick your eyes back up to his. You didn’t realize you were staring so openly.
“I’ll go slow,” he reassures you quietly, voice gentle and knowing. The complete lack of sarcasm or aggression in his tone is enough to snap you back to yourself, knowing that can’t possibly be right. He’s talking to you like he did when you stumbled your ass out of the x-wing today, when you were barely responsive and lost in dumb shock. He doesn’t have to… be nice to you right now, like you’re still only moments away from losing it. It’s offensive.
“I can handle it,” you harumph, widening your legs while Poe immediately suppresses a grin.
“'Course you can,” he sighs with the slightest note of fondness creeping into his voice, dropping his hips as he lines up at your entrance. “And I’ll go slow anyways.”
You open your mouth to respond but at the first push of his head inside, you inhale sharply and your palm immediately shoots out to press against his chest on complete instinct. The stab of pain is impossible to mask from your features and Poe instantly stops with a shaky breath, watching how your jaw drops at the intrusion and your face contorts.
“Ahh. Shit…” he whispers as his head tips down, dark eyes clamping shut and his hold on you tightening. “What—shit, what the fuck…”
“Keep going,” you growl out, even though you know you’re just making it more difficult on yourself. You can take Poe’s cock, you can take it, he has absolutely nothing to brag about, it’s completely normal-sized—
His hips inch forwards and you gasp at the excruciating arc of sensation, slapping at him harder.
“Keep going,” you babble while locking your elbows and shoving him back, “fuck, keep going, keep going—”
“Baby,” Poe groans, wrenching one of your hands from his chest and bringing your wrist up to his mouth to kiss and breathe hot air on it, “baby, you gotta let me—”
He moves a little more and you cry out, jerking your hand back from his lips and knocking it hard against his chest before you even realize it. Oh shit, you can’t handle it, you haven’t been fucked in so long—
“I’m sorry,” you choke out, trying to be nicer by flattening your palm but then immediately digging your nails in, “fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been awhile since I—”
“Shit, I can tell,” he pants brokenly, his fingers dropping back down to flex hard on your hip. “Hoooolyfuck, I can te—ah, fuck, it’s alright, it’s alright, just—nnnnnnshit, okay, just relax, don’t tense up too muuuh… much—”
His cock pushes deeper even as he keeps rambling through it and you feel yourself being rearranged to make room for the slow movement, giving way to a rich pleasure even as the discomfort increases.
Poe stops once more when your hands shove up against him, somehow simultaneously shakier and firmer than all the other times put together and a little more than half of him inside you at this point. You’re so slick and hot between your legs that there’s no resistance besides the stretch, nothing to stop him from slamming home besides your weak hands trembling at his collarbone, but everything about the way he stays completely frozen for ages says he’s controlled and patient.
Everything except his face, you soon realize.
When your body is finally able to come to terms with the sensation and you blink up at him, Poe isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s staring directly over your head at the wall, tangible regret manifesting itself in seething frustration marring his expression. His eyebrows furrow and he scowls but all of it is silent and directed at himself, as if he’s asking why the fuck he actually agreed to do this. You know then that it must be really fucking wet. You know then that you must be just blazing hot and tighter than sin and as if in rhythmic agreement, his cock jumps inside you with each pounding rush of blood through it. You can see the sweat beading at his hairline as he continues to ignore you for the moment, choosing instead to silently lament at the wall like it did something to mortally betray him.
You could… make this a sprint, something devious suddenly whispers to you. He’s struggling through the pleasure and you can outlast. From the severity of that look alone, you can put an end to it before it even starts.
Admittedly, you don’t even let the devil finish his damn sentence before you decide to take your own initiative. You clamp down around him as hard as you can and Poe whips his attention down to you and punches out a curse that sounds like you wrenched the word from his throat before he was anywhere near ready for it. It comes from somewhere high and defenseless in register and then quickly falls down into a growly pit as his hips automatically lurch forwards the rest of the way inside, hard, smacking into yours as you squeeze wickedly around him.
You keep squeezing through the sudden upward shove of bliss, you keep tightening up even though you’re making agonizing noises and your eyes clamp shut and it hurts. But stars, it feels good, why does it feel so good when it hurts so bad? It makes your throat scrape and your face twist up, but you can hear his cursing getting louder and more desperate so you still don’t relax your viselike hold around him.
“Stop it—” he snarls down at you rabidly, “—oh fuck, stop or you’ll make us both cu—”
Shit, he’s right. You know he’s never been more right about anything as soon as his hips stutter and kick up to a full blown gallop in the middle of his furious scolding, and the sudden build of ecstasy is so fast and intense that you sob his name, not being able to loosen your muscles anymore as soon as it overtakes you. But it’s like a closed circuit, you’re both recycling the same pleasure without knowing how to shut it off. The harder you bear down on him, the faster his hips work, the vicious cycle compounding and circling and manifesting in the perfect typhoon within just a few tumultuous seconds.
But then suddenly he rips himself out of you with a gasp and it’s not a moment too soon, because both of you have to scramble and grab onto things to brace yourselves through the worst of it. You choose the mattress and he chooses the railing, and through the searing discomfort and settling of the chaos that’s becoming more and more familiar to you as this exhausting day passes, you know you fucked up. You underestimate his self control, time and time again. But, exactly like earlier today, you feel a thrill skitter up your spine at how he’s going to respond to your brazen treachery in the face of a newly established truce.
“Fuck,” he jerks his head to spit the obscenity at you, sounding more pissed off than you’ve ever heard him, the shredded anger in his voice starting to burn through you. “Fuckfuckfuuuuck—you make me so mad. You make me so mad. I wish I could fuck you right now, on Maker, I’d ruin you. I’d wreck your shit until you learn and you’d deserve every single fucking second of it, you—”
He stops short and growls jagged sharp in frustration, but you can’t help yourself.
“Say it,” you whimper on a dare, feeling your heart pound. The words quiver with an inexplicable sort of excitement as you dig your fingers into the mattress, wanting to hear his voice snarl the mysterious profanity. “Say it. ‘You…’—what? Say it.”
Shock suddenly paints his previously tense expression blank, even though his pupils blow out and his chest heaves. Your voice is too breathless, it’s too needy to sound nearly as antagonistic as you want.
And then Maker, it’s as if the sheer control he’s clinging to serves to spark his vexation even more. Mad that you would ask for something so enticing at a moment like this. Your heart thunders as Poe nearly flashes up close to you and points a threatening finger at you.
“You’re not going to get what you want from me,” he snaps, quiet and furious. “Not tonight. I don’t give a shit, I told you I’d slow fuck you and now I’m gonna do it until you act right.”
“You’re an asshole—” you move to lift up onto your elbows, but his hand suddenly plants against your clavicle and shoves you back down flat on the mattress.
“Not even ten minutes after I make you cum and you’ve already got a fucking attitude problem again,” he shoots back, positioning his cock at your entrance with his other hand once more, and Maker you’re drowning between your legs. His sharp rebuttal and the firm hold on the upper part of your chest makes it that much wetter, knowing you can’t do much more than lift your legs the way you need when he eases his way back inside.
“P-Poe—” you gasp breathlessly, but it's like he doesn’t hear you.
His expression tenses and he shudders out a low growl. “Fuck. Tight little baby. Rude little baby, just wants everything her way but doesn’t know how to behave herself.”
You have to bite your lip hard to hold back a whine when he’s completely sheathed and his hips connect to yours, and… shit. You already feel it. You already feel that simmering starting to take hold deep down once more, that monstrous second orgasm you’ve been fighting now digging its claws into you and licking the base of your spine with fire. And, as if he can tell, his demeanor instantly changes.
“Uh, oh,” Poe murmurs quietly, equal parts lilting and baiting, slowly dragging his cock out and then starting up the laziest pace you’ve ever experienced with his hand still planted high on your sternum right below your collarbone. “Can you feel it coming? Fuck, I can,” he shudders. “Already. Fuck, you’re so wet, you’re so wet—wish you had let me eat you out mor—”
“You can’t c—umm,” you hiccup, grasping his wrist and writhing through the building ecstasy, and you don’t know who you’re talking to at this point. Your other palm slaps at his shoulder with increasing urgency—fuck, he’s been fucking you for barely ten seconds and you’re already struggling to hold everything back. Only, his hand quickly grabs yours and pins it to the mattress, his face dropping closer as he rolls his hips achingly slow. You feel his back working with the steady pace, you see his neck flex as his cock drags so thick inside you, and then your gaze starts to lose focus a bit. It slides up his throat as lazily as he’s augmenting your pleasure, following the contour of his smooth skin until it reaches his face.
And mercy, Poe’s tongue comes out to wet his lips and a dark curl hangs down his forehead, concentrating hard on fucking you steadily without giving into the same creeping euphoria you’re feeling, and you have to turn away and bite back a whimper at the metal railing when the image starts to burn you alive.
“No,” Poe gruffs and his hand slides up a few inches to frame your jaw, twisting until you face him directly once more. “Right here, you stay right here with me.”
Your eyebrows pull up weakly and your eyes flick across his stunning features, the way he’s so present, so focused and determined while you’re starting to drift. His skin is so smooth, so golden when his jawline used to be dark, and—
“I—” you choke, starting to lose it, “—I-I…”
“What is it, baby?” Poe growls, staring down at you with unwavering, intense concentration. “Tell me. You gonna cum?”
“I…” you whimper, blinking at him slowly, “I… liked your… b-beard…”
Poe’s eyes, previously hardened and steadfast, suddenly go a bit dumb, a bit dazed. After a second, his eyebrows lose all strain, his gaze turns warmer and he rolls his hips deeper—
But the swell begins to become the only thing you can comprehend—that and the fact that you should be fighting it. You should be revolting against it, but now he’s looking so softly down at you and you can’t remember what could possibly be so bad about letting him take away all this ache and desperation again. Let him continue to take it away, over and over and over until it’s nowhere to be found at all.
And then Poe leans down and kisses you. And it’s… nothing like you’d expect.
It’s gentle. It’s tender. It goes on forever while he rocks into your soaking wet cunt, easing his throbbing cock in and out of you with such a smooth, repetitive motion that sends sparks of ecstasy down your spine at the apex of each thrust.
You handle it silently. At first. You don’t audibly react to any of it, you force your voice to at least keep quiet if you can’t hide the pleasure from your face or body, but then true to fucking form, he has to go and ruin it all. Poe uses his knees to scoot up just the slightest bit, and then his moan breaks through the absence of the desperate sounds you’ve been holding back as his tongue slowly slides into your mouth.
Your pussy flares, contracting painfully around his cock as it hits a spot that makes your legs shake against his sides. Your eyes roll back as his soft tongue dips into your mouth and everything just gets tighter, and tighter. Poe moans again and his hips push a little bit harder into yours on the next thrust, and it’s almost like a domino effect, except that doesn’t do it justice. It doesn’t topple one by one, it doesn’t take any time at all for the beginning to reach the finish—it’s a house of cards, the whole thing collapses and crashes down in on itself all at once.
You cum.
You lose. Fair and square.
You make a long, anguished whine into his mouth as you just start spasming, clutching hard at his shoulders and drenching his cock with it, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum so slow and fucking helpless around him. Oh Maker, it’s fucking devastating, it feels even more destructive and powerful than the first one. You pull and shove and claw at him equally, mouth slack as Poe tightens his hold and keeps tasting your whimpering cries, fitting his hips snug to yours as he slowly pushes you down through the debilitating ecstasy. You sob in euphoric defeat and a low, bone-shattering groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest in response, grinding his cock into you and holding it deep as your pussy convulses.
All those weeks of holding out, just to lose. You had a freebie, he gave you an orgasm already and it was like a massive dose of spice to your deprived system—all it did was make your body want it more. Even worse, your orgasm doesn’t immediately inspire one in Poe like a part of you hoped it would, if only so you could reasonably contest the validity of the outcome. He’s able to ride out every twitch and flex as you shudder your way through it, continuing to lazily slide his tongue into your mouth while it’s held open and slack. He tastes like you. He tastes hot and slick and everything about your body feels the same way, damp and unbearably warm from your nape to your elbows to your cunt to the backs of your knees.
You lay there for what feels like a lifetime afterwards, powerless to the way your thighs tremble violently against his hips and letting the tip of his tongue slowly trace the bottom edge of your teeth while he firmly keeps his cock buried inside you. It pulses thickly and you know he wants to cum, you can feel the tension pulling at his shoulders as he keeps perfectly still. But then Poe shuffles his arms up until they’re braced around your head, using himself to box you in completely without moving his lips from yours. His teeth close on your bottom lip as he inches his hard cock out long and aching from your sensitive channel, and then groans and goes back to the same exact dragging pace from before.
Your expression furrows, even as he keeps kissing you and the movement lights up your oversensitive nerves. Fuck, you want him to speed up, it’s all the more shattering and viseral when he takes his time. What is he doing? What is he waiting for?
“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, demanding a quicker pace. You don’t know why he isn’t just letting loose on you now, giving into his body’s need to cum. He’s aching for it, still rock hard inside of you. “Come on, I already l-lost, just fuck m—”
“Told you before,” Poe whispers back, refusing to speed up. He keeps his pace dragging and steadfast, no matter how much you work to entice him. “Never… fuck. Never gave a fuck about that stupid bet. Suffer though.”
The complete lack of harshness in his tone sears through your nerve endings even though what he said wasn’t exactly nice. You never thought hearing him tell you to suck it up could be delivered in a way that inspires so much arousal in you, but then his tongue is in your mouth again as his hips work slow and easy, and your eyes roll back at how… overwhelming it feels. So intimate. You’re completely surrounded by him, his forearms propped next to your head and his mouth on yours, and… Maker, there it is again. Your body is so deprived that it’s already gearing up to go again. He’s being lazy and you can’t fucking stand how it’s breaking you down. Gradually, with incredible stamina and a patience you never expected from him. When you first feel that pull, part of you still wants to pick up the other end and start a tug-of-war with the sensation. You’ve been fighting for so long that your body almost doesn’t know any different, its automatic reaction is to resist.
A distraction, that’s what you need. That’s what guys do to stop themselves from cumming too soon, right? Fuck, think of something, think of…
—Poe, you can't think of anything but Poe. Fuck. His cock sinking deep, the way he tastes, how his fingers thread into the damp hair at your crown so you can feel him that much more, how you can hook his biceps with both hands and swirl your tongue around his while he fucks you open. Your hips roll up with the pace and almost immediately stutter back down again, not sure if you can handle the wicked shot of oversensitivity—but then Poe groans and shifts up until his thighs are under your ass and he can curl you in more, lift your feet a bit more and make you feel smaller. And—stars, the next thrust in is enough to nearly make you bite him on complete accident, an unexpected sound ripped from your throat as he keeps that specific angle.
Poe keeps going. He keeps kissing you, keeps rocking into you. He lets you claw at him, lets you grapple helplessly while his cock shreds molten hot euphoria deep inside you, and then everything tightens up again.
“Ah, fuck,” Poe breaks away and curses a whole few seconds before you descend into mindless chaos once more, garbling out broken syllables with the absense of his mouth keeping yours occupied. Your voice crescendos and breaks at the same time you do, the pleasure arcing through you over and over and wringing you out repeatedly around his throbbing cock. Poe’s lips quickly move forward and give your whole cheek an open kiss while your expression crumples with it. Teeth drag down your skin as he moans hot air across your skin, his hips slowing to a complete stop with an obscenely slick sound.
You throb and clench around him and his lips are suddenly on yours again, his tongue sinking deep and dominating. Your mouth is slack and all you can do is squeeze him through the bliss, scrape your fingernails down his back and hope it leaves a mark.
Eventually the tremors pass and you’re dead in the aftermath, you don’t have energy. Your body is starting to acclimate to the slow orgasms and just let them steamroll you flat, fully accepting now that you can cum but still putting everything you have into it like every single one might be your last for a while. You come back to yourself enough to feel Poe’s cock solid and achingly hard inside you, and your bottom lip is being tugged between his teeth.
And then he eases out and goes back to fucking you. Same speed, same control.
Your eyes nearly fucking cross. “P-Poe—”
He immediately makes a noise of disapproval with his mouth closed, a nuh-uh but kept tight in his throat. He doesn’t want to hear it, he’s not even letting you finish your thought.
You can’t take it, though, you didn’t think he was capable of this. This is torturous in an entirely different way, overstimulating and shattering you with every thrust.
So, you think back to the one thing that got him to nearly snap earlier, the one time you really got to see that fire you love playing with. Only now, you need that fire, you need him to take everything out on you. Your floor muscles clamp down without warning and squeeze him as tight as possible, squeeze squeeze squeeze until you feel his hips stutter to a halt once more. Your breath catches—fuck, is this gonna work?—but then Poe breaks away from your lips to drop his head and sink his teeth into your neck.
You nearly squeal at how careless he is about it—an animal that bites you lazily even though it sends sharp agony rocketing through you. Again, your attempt at sabotage backfires spectacularly as a subsequent flare of pleasure swells up, and oh, that’s what you want, you want him to be mean—
“Please,” you whimper, hooking your ankles behind his back and locking down hard enough to make your toes curl. Poe groans as you grab a fistful of his hair and tug at the way your skin pinches between his teeth—you know you’re gonna have a bite mark for a few days and it thrills you. “Fuck, please, Poe—please just fuck me, please, I want you to fuck me until it hurts, fuck me the way we both nee—”
“You and me almost died today,” Poe grits into your neck, cutting off your desperate whimpers with a short growl. “Maker, it was so close, I don’t think anybody has any f-fucking…” His hips pull out and then spear deep and you choke, tightening and tightening. “But—shit, we didn’t, we lived and now—oh fuck, now baby’s finally letting me fuck her and I’m not cutting it short, no matter how pretty she sounds asking.”
His words sound slurred against your neck and you can’t tell if it’s his delivery or your perception that’s lagging. But when you feel Poe inch his cock out and start to slowly fuck you through the tightness, you let out a weak little whine and feel yourself drifting… somewhere else.
Things subtly lose their clarity, your eyelashes dip and you stop talking because words won’t come. You can’t tell if you’re staring at the ceiling or your eyelids or the back of your head, but Poe’s voice abruptly breaking through the silence makes you realize you don’t have a concept for time anymore. You couldn’t tell him how long you’ve been floating, but you almost don’t understand what he’s saying at all and it takes you a remarkable delay to fully comprehend. But judging from what he says, it sounds like it hasn’t been long.
“Shit, are you cumming again?” He suddenly gasps into the crook of your neck and grinds his hips achingly hard into yours, “O-Oh—fuck yeah, you are—baby’s cumming again—”
“P-Poe?” You stutter and smack your hand against something, him maybe, not knowing literally anything else. Not knowing what he’s talking about, not knowing where you are, not knowing your own name, “Poe—oh m-my… God—”
“Whhh—W-What—?” You hear him breathe a split second before everything compresses down tight, and then it all shoves forward at once. All of the buildup makes itself known the very moment it becomes too much to control, like a flash flood but the downpour happened miles away. You think you might actually squeak this time, helplessly cry out like it hurts because stars, it does. It hurts so fucking good, it spiders pure plasma through your entire body with rhythmic jolts and wipes your mind completely vacant. Your shoulders shoot you up and knock your chin into something and you think you might be crying? You don’t know anymore. Your spine comes back down to the mattress like the damp fitted sheet covering it is made of pure ice—your body is overheated and you keep tensing and jerking back up until Poe forcefully pins you tight against it, growling filth under his breath as he slow fucks you through it.
You feel his hand dropping down between your bodies and you sob pitifully at the ceiling when the tip of his calloused finger brushes your clit.
***
You lose count.
It’s just… constant, there isn’t a point in keeping track anymore even if there happened to be the ability—which, nope. Not even close.
He ruins you slowly. Meticulously, with nothing more than steady, unwavering determination. Every structure you built, he takes apart by hand instead of bulldozing it the way you beg him to when you find the words. You’re certain you find them—you must find them at some point, but they’re interspaced between babbled gibberish and breathy whispers of his name.
Even though it’s slow—Maker, it’s so slow—you’ve never been so fucking exhausted. He makes you give him everything and then he drains the reserves, the hidden ones you weren’t even aware existed. He never goes fast enough; in fact, you think he’s actually slowed down over the unknown amount of time it’s been since you first called out his name and asked for this. If you were in a frame of mind to notice, you’d probably realize he’s trying harder and harder to not cum, but in your wild headspace, it just feels like a prolonged punishment for you. It still feels like he’s depriving you for his own pleasure, even though he’s actually depriving himself for yours. But you always do manage to find some way to read things wrong with him.
Eventually, he begins to waver. He stops talking so much, stops chastising you when you plead with him. He hasn’t looked at you since he first kissed you—he’s either hidden his face in your neck or closed his eyes as his soft tongue slides across your bottom lip before dipping inside.
But then there comes a point where even you realize he’s struggling not to let go now, and in your faded traces of sanity, you hear your broken voice cut through the sounds of the soft radio.
“Y-Y-You—” you gasp, trembling under him, “—youneedtocum. You need to—”
“No,” Poe grits against your chin, sounding shaky and weak no matter how sharp he makes his consonants. “Fuck, not yet, I—I-I don’t want to yet.”
“Oh no,” you wheeze out, feeling the swell begin again, the familiar flicker of warning you get as his cock slowly rocks into you. Maker, the pleasure is getting raw and painful even as your pussy is drowning his cock with it, allowing him to glide slow and deep into your sensitive channel and letting the sheer tightness of it be the only resistance your body puts up. You can feel the wetness on your cheeks though, the tears of frustration gathering as your body prepares itself for yet another wave of attack. “Oh no, ohhhhhnononononono—”
“I don’t want—” Poe gasps, his hips stuttering just a bit and one of his hands coming down to smack the pillow next to your head as he chokes, “—don’t want this to… e-end yet, I—”
Your next orgasm suddenly slams through you and Poe immediately rips himself out of you before it’s too late. He shushes you frantically while you sob in distress and writhe side to side through the contractions solo this time, having nothing to clamp down on, not even able to grind up into him because he keeps his leaking cock elevated far beyond your reach.
Oh, that’s it. That is it.
“Fuck me!” You wail up at him, water blurring your vision and tears streaming down your cheeks, “Stop fucking around and just fuck me, you asshole! Fuck me and fuck me hard Dameron or I swear to every fucking star in the sk—”
You don’t get too far. He’s immediately scrambling over top of you and a strong hand is clamping down tight over your mouth, muffling your high-pitched cries against his palm. Your legs are shoved apart and one is caught under his arm and wedged back as far as it can go. His head drops to your neck, and then he snarls a ragged, “Brat—“ under your ear before ramming his cock back inside you.
Stars. Stars light up, it’s so much—the angle, the force, the speed, the sound his hips make as they start ruthlessly colliding with yours. Your eyes screw shut and you dig your nails into the meat of his back, but he doesn’t slow down—he speeds up—
“Fuck, you still think that throwing your little fucking fits works on me?” He hisses, drilling into your g-spot with such blinding hard precision that you can’t do anything more than just claw at his chest, gasping for air that just won’t come into your lungs. “Huh? Think you can just be a little bitch to me about it and it’s gonna change anything? You still don’t have any fucking idea, do you? Look at me—” he snarls, grabbing your face and shaking it to get you to respond, “—look at what you fucking do to me—”
But you can’t. You already came countless times and he’s lurching you up the bed with every single rabid thrust into your blindingly sensitive cunt, fucking you into the railing and then the wall behind it. You still feel his fingers grasping at your jaw, forcing you to address him, to look at him, and you can’t seem to focus your vision on his blurry features even when your eyes flutter open. You’re too dumb with grinding pleasure to see anything besides blurs and stars, to say literally anything back to him. But that’s not what he cares about.
“Oh fuck yes, there it is,” his voice whines, pitching up something vulnerable as his hips ram you into the corner hard and unyielding, “fuck, there’s those pretty eyes, that’s what I wanted, baby, that’s all I wanted—th-that’s—fuck, that’s—”
They must cross, or roll back, or something, because suddenly you can’t see him at all anymore. You don’t know what happens—but you know it’s wet. You know it bursts forth something fierce and you shriek his name with a hoarse and shredded voice like he steals the last part of your whole fucking soul with it. Fuck, you’re not even there for most of it, you might actually black out.
In your conscious moments, you can feel his whole body flexing over and over again on top of you. He empties his load deep inside you and takes a fucking eternity doing it, so many breathless praises leaving his mouth so quickly that they slur together and you can’t understand any of it even if you could hear him. All you can do is feel your cunt tighten and convulse in tandem with the throbbing of his cock, rhythmically working the cum out of him until Poe stops stuttering his hips, until he finally trails off into nothing but labored gasps and slumps down on top of you in exhaustion.
You both lay there for a while, dead weight breathing.
You want to hold him, your cum-struck mind quietly provides in the comedown. You want to feel his body now that you can finally think straight and take a moment to enjoy this blissful relief. He fucked you so good and you want to touch him, you want to run your fingers through his hair and massage the tight muscles at the base of his neck.
But then you just start giggling.
It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid. You smack your hand over your mouth but the garbled noise easily floats beyond it, completely elated and having absolutely no explanation at all.
Poe quickly pulls his head back to look at you and you try to twist sideways under him to hide it, but you can’t stop—like a complete loon, you snort and start to laugh harder at the ridiculous sound. Oh, you don’t just float, you’re the air itself, so light with endorphins that you close your eyes and get lost in the fit until water wets the outside corners.
After a moment, a hand gently grasps your wrist and slowly pulls it down until he can see the way your mouth opens as you giggle, hear it unobstructed and let the sound bubble up at him and fill the room. And you blink your eyes open just in time to see him slowly break into the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen him bestow a person.
And… you’ve seen him grin a million times. He’s almost always smiling, as long as you’re not right in front of him. He smiles at his squadmates, he smiles at girls, he smiles at complete strangers, and you always thought it was pretty. Always knew that he could light up a room with it, you always knew he could get anything he wanted with it, but this… this isn’t that kind of smile. That one is practiced and alluring. It wasn’t fake, necessarily, but that smile’s purpose always had more to do with making anyone who happens to witness it feel a certain way than it did about signifying his own emotional state.
This one is… goofy. Amazed, and uncoordinated. Thunderstruck in a way, except the clouds all part at the same time and let you see a rainbow. It makes you feel… alive. Colorful. Radiant. Sunshine. Butterflies.
Poe quickly drops his lips to catch yours and you moan happily, sliding your tongue into his mouth this time. You both adjust, you arch into him as he pushes your damp hair back and makes a deep noise of satisfaction, letting you explore while he wraps his arms around you and finds a way to make this atrocious position comfortable. Every part of you is smushed up against him and there’s absolutely no space to be found, and you’ve never been happier.
“We made a mess,” he groans against your lips, rocking his hips into you with a disgustingly slick sound as if to illustrate, and his cock is soft but it’s still so thick that it stays buried inside your sloppy entrance. “Shit, I—I think I might be bleeding.”
“What?” You ask breathily, and he heaves himself up with his elbows just enough to reveal his chest. You both tuck your chins unattractively to look and you don’t immediately see any blood, but your claw marks are clearly red and visible scraping down his pectorals. “Oh. Pfft. You’re fine.”
He drops back down with a huff and your head is tilted at the perfect angle catch on the tiny droplets of blood decorating the marks criss-crossing his shoulder blades. Oops.
But he’s already kissing up your neck and over the curve of your jaw and making out with you again like he can’t get enough of it, and you forget. You forget everything. You forget every disagreement, every gripe with him you’ve ever had. It’s all wiped away and replaced with giddy, childish adoration. Resetting completely and starting off on the rightest foot imaginable.
“Let’s go to my bed,” he murmurs, and you make a tight noise of disapproval. No. This is good, this is how you want to stay. The railing is digging into your lower back and he’s heavy but you’re perfect like this, this is perfect. “Baby,” Poe pants against your lips in exasperation when you quickly clutch the back of his neck and keep him glued to you, “mmph—you got everything all wet—”
This time you make a low hum of agreement and drag your hand down the bare curve of his spine to his ass to give it a squeeze. A testament to how hard and raw he fucked you. Poe shudders hard enough for you to feel his body tremble but you just kiss him harder, pulling him down onto you more.
“You’re gonna have to give me, just like—I don’t know, at least an hour or two,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to make it easier to peel himself from your body and groaning when his cock finally slips out. “Come on, let’s hang out in my bed.”
You’re so boneless when he pulls you to sit upright, you roll a little bit and Poe has to catch you, and you laugh again. Maker, you’re a complete mess and absolutely delighted about it. Your attempts at grumbling and complaining don’t hold any sway when you’re still trying not to giggle, and Poe is able to pull you to the top of the ladder and make his way down first.
As soon as he’s out of sight and calling up to you, you weakly slide into position with a groan and feel yourself leaking at the movement. “Gah—look what you did. I’m all… gooey.”
“I know, s’the hottest fucking thing,” he says under his breath from the floor, before beckoning you by tapping on the closest rung a few times. “Come on, be careful.”
You do as he says, easing your naked body down one step at a time with wobbly legs. It’s clumsy and you whine the whole way through, wordlessly grousing and mumbling.
“Oh, I just know it,” he comments on the sound, “nice clean sheets, I’ll get the violin.”
Normally, you probably would’ve snarked something back down at him, but you’re still so loopy and shaky-legged that you just start laughing again. The fact that he’s absolutely right and you’re being ridiculous about something like moving beds suddenly strikes you as incredibly fucking funny for some reason. You don’t realize his hands are hovering inches away from your hips until your legs buckle and Poe quickly supports your weight.
“Maker,” Poe chuckles before giving you a firm yank, and then catching you before you can tumble down the ladder in your naked, teary-eyed mania, “let’s go, giggles.”
He carries you a few steps to the mattress and plops you down on top of the comforter, letting you take up the whole bed while he sits on the end and puts your feet on his lap. Poe grimaces for a second and then shuffles until the radio is pulled out from under him, and you can hear the soft sound of it playing once again. You bury your face into his pillow, inhaling the warm scent lingering there while he tosses it carelessly to the side and rubs your shins for a little bit, watching you stretch out naked on his mattress.
“I’m not giving you two weeks of pay,” you suddenly grunt, and he just grins down at you, not arguing. Not saying anything. Sitting in comfortable silence with you when you’re expecting him to bicker. So you stay like that for a long time, breathing deep and relaxing, until Poe’s hands leave you for a second…
… to pull a bag of chips out.
Maker, at the first squeaky sound of the wrapping assaulting your eardrums, you want to roll your eyes. You want to tease him about how fucking typical it is. Like clockwork, you could probably set your watch to his middle of the night cravings. You don’t know why you thought fucking him would change any of that.
You want to give him shit for it. You even open your mouth, the snark on the very tip of your tongue. But then your stomach growls as soon as he rips the thin plastic apart.
Poe’s eyes shoot to yours and neither one of you move, but apparently your tummy doesn’t get the memo. It takes forever to trail off into silence again, and he blinks. Fuck, you know you should’ve forced yourself to eat at least something earlier. Warmth floods your cheeks and you scramble for something to say, but there’s no way to play it off.
“Would you like some chips?” Poe suddenly asks with a boyish grin, raising his eyebrows and tipping the open bag freely in your direction.
The corners of your mouth pull downwards even as the inside of it waters. You wouldn’t call it stubbornness necessarily as much as it is a… a desire to stick to consistency. After the unbelievably hard time you always give him about midnight snacking, you’re hesitant to partake.
Though, the chips rustle against each other and sound absolutely fucking delicious as Poe shakes the bag and bounces his eyebrows, and you know what? Fuck it.
You snatch it without thinking, cradling the precious food to your chest as you dig your whole hand in and shove a bunch into your mouth at once. You catch him smiling again, but he doesn’t comment.
You both take turns, and by take turns you obviously mean you take turns stealing the bag from each other instead of just setting it equidistant between you and openly agreeing to share it, but it works for you. It seems appropriate. And then it’s quiet again, just munching and crinkling, except for the radio continuing to play from its place in his lap. You have to work to listen over the loud crunching vibrating through your skull, but when you finally manage to stop chewing and catch a few bars, you suddenly find yourself trying not to smile again. Fuck, it’s been years since you’ve heard this song, you love this s—
“Fuck, I love this song,” Poe promptly exclaims with his mouth full, licking the tips of his fingers before scrambling to pick the radio up and twist the volume knob without using his wet fingertips. He starts humming over the melody, loud enough to almost drown it out completely, because of course he does. The one damn time you actually want to listen to his radio and he still finds some way to mildly irritate you.
But this irritation is almost… fun. You want to laugh just as much as you want to yell at him.
“Hey, who sings this song?” You immediately ask over the sound of him clearly not knowing the lyrics, already ready with it. Oh, the round is in the chamber, your finger is on the trigger, you are ready, and Poe’s eyes sparkle as he seems to stop and think about it.
“Mm, not sure,” he eventually shrugs, just before you rush, “Let’s keep it that—”
And then he’s slapping a hand on your leg and belting out the chorus while you scoff, giggling. He ruined the punchline on purpose and is now getting chip dust all over you, but you know any complaint you make will be drowned out by his suspended notes and backing track, so you just roll your eyes and swipe the bag of chips from him while he continues to serenade you.
“My ears are bleeding,” you mutter under your breath.
He has a nice voice, you think.
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he promised
poe dameron x reader
description - Poe always promised he would come back from missions. One time he doesn't. (Ends in fluff i promise i promise)
warnings - depression?, anxiety?, fem pronouns, talk of injury and death, grief, fluff at the end, use of petnames, reader gets carried for a while and sits on a lap, mentions of eating and eating avoidance (not ed)
word count - 3800
A/N - so this was an oops. I wrote this hella fast but i was in the zone and i am pretty happy with the emotionally devastating product. I promise it has a happy ending i just dont want to give too much away. I feel like for maximum emotional damage you need to be a little in the dark. anyway, forgive me
MASTERLIST
You were stood in the command center with your hands wringing together. No matter how many missions Poe went on, the waiting was always hell. How were you supposed to remain sane when the love of your life was out fighting a battle that he might not come back from. That you might never see him again. He always reassured you that he would always come back to you. That you never had anything to worry about. You tried to believe him, and for the most part you did, but that didn't prevent you from being worried when he was gone.
You listened through the coms, trying to keep track of what was happening during the battle. Leia let you stay in there because she had a soft spot for you, as well as the pilot you were worried about. You were thankful she let you listen in on every mission, it meant that you weren't alone worrying in the room you shared with Poe. The conversation over coms was rushed and loud, they were scared and that made your heart beat faster.
'I have to go through, they're gonna come after us if I don't.' You heard your fiance yell. Worry stuck in the pit of your stomach, he was going to take a risk, you could feel it.
'Poe, it's not worth it. We should get out of here while we still can'. You agreed, wanting him to get out of there as soon as possible. You prayed he would listen and just get out.
'I have to try, I can't go back knowing that they could be following us to base.'
'Poe wait-' You heard someone rush out before comotion ensued again. You could feel your heart in your throat. You could have cried. After a minute of listening to pure chaos, nobody in the control room dared to speak a word. Everyone was waiting for an indication of what to do from the squadron. You found yourself zoning out in your worry. You were only broken out of your trance when you heard your fiance's name.
'Poe is down.' You stopped breathing.
"Down? What do you mean down?" You heard Leia call over comms.
'I'm sorry commander, he got hit. His X-Wing engine got shot and he was heading to crash on the planet right below us, his coms died. There's no way to know if he made it through but I don't know many who could take that crash and live. We have to head out and hope he comes back to base but I wouldn't get my hopes up.'
"Get out of there while you still can. We will have to worry about Poe when we gather our strength." Leia responded and the squadron called their understanding before the process of bringing them home began. You hadn't moved. You weren't sure if you had breathed. Your body was fully numb. You could feel eyes on you as everyone waited for you to respond. To show some emotion of your boyfriend having just gone MIA. You couldn't feel yourself though, your fingertips were numb, and you refused to believe he was dead. He promised. He told you he would come home.
Your brain was split between trying to grieve for the loss of the love of your life and trusting that he would be back. That he had to come back because he promised he would and he never breaks a promise. You felt hands on you and you realized you had fallen to sit in your spot. Leia was above you and was ushering you to your feet. You mindlessly let her push you somewhere and you barely even looked to see where you were going.
Eventually you showed up at your apartment door. You couldn't tell whether it felt like it had been instantaneous or an eternity to get there. Leia unlocked your door and pushed you inside and to the small couch that was stood in the living room-like space. The apartments were all very small, Poe had one a little bigger because he was housing with another person and because of his rank. Still, the extra amenities included a small couch, a smaller kitchen, and a window along the bedroom wall. When Leia sat you on the couch she kneeled in front of you. Her hand went to your cheek and you looked at her for the first time since you'd heard Poe go down. She seemed to almost be in tears but your eyes were dry. You didn't feel anything.
"Y/N, what can I do?" She asked gently. "Do you need anything?" You felt yourself shake your head and open your mouth like you were going to talk but closed it again as you thought.
"He said... He said he was coming back." You stated as if it changed the situation. "He promised." You mumbled.
"I know, Y/N. I am so sorry." She tried to console and your head shook. "We don't know what happened after he went down. You heard the team. He might contact us in the next few days, he is a smart man and he knows how to get a message out. But I don't want it to hurt you more if he never does." She tries to reason and you shook your head.
"No, you don't understand. He promised, " your head was spinning, "he's coming back." You felt tears fall down your face. When had you started crying? "He promised me that he was coming back home." Your voice broke which surprised you. Before you knew it you were crying into Leia's arms and you couldn't stop yourself. That was how you stayed with her for a while after, you weren't sure how long. She shed some tears of her own but eventually you both ran dry. You lost feeling again and you couldn't tell if it was better or worse. You made a decision. You wouldn't grieve over him until you were sure he was not coming back. You wouldn't mourn until you were sure.
The alternative was not, however, to recover. Instead you just stopped doing anything at all. You stopped eating, taking care of yourself, caring. Soon, your friends came in to talk to you. Instead of it being conversation though, they just talked at you. You couldn't bring yourself to respond or really even listen. Or maybe you did but you just couldn't remember. They would periodically come through to help you into a shower in which you just let the water run over you while someone else, you thought maybe Rey but you couldn't even recall, washed your hair. You drank water when they asked and would take a bite of food if they begged but other than that you might as well have been dead to the world. You almost hadn't realized how much of a vital part to your existence Poe was. How little you could bring yourself to do without him. You had thought you were prepared to be separated, you were in the middle of a war after all. Instead it was impossible to do anything without him and you wondered how long you could keep doing it.
This went on for a week. That was how long it took for them to declare him 'killed in action'. They felt that, if he was alive, he would have found a way to contact the base with the help of BB8 and local lifeforms. That was when you allowed yourself to grieve. The numbness turned into pain and it was a million times worse. You would have given anything to go back to numb.
You finally listened to your friends when they talked to you but their consolations did nothing to put you at ease. You still struggled to do anything but you complied with their pleads. You had been convinced, 2 weeks after the KIA announcement, to go to the canteen. To see people and interact. Finn pulled you along with an attempt at a smile on his face. Your face was blank but you tried to soften your eyes. You knew he was trying to help and he was grieving the loss of his best friend as well. When you were pulled into the large cafeteria, all noise ceased. You knew that they were looking at you and you guessed that they pitied you. You had seen yourself in the mirror that morning and you would have pitied you too. You got pulled to a table and Finn went to go get you and himself food.
People periodically came by and said hello or asked how you were as you tried to eat something. You responded with one word answers usually and you hadn't met anyone's eyes. You could feel yourself getting overwhelmed and decided you would head back to your room. You quietly thanked Finn for trying and left to the hallway.
Suddenly, alarms sounded. You were startled into awareness and people began running past you.
'ALL EMERGENCY CREW TO FLIGHT DECK'
You were curious about the alarm but you weren't emergency crew and you knew they didn't need any more bodies there than would already be there. That was until you heard someone as they rushed by as they talked to the medic next to them.
"Yeah I heard it was him but he went missing weeks ago." They sounded confused and continued jogging toward the flight deck. You feet started moving before you could even process it and it was the fastest you'd moved since he had gone missing. Since he had died.
When you got to the flight deck there was already a crowd. You could see over the see a people a beat up X-Wing. You thought you might have heard a droid. You elbowed your way to the front of the crowd, not apologizing when people grumbled their frustrations at you. When you made it to the front you were stood no more than 50 feet from him. He was soot covered and beat up but he was standing as he tried to wiggle out of the grasp of the medics. BB8 beeped and turned, spotting you. He made a loud excited noise and rushed to roll over to you and Poe turned at the sound. When he met your gaze he smiled.
You felt your knees give out and tears start to fall from your eyes. Your arms crossed over your stomach and you started to curl into a ball over your knees. A sob left you and suddenly large warm hands were on your shoulders.
"Y/N? My love, are you okay?" He rushed out, checking over you for injury as the medics still grumbled about needing to see him. His hand came under your chin to move your face so he was making eye contact with you. You let out another sob before grabbing his vest and pulling him into you, he kneeled to the ground as you clung to him and cried into his chest. He moved himself so he was sitting on the ground and he pulled you into his lap. You felt his hands on your back trying to soothe you but you couldn't stop crying. "I'm back. I'm so sorry I was gone but I'm back." He mumbled out as he kissed your head a few times.
"I'm so angry at you." You whispered and he almost laughed, just happy to hear your voice. You finally pulled your head out of his chest and kissed him like your life depended on it, like it was the last time you would ever see him. You pulled away so you were looking into his eyes. "Please don't leave me," you begged almost silently. You weren't even sure if he could hear you. "Please don't leave again."
"I'm not leaving, baby, I promise." He tried to calm you. "I'm right here. I'm okay."
You nodded, trying to convince yourself that he was real and he was here. You kissed him again just to check. You pulled away again, still trying to convince yourself.
"You died." You struggled out and Poe felt tears in his eyes as well. "You were dead, you crashed and you didn't make it and then they said you were gone." You said like that was what happened.
"I didn't die, my love. I'm right here. I'm alive, I'm okay." Poe pleaded and he grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his face so you could feel him. Your hand moved along is jaw which was now covered in stubble and grime. Your head shook like you were disagreeing with him but you were simply in disbelief.
"I love you" You mumbled as your eyes traced the lines of his face and tears fell from your eyes. He let a few tears fall as well before pressing meaningful kisses to every part of your face that he could reach.
You spent the next 2 hours like that. You wouldn't leave his hold and he didn't try to move you. The medics worked around you and everyone greeted him without disturbing you. You stayed, on his lap, curled into his chest. Your breathing had slowed to a normal pace and you were holding onto his vest tightly. Eventually, he had to be debriefed. He petted your hair and cooed at you to catch your attention.
"Y/N, my love," he whispered, "we have to get up now." He felt you nod but you made no move to get up from him. He took a breath before moving you off of his lap as you whined, standing up, and then picking you up so you could wrap yourself around him. You hummed contentedly into his chest and he had a smile on his face as he walked through the base.
"I love you." You whispered again into his chest. You had been doing it periodically every so often in the last 2 hours and every time Poe would repeat it back to you, kiss your head, or say something else. This time he chose to kiss your head.
"Baby, I have to go to the debriefing now and you know you can't come with me." He tried to say gently but he knew this separation might be hard for both of you. "I'm gonna put you down." He warned before encouraging your legs to go to the floor. You listened but didn't release his neck which you were also clung to. His hands fell to your waist and you both stood for a moment with your heads in each others necks and breathing deeply. "I'm gonna hand you off to Rey, okay?" He asked as he flagged down Rey from the hallway.
"Okay." You whispered, still not releasing him.
"Hey, Rey, sorry to bother you but could you keep Y/N company for a few minutes while I talk to Leia and the squadron?"
"Oh of course!" Rey chirped and you took a deep breath before releasing Poe. You let him kiss your cheeks and your nose before he walked the other direction toward the command center. You stared at him until Rey put her hand in yours and clasped it. You turned to look at her and for the first time in weeks, she saw you smile. "I'm so happy for you, Y/N." She assured and you believed her.
"Thank you." You whispered and another tear fell from you, this time of joy and happiness. Not grief.
"What do you say to heading to your room and get cleaned up a bit, yeah?" She tried and you nodded, following where her hand lead with one last glance toward the direction that Poe went.
"-the converter didnt even work until a day ago because the main power source broke down." Poe finished explaining his time on the planet he had crashed on and the rest of the squadron nodded and asked a few more questions. Once he was done, Finn met him outside the command center.
"So-" he paused, "I'm not sure how to say this nicely but most of your stuff went into the redistribution center because you were presumed dead." He rushed out. Poe took a moment to process and nodded.
"Well that's sort of a bummer. Could I borrow some of your stuff?" Poe asked, knowing it would take at least a day for him to get reassigned sets of uniforms.
"Yeah of course, that's why I'm standing here waiting for you. You could get cleaned up in my room too if you want. I know Y/N kept a few of your jackets and shirts but most of it got taken." The boys began to walk toward Finn's living quarters and there was a moment of silence before Poe asked something he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to.
"What happened when I was gone?" His throat felt dry suddenly and his words came out hoarse. "To Y/N I mean. Was she okay?" Poe wasn't sure what answer he wanted. He knew from your recent reaction that you were devastated, as he would have been, but he also knew he had a dangerous job. He might not come back from some other mission in the future and he hoped you would survive without him.
"Do you really want to know?" Finn questioned.
Poe nodded.
"I mean, she was broken." He paused to think. "She didn't talk to anyone for a week. Wouldn't move. Wouldn't cry. Rey had to help her shower and we had to beg her to eat. We almost sent her to the med wing because we thought she was gonna pass out from dehydration, she would barely take a sip of water." Poe's heart was in his throat but he was sure there was more. "Then you were pronounced KIA."
"Oh god."
"Yeah it wasn't pretty. They pulled your stuff out of your guys' room, took your name off the ledger. Leia let her keep some stuff but it was hard to watch. She finally cried, she just wouldn't stop. She was more responsive but she wasn't even moving towards okay. You could tell she was only doing what we were asking because we were begging. That she was doing it out of guilt. Today was actually the first day that I talked her into coming out of her room. She had been to the canteen for about an hour when she felt she needed to leave and then alarms sounded that you were back." Finn finished with a glance to his friend and Poe looked like he might throw up.
"I want her to be okay if I don't make it back one day." Poe tried to explain to his friend.
"She probably would have been functioning in a few months. She wouldn't have recovered but she would function. She's a strong woman, but she also loves you a lot. I mean, how would you react if she was killed on mission?" Poe could tell it was a rhetorical question but he thought about it very carefully. You were an engineer so you weren't called out on mission often, not nearly as often as him. When you were, he was worried sick the whole time. He hadn't really thought about how him being gone affected you before. Now looking back on it he kicked himself for it.
Poe thought about what he would have done if you had died and he thought that your reaction was probably mild. That he would have been unresponsive for weeks or even become violent with anger and grief. He knew that you were the one for him, the most important thing in his life, and without you he didn't know if he would find purpose in his life anymore. He fought in the war as hard as he did for you. To make the galaxy safer for you.
When he went MIA it was because he tried to take out a couple more imperial ships than he could handle. He only did it because he knew they would have followed them back to base if they left. Back to you. So he took the risk and it backfired but he knew he would do it again to try and keep the First Order away from you.
He was knocked out of his train of thought by the arrival at Finn's quarters. Poe tried to get cleaned up and dressed quickly, getting the grime off of himself and shaving his face. He hurried back to your shared quarters and when he entered his room he was greeted with your smiling face as you laughed.
You were sat on the bed, Rey on the other end, as you were talking about something which caught you in a fit of giggles. At the sound of him stepping into the room you looked at him and got up quickly to rush up and hug him tightly.
"Missed you." You mumbled into his chest. As he held you Rey silently nodded at Poe and left the room.
"Was only gone for a minute, honey bun." He reassured and you pulled your face back.
"You know I hate that one."
"Boo bear?" he teased and you shook your head no. "Munchkin?" nope. "honey bear?" no thank you. "Baby love?" You tilted your head a bit.
"I don't loathe that one."
"Sweetheart?"
"I like that one."
"Princess?"
"That's my favorite" You giggled and kissed him quickly for a moment. He could have cried at the sight of you giggling. He had missed that, you, the sounds you made, so goddamn much. More than he would ever put into words.
"I know it is, pretty girl." He smiled before picking you up and you squealed. He walked you over to the bed before dropping you on it and laying next to you. You climbed close to him, practically laying on his chest. His arm was snug around your waist and he left no room for you to move, not that you would have anyway. "How would you feel about going to bed, princess?" He almost whispered, not wanting to disrupt the fragile quiet in the room.
"Yes please. I love you Poe." You whispered back and closed your eyes a bit, focussing on his breathing.
"I love you, Y/N" he responded.
You both got the first decent sleep you'd had in weeks that night.
#poe x reader#poe dameron x reader#poe dameron#poe dameron imagine#poe dameron x reader imagine#star wars#star wars imagine#star wars x reader#poe dameron fluff#poe dameron x reader fluff#poe dameron x y/n#star wars fluff#star wars the force awakens#star wars the last jedi#poe x y/n#poe dameron blurb#poe dameron drabble
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The Raven
Takeshi Kovacs x fem!reader
Word Count: 2.6k
Warnings: murder, insinutations to smut, injuries, drinking
Author’s Note: he !!!!!!!! HE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway enjoy
I was gonna wait to post this but I feel like you guys deserve it so here you go lmao
Summary: You and Takeshi both stay at the Raven and get to know each other.
I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator
(not my gif)
You ran your hand through your hair as you stepped into the Raven. You held your side, feeling the blood seep through your fingers. Poe materialized behind the counter, his eyebrow raised.
“What happened to you?” he asked curiously. You shrugged, a weak smile on your face.
“Nothing that won’t be fixed with a hot shower and a glass of bourbon,” you said through gritted teeth. Poe nodded and walked around the desk and over to the bar. You leaned against the counter, trying not to bleed all over it as you waited.
“Should I provide medical assistance?” he asked. You shook your head.
“I can handle myself.” Poe walked back over to you and handed you the glass. You took it and downed it in one drink. The liquid stung your throat as it always did but it was a welcome feeling after everything you had been through. “I’ll be taking that shower now,” you said as you put the glass down. You were about to turn when you noticed Poe’s face. He looked like he was trying to muster the courage to tell you something. “Are you kicking me out?”
“No!” he said much too quickly. That meant one thing. There was something that might make you want to leave. You raised an eyebrow.
“Spit it out Poe.” He let out a sigh.
“I have another guest.” You scoffed.
“Are you serious?”
“Don’t be so surprised. I run a very nice establishment.” You nodded. You had been the only customer at the Raven for months. It started as just wanting to go under the radar then you ended up liking it there. No one ever came. Poe was good company. You paid a monthly fee instead of a nightly one, he liked you so much.
“Anyone I should know?” you asked, wondering if it was one of your old enemies out to get you here. You hoped it wasn’t. You had no desire to leave. You would have to find a whole new space and you had grown comfortable here.
“No unless you keep friends with Envoys.” Your eyes opened wide and you forgot about the pain in your abdomen.
“An Envoy here? Well Poe, I can’t say you’re boring,” you said and then the pain was back. “As much as I would love to learn more, I really have to stitch this. What room are they in?”
“I can’t disclose that information,” he said. You scoffed, pushing yourself off the desk you were leaning on.
“Come on Poe.”
“I can’t. It’s in my mainframe.” You rolled your eyes.
“Are they on my floor?” He thought about it for a moment and then nodded gently, giving in.
“He is.” You smiled to yourself.
“He. Good to know.” You started to walk toward the elevator. “See you tomorrow Poe!” He waved to you, a fond smile on his face. He wondered if you would like Takeshi. He laughed quietly in the empty room. Takeshi would like you. He didn’t like many people but he imagined Takeshi would quite like you.
====
You brushed through your wet hair gingerly, still in pain from the stitches you had given yourself. Thankfully it wasn’t anything bad. You imagined it wouldn’t bother you at all in a couple months. You looked out the large window in your room and put your hair brush down. You deserved a few hours of shut eye. Maybe you could even sleep in tomorrow if no one came in to try and kill you.
Your mind lingered on the Envoy you were sharing a building with. You didn’t think any existed anymore.
You were about to shut the blinds down so the night sky couldn’t be seen anymore when you noticed something. Smoke. You took your hand off the blinds button and walked to the far side of the window, squinting.
Cigarette smoke coming from the building. So close it probably came from the room next to you. You scoffed. Poe put the Envoy in the room next to you. You imagined him, trying to picture what he may look like. A deadly killer.
You smiled gently to yourself and closed the blinds.
=====
Takeshi shrugged on his pants. The girl Poe had sent up had left ages ago but he had just now gotten around to putting his clothes back on. Tak ran his hand through his hair, taking a cigarette out of the pack and lighting it. He stared out into the city around him, watching the lights turn on in the buildings. The sun had just risen.
The room was so silent he heard the door open next door and shut closed. He perked up. He figured he was the only person staying in the Raven. What kind of person would stay here? Other than him.
He blew out some smoke and walked to the door, opening it without a second thought. You were walking down the hall away from him. He caught only the back of you as you turned the corner.
“Yeah, yeah I’m on my way. Let me at least eat breakfast,” you said into the phone you were holding up. Breakfast. That sounded good. He was pretty sure Poe would make him a complimentary breakfast if he asked.
He tossed on a shirt and jacket as he put out his cigarette before going to the elevator. He found you were still waiting, the door opening only as he approached. He had figured he would get a better look at you downstairs but in the elevator was fine too. You hung up the phone and stepped in. He soon followed, making you jump.
You looked over at him, meeting his eyes. The Envoy. He looked uninterested. But handsome. You had to imagine that wasn’t actually his actual sleeve but the one picked out for him had been a good one.
You hit the button for the first level. The doors closed.
“I didn’t think anyone else was staying here,” he said. Even his voice was enticing. You shrugged.
“I was here first.” He smiled a bit.
“Why are you staying at an AI-run hotel?”
“Why are you?” He nodded. He wasn’t getting an answer. That was fine. “Y/N,” you said, not offering a last name. You had to force yourself not to look at him. He thought about giving you only his last name, as he tended to do with people he didn’t trust.
“Takeshi.”
The elevator doors opened, revealing Poe on the other side waiting for you both. His eyes went wide.
“Friends already?” he asked. You scoffed.
“How many rooms does this place have Poe? You could have put us on separate floors at least,” you said, walking forward. Takeshi stepped out as well.
“I like to keep you close in case help is needed.”
“Why would help be needed?” Takeshi asked. Poe eyed him. You eyed both of them. Whatever Takeshi was here for, you imagined it was dangerous.
“Well you’re both high class people. I’m being precautious,” Poe said.
“Breakfast?” you asked Takeshi. He had things to do. He had things to do. He had to leave this place and go find answers, manipulate people, understand the world around him. He didn’t need breakfast.
“I like my eggs over easy.” Poe nodded, smiling.
He knew Takeshi would like you.
====
You had been trying to just go about your day of crime, not think about some man. That wasn’t your style. You didn’t dwell on anything. You couldn’t afford to. You had jobs to do, people to get rid of.
But Takeshi and you had a nice breakfast. Neither of you gave much up about yourselves but it was nice. Talks of the weather, joking about Poe. Simple things.
You walked back into the Raven that night late, like you usually did. You didn’t have any injuries this time around, thankfully. You holstered your gun when you walked in and smiled at Poe.
“You look much better today,” he commented.
“I am. No need for stitches.”
“Your companion doesn’t look as good,” Poe commented offhandedly. You squinted.
“My com-” You scoffed. “Takeshi is not my companion. We just stay at the same hotel,” you explained.
“And share eggs.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Came back today looking awful. Though I’m not allowed to let anyone up in his room myself.”
“I never asked you to let me into his room.” You met Poe’s eyes. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
You rode the elevator up to your floor. You walked down the hallway and paused at your door. You put your hand on the handle and kept it there for a moment. Takeshi didn’t need you to help clean up his messes. Breakfast had been fine but it had been brief.
You looked over at his door.
“Damn Poe,” you whispered to yourself, sure he could hear you somehow. You walked to Takeshi's door and knocked. There was some light shuffling and then the door opened. He was standing shirtless before you, a stitching needle in his arm as it bled.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“According to Poe, it’s you I can help,” you said. You gestured to the half stitched injury. “I’m pretty good at that if you want company that isn’t an AI desperate to tear your pants off.” He thought about it for a second. You figured he would turn you down. He didn’t need your help, you knew that. He was perfectly capable. But you had to ask.
He opened the door further and you nodded once, stepping inside. You hadn’t seen any other rooms but yours. It looked like the exact same, minus some touches. He had out bandages and things on the table. He sat down at the chair and you sat down in the one beside him.
“I’ve never been good at stitching,” he admitted.
“We all have our faults,” you said quietly. You scooted the chair closer to him so you could get a better look. Your knee was between his leg and his knee was between yours. You tried not to focus on it. You ran your finger over his bicep and took the needle from him. “What happened?” He gave you a look. “Alright. I understand.” You started to work and remained silent.
Takeshi watched your focused gaze.
“You are good at that,” he said after a couple quiet minutes. You smiled, not looking at him because you were too tuned in.
“I’ve had to learn.” You finished up and leaned back, lifting your shirt enough to show him your stitched abdomen. He leaned back and nodded.
“You’re better company than the AI’s.”
“Don’t say that too loud. Poe has ears everywhere,” you whispered, laughing a bit.
“I don’t think I can hurt his feelings. He’s an AI.” You rolled your eyes.
“They have feelings,” you argued. You stood up. “I hope that heals nicely,” you said gently.
“It will,” he said.
“Goodnight Takeshi.” You started towards the door.
“Breakfast tomorrow?” You turned back to him and nodded.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
====
You didn’t know much about Takeshi but he did open up over the next couple days. You had spent mornings and nights together but you always retreated to your separate rooms before sleeping. You had told him a little about yourself and he shared more about himself.
You liked him.
He liked you.
You sat on his bed, looking out the window.
“I think that building is a sleeve manufacturer,” you said, pointing to one of the tall buildings. He raised an eyebrow.
“I thought that was a cosmetics place.”
“Same thing Tak.” He laughed, rolling his eyes. He was laying on the bed, his hands behind his head.
“The one next to it is run by an asshole.” He poured himself a drink off the bottle on his bedside table. You took it from him before he could get a sip, taking a swig and then handing it back to him.
“They’re all run by assholes,” you muttered.
“Is that why you run around killing them?”
“Hey, I wasn’t able to fight in a war against them. It’s the best I can do,” you said honestly. He pursed his lips and shrugged.
“I’d say you’re doing a halfway decent job,” he admitted.
“I try.”
You looked over at him, meeting his eyes.
“I wasn’t going to mention the new cut over your eye but it’s bleeding and now I feel I have to mention it.” He brought a finger up to his eyebrow, looking at the blood.
“This sleeve,” he muttered.
“At least it’s pretty,” you said as you got up, grabbing a bandage and coming back to him. You sat down beside him and leaned forward, wiping the blood away and put the bandage on him.
“I can do that,” he said.
“You say that every time I do something and yet you let me keep going,” you muttered. You made sure it was alright and looked him in the eye. You quickly looked away, not letting yourself linger in his eyes. He was too dangerous and he slept with the AI in the building and he killed-
He kissed you before you could finish the thought and it all went out the window because he was a really good kisser. He cupped your cheek, grabbing you around the waist. He moved you closer to him so you were practically in his lap. He sat up and his hands moved down your back.
You pulled away but he kept kissing down your neck as you leaned over the bedside table, hitting the button and closing the blinds.
====
Poe had made the eggs at the same time he did every day. He had always made them for you and just decided to add Takeshi’s when he made yours. It was simple and you were always punctual.
Except today.
He waited patiently and twenty minutes after you usually came down, you and Takeshi entered the ground floor. You yawned, rubbing your neck.
“I didn’t mean to-”
“I’m not complaining Kovacs,” you said. Poe smiled.
“How was your night? The eggs are cold, you’re both late.” Takeshi sat down, taking a drink of the cup Poe left out.
“It was a good night,” he said.
“A decent night,” you teased.
“You sleep well?” Poe asked politely. You nodded stiffly, hiding a smile.
“Very well.”
“You both know I know everything that happens in my hotel right?” Poe asked. Takeshi shrugged.
“Then you should have known when we would come down,” Takeshi said.
“And you should have known it was Takeshi’s fault,” you said.
“I didn’t hear you complaining,” he muttered. Poe smiled.
“I know you two would like each other.”
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BSD Poe x female reader who is introverted and her ability lets her talk to nocturnal animals like Karl. Karl and reader talking while reader translates for Poe.🥰🥺
Hey there!! I finally got the motivation to write and Poe? Well he is a cutie 🥰 so here I go !!
"Karl...Let Poe's manuscript go now.....Slowly.....Yes, you did it..”
The raccoon who was creating a ruckus for the past half an hour finally gave in and let go of the piece of expensive writing paper with a grunt.
He jumped down from the high cupboard with agility and made his way towards the mistress of the house, you.
“Only this time though. Next time if I don’t get my premium imported cookies, I will chew Poe’s head next. Heh”
“I will try to bring them as soon as possible Karl….”
Karl finally put an end to the argument with a satisfied grin of having made his way yet again in this household as he laid down on your lap, ready for a quick nap.
As Karl drifted off to wonderland, Poe, who for the past hour was hiding behind an overturned sofa, came out. He looked frantically with panicked eyes at Karl lying peacefully in your lap.
Only then did he relax, realising the end of the tantrum, the third this week.
You looked around the parlour of your house as papers chewed lay strewn across the floor. Sofas overturned and ink dribbling down the fallen bottles. Although this wasn’t the only parlour in the house. There were so many that you had lost count. But still, the state of the room made you feel disappointed at the increased work for the maids.
Poe gently sat down beside you on the couch carefully so as to not wake Karl up again.
“I am so sorry love…I will see to it that the cookies arrive soon. And I will make sure the room is spotless and clean before long. I know you like cleanliness.”
You shake your head at your husband’s endless generosity. You both were newlyweds and so he never let you do anything around the house.
He treated you so well that you felt like a queen. But you needed something to do to last the time.
Tending to the gardens, helping Poe with his ideas, looking after the household, maintaining finances were your duties. Neither did you want to be overworked nor jobless, so the work was perfect for someone like you.
“It’s alright Poe….I am just worried we will be seeing more of these tantrums if those cookies don’t arrive soon”
“Seems like Karl is the real master of the house…I should tell the butler that..”
You both fell silent for a while before breaking into a quiet laugh as your head fell on his shoulders. Then silence arrived but a comfortable one. The silence one could bask in all day and still crave for more.
The chirping of crickets in your lawn could be heard in the hot summer afternoon. Paired with the melodious singing of the birds in the nearby trees. A dog could be heard barking in the neighbour’s mansion. The maids were heard giggling with each other as they mowed the lawn and watered the flowers. Downstairs the scent of lunch being prepared was also watering.
Such an afternoon was much seemed after by you. It symbolised such peace and serenity, what could one want more? And top of it having Poe right beside you all the time was also quite heavenly, since his work didn’t require him outside much.
You heard Poe sigh from beside you.
“Love, what do the crickets Chirp so loudly about?”
You couldn’t help but laugh at this question. Poe has always had a strong curiosity towards different topics and personalities and after meeting you his affinity towards animals had increased double fold and so had their appearance and importance in his books.
All owing to your ability of being able to talk and understand animals.
“Hmm…Poe, crickets chirp…to- umm how do I explain it….attract females for…mating?”
You couldn’t control your chuckle at his wanton expression of confound surprise. Learning something so surprising was new for your all knowing lover. It was quite rare to have caught him in ignorance of information.
You both were a quiet couple so having Poe this astonished and expressing himself was not something you got to see everyday.
“Do other animals do this too? No wait you have to listen to this everyday?? Can’t you mute out your ability??”
“If I could I would but it seems I have no option but to listen their feuds and other stuff…but don’t worry I feel more at peace with you. You cancel them out Poe, with just your voice, so just be there for me and talk to me…..?”
You blushed at having confessed something like this. You yourself were quite shy and avoided expressing yourself too much. Your cheeks grew red with passing time as no reply continued to come out of Poe. You kept your head still on his shoulder, listening to his breathing.
While Poe wasn’t too far off either. One would think he got a heatstroke at the rate he was turning red.
You stood up to leave quietly when Poe’s hand gently grabbed your wrist. You didn’t have a chance to think before you were pulled back down on the couch with your head on his lapsed his hands in your hair, Twirling your hair.
“Don’t look up okay…? And do you mind if I talk to you about the idea of my new book….”
You could imagine his face all tomato red and embarrassed for acting this proactive but you liked it nonetheless. The afternoon was making you brave and the peace was making him bold.
You smiled gently at his kindness as he willingly wanted to become your noise cancelling headphones. Also, You could use some break from the noises surrounding you all the time.
“Why not? I think Karl would love it too” as you glanced at Karl who had now woken up and was settled beside you, all ready to listen to Poe intently.
Well this afternoon was going to be fun.
Thanks for bearing with me @ravenina14 I finally felt satisfied with what came out in this fic. I hope you like it too!! And I will finish the other one soon too.
Calling ☎️: @nullified-kiss @jessbeinme15 @shinys-bsd-world-1 @nameless-shrimp @missrown @ravenina14 @ikin-y0u @staryjordan85 + taglist
Masterlist - 📜🖊
See ya ✌️
#Poe x reader#bsd#bungou stray dogs#[aiko posts📜 ]#[guild 🖊]#bsd x reader#aiko posts#[ziel’s library 📚]#[ziel's library 🖋]#I had a massive brainrot about it today#posted and editing on phone#so ignore grammatical mistakes for today pls
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Unsaid
Fandom: Star Wars
Characters: Poe/Finn
Summary: They land on a planet that has a field that tickles anyone who comes near, and Poe is having one too many feelings about it.
A/N: My first fic back from hiatus! Honestly I’m only posting something because I wrote more than half of this while I was gone, but felt inspired to finish it today. I hope you like it, I’m very proud 🥺
Words: 2k
A breeze of heat ruffled Poe’s hair as he stood at the edge of the Field of Laughter on a planet that had too much of an orange tint for his liking. It reminded him of dry, unforgiving land full of sand and nothing but sand, but mostly it reminded him of the times he’d been stranded, so thirsty he could die, running for his life over the scorching ground. Just last week, that is. It reminded him of being near death, and of watching Finn and Rey getting dragged just out of his reach.
“It’s okay, you know,” Finn told him now, watching Poe as Poe watched the field. “If you want to try it, I mean.”
Poe chanced a glance at him, wondering what the orange tint made his blush look like. “I’m good.”
“Poe.” Finn had mastered the knowing smile he occasionally shot his way wonderfully. An amusement to it, but also something kind that made Poe all the more embarrassed whenever it was aimed at him. Vulnerability, even during the war, was always something that terrified him, even more than the war.
“Really, I’m okay,” he said, averting his gaze back toward the dancing blades of yellow grass. They’d been told the field was bigger than it seemed, twisting and turning behind the mountains and the trees Poe had been surprised to find here. They all looked dead, but were apparently perfectly fine.
“If you’re worried someone will see or hear you we could go further.”
“Why do you think I want to try it?”
“Oh, come on now.” Finn bumped their shoulders together. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
The Field of Laughter was said to be a very ticklish experience; so much so that the natives who lived by it had developed a thicker skin, quite literally so, in order to survive having to cross it. It had saved them valuable time, not having to walk around it, and it only got a couple of giggles out of the younger ones now.
Poe was absolutely certain he would never escape the dancing blades, whose only purpose in life was to tickle whomever walked over and through them. They were kept regularly short, cut with hovering blades and quick hands, as they could probably tickle someone to death if they were able to trap them. A field of torture for most, but something else to Poe.
“I promise to pull you out if it becomes too much,” Finn continued, but Poe could tell he wasn’t going to push it more. It was up to Poe to decide whether he was brave enough to be vulnerable in more than one way.
They’d landed there by accident. A mission gone wrong, but not so wrong it had really cost them anything. Just time, which they sometimes couldn’t afford and other times were swimming in. They’d been fortunate, for once, to be rich enough to give it away so easily to a planet that neither attacked them nor wanted to help them. Proud of their history, but wary of their grounds, meaning they told them everything but let them see little. Poe knew of the group that had settled not too far away from their makeshift camp, keeping an eye on them and making sure they didn’t stray past the point they’d been allowed to see. Poe wasn’t sure why they’d been forced to stay by the Field of Laughter of all places, but he’d been thoroughly on edge for the past two days because of it.
“Better be careful,” Jess had said, pointing to the field. “If you piss me off I might throw you in.”
Poe hadn’t replied, his ears still ringing with the story of the field they’d just been told. Lab-made. Torture device. Impossible to stop. It had made him want to peel his skin off to hear it.
“Poe.” Finn, his one and only confidant in this, hadn’t teased him like Poe had feared, but that knowing look had almost been worse. “Come on, let’s take a walk.”
One thing you should know about Poe Dameron: he had absolutely no idea how to handle any type of feeling that involved vulnerability, which included embarrassment and fear and love and lust. Unfortunately his feelings about tickling had traces of all, to a certain point. It was embarrassing to love something most people hated. It was terrifying to love something to the point of sensuality.
Finn had found out by accident, too. A drunken night, Poe too touch-starved and exhausted and in love with him to keep quiet, and while whatever they were was still unsaid and only shown in quiet fingertips to skin, Finn was all too eager to give him what he wanted after he’d let it slip. Poe refused to talk about it now, all of it unsaid and quiet, all theirs but barely.
Finn hadn’t mentioned the field as they’d started their walk, but Poe couldn’t look at him as they’d walked along the edge of it, maybe too close to it for comfort. One misstep and he could fall in, and then he’d have to face one too many truths at once.
Truth was, he almost wished someone would push him in. Just as an excuse.
“It almost doesn’t look like the blades are dancing,” was the first thing he’d said. “There’s no rhythm to it.”
“I’m sure they’re trying their best,” Finn had replied and Poe had laughed, nearly hysterically, as if giddy at the idea of having them dance over his skin.
“How does it even work?” he said now, two days later, the evening sun still bright and orange, but fading ever so slightly by the minute. “Like, do they go for your feet first or trip you or what?” He was only able to ask because it sounded so stupid to ask it.
“No idea.” Finn tilted his head at the field. “Does it work if you’re dressed and wearing shoes?”
“No idea.”
“Maybe we should ask someone. I’m sure they’d be willing to share.”
“We’d look too invested.”
Finn grabbed his wrist, squeezing once and calming him instantly. “We don’t have to.”
Poe went to bed untickled, tangled up in Finn’s embrace.
*
He only went because he’d dreamt of it and had learned to take dreams seriously years ago. In his dream it had been intoxicating, the sensation unbearable enough to have felt real, and so he went, wondering if he would leave or die there, laughing until it hurt him. That was the most fascinating part. Where did the line go between pleasure and pain when it came to something like this? How much could he take? Were Finn’s occasional prodding hands enough or was he capable of handling more?
In retrospect there was probably a safer way to figure this out, but Poe stopped by the edge of the field, feet bare and pants rolled up to his calves, with a relief he rarely ever felt regarding this. The early morning sun was more of a soft canary yellow than orange, and Poe felt he could breathe more easily.
“Hello,” he said, his voice a murmur as he bent to get closer to the grass. “Aren’t you causing a lot of commotion.”
He didn’t feel stupid to speak to it. Somehow he felt it was alive, just communicating differently than him. He’d walked as far as he’d been able to, but felt as if his laughter would still be heard if it caught him. Many years ago, when he’d had too much pride to admit to vulnerability, he’d been captured by a rope and remained hanging upside down for longer than was comfortable, squirming, struggling, but refusing to scream for help. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep quiet during this.
The blades did nothing to acknowledge his presence and Poe longed for a thick forest - preferably a dark green one - to hide him from view when he reached out a finger to hover above it. An idiot, they would call him if they saw him. An idiot that’s asking for it.
If only they knew how desperately he was really asking. How loud and persistent and starved his pleas were, in the midst of a war that gave him no privacy to be candid.
“Would you let go of me if I asked nicely?” The blades were just out of reach. He could imagine them suddenly reaching forward and gripping him by the wrist, pulling him in and under for the rest of his giggly eternity.
But of course, they merely kept dancing. He wiggled his index finger over them. “Are you ticklish yourselves?”
The silence around him was deafening. If he fell he would be heard by the whole universe.
If he didn’t fall he could pretend he had. Say he’d been sleepwalking, hence his lack of proper footwear, and had ended up in this ticklish awakening.
Finn would know, naturally, but Finn would never tell. Would only try to gently coax the answers out of him and Poe would blush and blush and blush until he would say something stupid that would have Finn either laughing or rolling his eyes. Finn would drop it only momentarily, for it was too big of a thing to do on your own for him to never bring up again.
Poe wasn’t surprised when Finn appeared a moment later, his steps quiet but not non-existent. “Hi.”
Poe sighed and straightened, turned to glance at him quickly to hide the already spreading flush. “Hi.”
“I knew I’d find you here.”
“Dead or alive?”
“Hmm, either. Happy it was the latter.” He stopped beside him, letting their shoulders brush as they gazed over the field. “Are you gonna do it?”
“Not sure. Honestly I might’ve stood here for hours if you hadn’t arrived.”
“I can hold your hand. Pull you back out.”
Poe looked at him. Finn, with his own worries and dark circles under his eyes from how little he actually slept and his ever present way of reaching out without expecting anything back. If he trusted anyone with this it was him.
“Okay.”
Finn met his gaze. “Okay?”
Poe held out his hand. “Okay.”
Finn took it.
*
In retrospect it was both an overwhelming and underwhelming experience. The idea of it, the actual act of stepping his bare foot onto the field, still made his heart race. But while it did tickle it wasn’t the hysteria he’d been imagining. To be fair, he only let it go as far as to his calf before he decided he’d had enough, but for someone as sensitive as him it should’ve been worse.
It did tickle, though. It tickled a lot.
“I think you’re just too used to the sensation,” Finn told him after they’d returned to their quarters.
Poe huffed in embarrassment. “Not like that.”
“Oh, come on. I’ve pinned you plenty of times.”
“Not like that,” Poe said, quieter.
“That sounds like a challenge.”
As he’d stepped onto the field, Finn’s hand tight over his, Poe had felt fear and excitement and shame and acceptance, all at once, as the blades started dancing over his skin. When he’d realized, after the blades had started tickling between his toes, that he wasn’t able to actually remove his foot from the grass, was when he’d started laughing and couldn’t stop.
“I’ve never heard you laugh like that, though,” Finn said now. “I’m actually offended. I’m definitely taking this as a challenge.”
“How did I laugh?” Poe asked, because yes okay sometimes embarrassment made him stupid.
“Desperately. More high pitched than usual.” Finn’s smirk was intoxicating and fucking terrifying. “Want to try to recreate it?”
“People will hear us,” Poe said, already laughing stupidly, nervously, too smitten for his own good.
“I have a perfectly good palm to muffle it.”
And so the rest of Poe got tickled, too.
#tickling#ticklish!poe#finnpoe#stormpilot#finnpoe fic#star wars#star wars fic#tickle fic#unsaid#mine#ana's fics
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love, i think it is : poe dameron x reader
word Count: 700
warnings: bad writing
a/n: i know it’s short but i was feeling shit and yea
Is the sadness everlasting?
He’s been listening to you talk for hours.
He doesn’t mind, he’d listen to you talk for several more if that’s what you decide you need from him.
Even though he hates it. God, he fucking hates it.
He hates the way your voice trembles and starts to shake when you get to the part that always hits harder than the rest. He hates the way tears enter your eyes, and that you’re too fucking stubborn to let them fall down your cheeks, even around him, even after all this time of knowing him.
He hates the way you brush your fingers through your hair and across your scalp, trying to soothe yourself the same way his mother used to soothe him when he couldn’t fall asleep at night, too afraid of the monsters made from dirty laundry piling on the bedroom floor.
The piles have only gotten bigger as he’s gotten older, made to rival the skeletons in his closet, made to rival yours.
He fucking hates it. He hates it for both of you but he knows that now isn’t the time to think about himself, not that he ever does — Poe Dameron is the most selfless person you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Even when there is a moment for him to sit back and think about himself, he doesn’t. He’s always thinking about you. You’re right there, in the forefront of his mind, on the tip of his tongue and crawling through his veins. You’re always right there.
For a while, he thought maybe he hated that too. He thought that maybe he didn’t matter as much to you as you did to him, but of course that was never the case. Of course not.
Love just makes people do crazy things. It takes already complicated emotion and twists it into something unrecognizable, something that burns and aches yet sings and blooms all in the same breath. Of course it would make his anxiety blossom alongside it.
Especially because while you love him, have always loved him, it’s not romantic. It’s not the same type of love that Poe feels for you. It’s not the same type of love that you feel for him.
And that’s taken him a while to process, to get over. You don’t have to love him like that, just because you don’t doesn’t mean you don’t love him at all. You’re allowed to love him like a friend, like a brother. You don’t have to reciprocate his feelings.
But God, does he want you to. He so wants you to.
He’s not sure you ever will. Especially after this, especially after him.
Especially when you’re so heartbroken, the idea of loving anyone again seems impossible.
He can see it in your eyes, or rather, it’s vanished — the trust you once had, the promise of forever, even if it was for him and not for Poe. It’d been there, clear as day.
And it’d all been taken away from you, ripped away just like every other good thing in your life.
Poe thinks he hates that the most.
That you feel like you have nothing left to give. Like there’s no good left, anywhere, even in him — you don’t say it, but Poe can tell.
You’re waiting for the moment he’s ripped away from you too.
And you’ve been hurt so many times before, Poe can tell that you’re trying to figure out if it’s even worth hanging on or if you should just give up, give him up before he’s taken away.
He doesn’t want that. That’s the last thing he wants but he doesn’t know how to make you see that. Poe never plans on leaving you or letting anyone take him away but past scars refuse to let you believe it.
Everyone lies. Everyone leaves. You’d let yourself believe for the first time ever that things could be different and you’d only been hurt again.
Poe just doesn't know how to fix it, how to fix you.
He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to.
Love, I think it is.
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Never Have I Ever
Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader
Word count: 2k
Warnings: none besides Rose and Finn being conspiratorial little shits
Summary: You've always been too nervous to tell Poe how you feel. A night out after the end of the war may change that.
It feels surreal, to put it simply. It’s over. It’s finally over. For years, you’ve known nothing but chaos and panic and uncertainty. But now, you can leave all of it in the past. Palpatine’s gone. The war’s over.
Leaping from your x-wing, you spot Poe across the tarmac. He locks eyes with you, breaking into a huge, beaming grin. You sprint towards him, sporting an equally bright expression. He holds out his arms, and you leap into them. He spins around as you bury your face in his neck, laughing. He sets you down, placing his hands on your upper arms.
“We did it,” he breathes, and you nod in disbelief.
“We did it,” you repeat, still smiling. You’re about to compliment a particular barrel roll he’d pulled off earlier when Finn comes barreling over, wrapping him in a bear hug. You smile, walking away to grab some water and allow Poe some time with his friend.
He watches your retreating form with a faint smile, content with the universe for the first time in years. Finn looks at him with a knowing expression and nudges him with his elbow. Poe snaps his head around, cheeks flushed.
“You should tell her,” he says, and Poe’s eyes widen.
“No way,” he replies, carding a hand through his hair. “What if I fuck everything up?” Finn rolls his eyes.
“Poe, I love you, but you’re the most oblivious man I’ve ever met.” This earns him a shocked expression from the older man, and he laughs. “Trust me. Just tell her.” Poe opens his mouth to object, but loses what he was going to say as Rey walks up and wraps him and Finn in a hug.
You watch as the three embrace, smiling. You’re so proud of Poe your chest could burst. He’d handled that last battle with the grace and strategy you’ve seen in him time and time again. You hear footsteps headed your way and glance up, to find Rose standing next to you.
“Hey,” she says quietly, and you scooch to the left a bit to give her space to sit, patting the bench next to you. “It’s crazy, huh?”
“Yeah,” is all you can manage, but you can tell that she understands the magnitude of emotions contained in your reply. No words could encapsulate the feeling of joy and relief flowing through you.
“I heard Poe did some pretty amazing flying out there.”
You grin, nodding. “He really did. Per the usual, of course.” Smiling, she takes in the look of admiration on your face.
“You like him.” Not a question, just a statement. An observation. You look at her slowly and nod.
“I do,” you say, taking a sip of water from the canteen in your hand.
“He likes you, I think. From what Finn’s told me.” You splutter, choking on your drink.
“What?” you exclaim, face turning red as a tomato as you cough. She laughs loudly, and you shoot her a death glare. “If you’re pulling my leg I swear-”
“I’m not, I promise.”
Narrowing your eyes, you swallow another mouthful of water. “What exactly has Finn told you?”
“He’s caught Poe staring at you too many times to count, that damn idiot never shuts up about you, and once Rey saw him fiddling with his mom’s ring behind his back while talking to you,” she lists, ticking off the instances on her fingers.
“That doesn’t mean he likes me,” you point out, and Rose sighs. Ignoring her, you continue. “He could’ve just been spacing out, we’re friends, so he’s bound to talk about me, and he just has a thing about not being able to sit still. Those are just...normal Poe things.”
“What are?”
You whip your head around, to see him standing right behind you. Of course.
“Nothing,” you reply calmly, glowering at Rose as she tries to contain her laughter. “Just talking about that maneuver you did earlier. Very impressive.” He grins, clapping you on the shoulder.
“Thanks,” he laughs. “Anyways, we’re headed out to celebrate-” he gestures to Finn, Rey, and his squadron. “-would you guys wanna come?”
Rose nods excitedly, and you do the same. “Sounds awesome.”
The music in the bar pounds in your ears. Normally, you hate crowded, public settings like this - they stress you out. However, you decide to make a special exception for tonight. After all, you just saved the fucking galaxy.
Poe, expectedly, makes a beeline for the bar with Jess. They order several rounds of shots and bring the drinks back to the table the rest of you are sitting at. He slides into his spot next to you, his thigh brushing against yours.
“Ok,” he says loudly, so your group can hear him over the clamor of the establishment. “Never have I ever - pretty simple,” he adds when Rey shoots him a look of confusion. “We’ll go around the table. Someone will say something. If you’ve done what they say, you take a shot. Snap, you go first.”
“Ok, uh, never have I ever gone on a supply run hungover,” he replies, grinning. Poe groans, taking a shot. You gasp as Finn does, too.
“No!” you say, aghast.
“It was one time!” he shouts in defense of himself, and Rey chuckles.
“He threw up within the hour,” Rose says, and you snicker. Finn kicks the mechanic under the table.
“Alright, settle down,” Jess says, clearing her throat. She shoots a pointed glance at Karé. “Never have I ever flirted with a superior officer to get a different assignment.” The woman sighs, pouring liquor into her mouth. Blushing, you do the same. Poe gapes at you.
“You’re kidding me.”
“It wasn’t here,” you admit. “Navy stuff.” Snap laughs as he recalls the event you’re talking about. “I was about to get assigned janitorial duty for the seventh week in a row, so I insinuated some very...” you pause, grinning. “inappropriate things to my commander. He put me on guard duty on the bridge instead.”
A strange feeling flares in Poe’s chest as you and the others laugh about how flustered the officer had gotten, and his knuckles turn white as he clenches the table. You discreetly nudge his leg with your knee.
“You okay?” you ask quietly, and any jealousy he’s feeling melts away as he takes in the concern in your eyes.
“Yeah,” he nods. You smile.
“Cool.”
“Okay, okay,” Karé laughs, shooting a death glare at Jess. “Rose. Your turn.” She smiles conspiratorily at Finn, who nods at her, before glancing at you briefly. You send a befuddled look towards Rey, who simply shakes her head, shrugging.
You have a bad feeling about this.
“Never have I ever…” she trails off, scratching her chin animatedly. “Had a crush on a close friend.”
Your stomach drops. Rose giggles as she feels you tense up beside her.
“Fuck you,” you say, throwing back a shot. A barrage of gasps sounds from your friends. “Oh, grow up,” you laugh, and Finn chuckles. You glare at him, and he raises his hands in surrender. Slowly, Poe leans forward, grabs a shot, and knocks it back. You barely constrain your shock.
“Oh my gods WHO?” Karé squeals, clapping her hands together.
“That’s not part of the game,” Poe quips, offering her a smug expression. She turns hopefully to you, and you laugh.
“No way,” you say, shaking your head. She sticks her bottom lip out in a pout, before letting her mouth fall open.
“Is it someone here?” she asks breathlessly. You clear your throat, face heating.
“I’m gonna go get some fresh air,” you murmur, slipping out of the booth. Karé and Jess boo loudly at your excuse, but you just flip them off as you head outside.
A light breeze tangles its fingers in your hair and tugs at your shirt, small ripples moving along the fabric. You take a seat on a nearby bench, bringing your legs up and crossing them over each other. Fiddling with a loose thread on your sleeve, you glance upwards. The sky above is littered with small pinpricks of light, twinkling back at you.
A creaking noise sounds to your right, and you look back, to see the door to the bar open. You watch as Poe walks through it, puffing his top lip out and shoving his hands in his pockets. He glances in your direction. You offer him a small wave, which he returns, making his way over to where you sit.
“May I?” he asks, and you nod, turning your gaze upwards once more. He does the same, laying an arm across the back of the bench.
“I wonder how many of those we’ve flown by,” he wonders aloud, motioning to the countless stars and planets above you.
“Probably lots. We really went all over, huh?” He smiles, nodding. You stand, walking to the gate in front of the bar and leaning on it. Poe follows suit, bracing his forearms behind him as he leans back.
“Look, it’s stupid of me to ask, and you don’t have to answer, but...who was it?” You turn your head toward him, puzzled. He nods to the bar. “The game. That last question.” You scoot closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture makes him smile.
“Eh, you don’t wanna know,” you say, and he chuckles.
“Oh, but I do.” You laugh. There’s a moment of silence (not uncomfortable - it never is with Poe) as you figure out how to word your next statement.
“It’s a bit complicated,” you admit, and he turns his head to look down at you.
“Oh?”
“I really like this person, but I also love how close I am with them right now. I’m worried that if they know, that…” you trail off, worried that voicing your concerns will bring them to fruition.
“That everything will change,” Poe finishes quietly. You swallow nervously. “That you could lose them, and you don’t know-” he takes a deep breath “-you don’t know what you would do if that happened.” You turn to face him as he leans up to stand straight, heart pounding in your chest so loud you swear he can hear it. His eyes flit down to your lips momentarily, and your breath hitches.
“Poe,” you say, barely above a whisper. His eyes lock onto yours, and you bite the inside of your cheek.
You open your mouth to continue, but your words die in your throat as he takes your face in his hands. Your whole body goes rigid, and he notices, starting to pull away. Panicking, you place your hands over his, silently reassuring him that it’s ok. He smiles softly, and your cheeks warm.
“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs, and you nod, heart racing. He brings his mouth down to yours tentatively, nose brushing against yours. You smile against his lips, bringing a hand up and burying it in his curls. He fits his hands to your waist, thumb gently brushing over your side. His lips taste like the tequila you’d both taken shots of in the bar, and it’s sweet on your tongue, reminding you of the nectar from the sapflowers back home on Naboo.
The two of you break apart, hot breaths mingling in the small space between you.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, smile as bright as a thousand suns, “how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His grin widens as you grow flustered, mouth twisting into a small smile.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you say, eyebrows furrowing together. “I didn’t want to mess everything up, and there just wasn’t a good-”
“Hey,” he says gently, taking your hand. “It’s ok, you have nothing to be sorry for.” You smile.
“I really like you,” you say, and he laughs warmly, bringing a hand to your cheek.
“I really like you, too,” he responds, and you lean into the touch. “We should probably head back in, or they’re gonna think we abandoned ship.”
“Sounds like a plan,” you say.
Nobody says anything if they notice how you and Poe hold hands for the rest of the night, sitting closer than you usually do, talking only to each other.
It seems natural, if anything. Like it’s always been that way. Like it’s how it should be.
taglists (open):
permanent: @staarshines
#poe dameron#poe dameron fic#poe dameron x reader#poe dameron / reader#poe dameron fluff#poe dameron angst#star wars#star wars fic#star wars fluff#star wars angst#poe dameron fanfic#poe dameron fanfiction#poe dameron x you#poe dameron / you#fluff
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Better Together Chapter Seven
Chapter 7 already? I must really love you guys. I hope you enjoy. If you'd like to be added to my tag list, send me an ask. My work is not to be reposted under any name or anywhere else. Reblogs and comments, however, are always welcome.
Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader
Warnings: trauma, probably language, descriptions of violence, torture, blood.
Word Count: 2k
Series Master List
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
The sunlight is bright and you twist your face into Poe’s chest, trying to hide from it. You feel him chuckle under you and it’s only then that you realize he’s awake already.
“Morning.” He says softly.
“What time is it?” You mumble.
“Early, about six.”
“How can you sleep with the sun shining in your eyes like that?”
“I like getting up early.” His fingers trail lightly over your arm and he pulls you tight against his side.
You’re quiet for a long time, but it’s not because he’s lulled you back to sleep. You feel bad for waking him up so late last night. “I’m sorry I woke you up.” You say finally.
“It’s okay. I’d rather you wake me up if you need me than suffer by yourself.” He brushes your hair back behind your ear. “I don’t sleep much anyway.” He admits.
“Because of dreams?” You ask, twisting your head back to look up at him.
“Among other things, yeah.”
You squint and he smiles softly. If you had to pick which is brighter, the sun or Poe’s smile? Poe’s smile wins by a landslide.
“Here, roll over.” He urges, guiding you onto your other side. He turns behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist.
“This isn’t any better.” You huff. His chest shakes behind you as he laughs. You lift his arm and roll back over so you’re facing him. His soft brown eyes are watching you, amusement sparkling in them as you shift.
“Now you’re facing the window again.” He points out. So, you tuck your face into the crook of his neck and take a big, satisfying breath. “G-good now?” He asks quietly.
“Yeah.” You whisper, eyes already drooping shut again.
***
“I can talk to Leia, you don’t have to do the report.” Poe says.
“I told her I would. She said I could take time but I was petty and angry at the time and said I would have it for her by today.” You tell him, pushing yourself up from the bed.
“So that means you can still take your time.” He says, catching your wrist gently. “Stay.” He whispers and you turn back to him. “Please?”
“Come with me. You can get some food. I know you need caf. I kept you from doing your usual stuff all morning.” You say, kneeling on the bed. This feels dangerous. It feels like flirting, like crossing a line. But you meant it when you said that Poe is the easiest person to be around.
“You should get food, too.” He says, pushing himself up closer to you. One little inch and you’d be almost touching. You could kiss him. You could feel his lips on yours, tell him how much you…
Your eyes close and he pulls back. You should have expected it. But that doesn’t stop you from feeling like the floor is falling out from under you. Suddenly, you don’t want him to go with you. You straighten up, feeling dizzy and unbalanced. You feel numb, you can’t feel your pulse, can’t hear the way you’re breathing too quickly.
“I just remembered. It’s been a while since I’ve showered. I should do that first.” You mutter, already turning for the door.
“Y/N,” he calls, but the door is already shutting behind you and you squeeze your eyes shut. You deserved that. Why would you think he would want to kiss you again?
Poe can only be your friend. Nothing more. He doesn’t want anything more from you. And honestly, count yourself lucky that he even wants that much.
You hurry off to your room, locking the door behind you. You just want to be alone. That’s what’s best for everyone. Painfully, you peel off your clothes, wincing as every move causes you pain.
You shower quickly, blindly, taking no more time than is absolutely necessary. It would be so easy to just let yourself cry, pretend it’s the water dripping down your face instead of salty tears, but you can’t go there. You can’t let yourself feel sorry anymore. You made this mess, ruined a perfectly good friendship, cheated on your boyfriend and now you have to deal with the consequences of that. You’re in your comfiest clothes, settled at your desk to start your report. You wish you had thought to ask how much detail Poe had put in his. He clearly exaggerated about your part in what happened.
Your hands hover over the keyboard, waiting for your brain to tell them what to type. The longer you wait, the more they start to shake. You yank them back against your chest, squeezing them painfully to get them to stop. You welcome the pain, it somehow serves as your penance for what you’ve done.
Your door tries to open and there’s a muffled curse outside, startling you. You quickly unlock it and outside is Bryce. He holds out a caf silently and your eyes widen and you realize you promised him you’d be in the med bay after his shift.
“How was it?” You ask, taking the cup and backing up to let him in.
“Boring as always. I hate post work. Nothing ever happens.” He grumbles, following you and flopping on your bed. “What happened?” He asks, balling up your pillow and stuffing it under his chest to rest on.
“Um,” you clear your throat, scrambling for an answer that wouldn’t start a fight. I went to sleep with the guy you hate would definitely start a fight. “I couldn’t sleep. Kept waking up. Then I just said screw it. Been trying to work on this stupid report of what happened.” You gesture and he nods, understanding. At least, understanding your words. You know he doesn’t understand what you’re feeling. Nothing bad has ever happened to Bryce.
“What did happen?” He asks, tilting his head to look at you.
The blood drains out of your face and your hands start to shake. Your stomach falls to your feet and your knees get weak. “I-I don’t… I don’t really wanna talk about it.” You mutter, sitting back down before you fall down. You take a sip of the caf and try not to blanch. He never makes it how you like it and every time you forget.
“Well, you’re gonna have to talk about it. People are gonna wanna know.” He says, his voice gentle like he’s trying to be kind. But it feels like a punch to the gut. Why would people need to know what happened to you? Before you can protest, there’s a knock on your door. Bryce glares at it before looking at you. “Expecting someone?” He asks pointedly.
“No. I wasn’t even expecting you.” You stand up and press the release, even more surprised to see Snap on the other side.
He looks nervous as shit, holding out a bag of food from the commissary, and a caf. He has never ever brought you food before. “P…” he cuts off and glances down the hall. “Pando in the lab wanted me to remind you that he needs your help analyzing those plants you brought back.” He says, rolling his eyes at the name.
You frown in confusion, taking the bag. “Pando?” You repeat.
He narrows his eyes and slides them to the right, back down the hallway where he looked the first time. “Yeah. Pando. That’s what he told me. He needs your help.”
The name is entirely unfamiliar. As far as you know, it’s not even a name at all. “Alright… well, if you see… Pando, then let him know I’ll be there in a while. I have something to finish.” You say and he nods. Abruptly he turns and walks down the hall to your right and you blink. Maybe Snap is losing it? Too many missions? Flying too close to the sun? Maybe his ox-mask isn’t operating at full capacity. You poke your head out to watch him, wondering if he’s okay, and a figure darts from view before you can catch a good glimpse.
“That guy.” Bryce shakes his head.
“He’s a good dude. Just under a lot of pressure.”
“Who’s Pando?” He asks, taking the bag of food from you and rolling over onto his back.
You have a feeling you know who Snap was talking about, but why would he lie? Do you keep up the lie? Something in your gut tells you that telling the truth would be a bad idea. “Just one of the guys from the science division.” You shrug.
Bryce digs into your food and you frown. “I thought I knew all the freaks you work with.” He tilts his head, biting into a yacba fruit.
“They’re not freaks.” You snatch your food back. “And you don’t know everything about me. I have work to do.” You say and he rolls his eyes.
“So? Do it. I’m not stopping you.” He sighs, stretching out and laying back.
You want to hit him with something, that rage burning through your veins again. To save your holopad, you grab it, the bag of food, and the caf from Snap and march out of your room. You’ll find somewhere to eat in peace and then go to the lab and find this Pando.
There’s an observation tower on the outskirts of the compound that isn’t used anymore. You climb to the top, leaning against the stone post overlooking the woods. Finally, peace and quiet.
While you eat, you try to get as much of the report done as you can. You decide to be vague on the method of interrogation, instead focusing on what they wanted to know.
The lack of horrific details in your report doesn’t stop you from remembering them.
Hours. He has been asking you questions for hours. For every one unanswered, he slices at your best friend, nicking his skin all over. His face, his hands, his arms, his chest, his legs. There isn’t a body part left unscathed.
For his credit, he never wavers, never gives any sign of weakness, never cries out. He just clenches his jaw, and squeezes his eyes shut.
You, on the other hand, can’t stop crying. You’ll keep your promise, but seeing your best friend in so much pain hurts more than anything you’ve ever experienced.
In the back of your mind, you wonder how he knows about being tortured. As far as you know, he’s never been captured. He’s an excellent soldier, always on guard, always alert. He knows his shit, he’s good at this.
Until he goes on a solo mission with you.
And then you kiss him. And he drops his guard. Now he’s being hurt.
The trooper grunts in dissatisfaction and sets his blade down. “Seems like you rebel scum like pain.” He says, starting to take off his gauntlets and gloves.
Your stomach tightens, nerves spiking as you watch his movements warily. Is he going to give Poe a break, and turn on you?
“Nothing’s as painful as living in the world of the First Order.” Poe replies calmly.
Before you can see it coming, the trooper throws his fist, slamming it into Poe’s solar plexus. Poe doubles over as much as he can, coughing hard and gasping for air. You press your lips together to keep from crying out as your tears spill over. The trooper rains down blow after blow all over his body. His lip splits against his teeth, blood dripping down his chin. Around his eye, his cheekbone, along his jaw; you can hear his ribs shifting, maybe cracking.
Your heart breaks for him. You want to do something to help him, but you’re useless against your restraints.
“Ready to give up your precious General?” The trooper sneers, grabbing Poe’s thick hair and pulling up on it to see his face.
“Who?”
The trooper drops his head unceremoniously and turns to you for the first time. “You can stop his pain.” He taunts. “Just give us the location of your base.”
You straighten yourself as much as you can in defiance. “What base?” You ask coldly.
He grumbles and grabs his gloves, stalking from the room. Poe lets his head sag, breathing hard. You don’t dare speak. Blood drips from his mouth slowly, pooling on the floor.
You twist your face away so you don’t have to see your handiwork, crying silently. You can only hope that for the next session, they turn their attention to you instead of Poe.
He deserves so much better.
Chapter 8
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cold coffee in the morning {poe dameron}
summary: aka the one where you and poe can't seem to work out your commitment issues, and also the one where c3po is the unsung hero (based loosely on the song by ed sheeran)
warnings: language, brief innuendos
enjoy! idk why i'm writing this at 3am but we mooooove
- jazz xx
Poe Dameron had never needed another person before - then he met you, and the idea of ever existing as an independent being for the rest of his living years had suddenly seemed like the most unappealing thing since Luke Skywalker's blue-milk cheesecake. The way you'd whirlwhinded into his life with your gorgeous smile and contagious laugh had knocked the usually-suave pilot completely and utterly onto the floor. Bruised ass aside, he wasn't mad about it. He was happy to have you in his life in whatever way you'd let him.
And what way that was exactly, he didn't know.
You were friends; close, close friends. Bonded for life through your shared goofy humour and seemingly-endless banter. Then you did things that friends didn't normally do - at least not in Poe's experience - and you would act like it was nothing. As if your nights spent together and the whispers you lost between the sheets meant as much to you as the things you did for your other friends, like stopping Finn from tripping on his shoe laces or picking up R2-D2 when he toppled over. It was as though every-time you crossed that line, you immediately regretted it; then, a few days later, you'd decide that you missed Poe, and you'd repeat the same mistake again and again, like you were trapped in a time loop of love and pain.
The feeling would stay with Poe for days; your hands tangled in his hair, his skin against yours, laughter rippling through clashing teeth and soft lips. The way you fell beside each other, sharing highs and secrets and inside jokes; the way you would reference one of your late night talks in shared conversations with friends, and his brown eyes would flick to the ground, cheeks burning red at the fact you'd remembered. It made his heart-rate pick up and palms sweaty.
And sometimes, just sometimes, it would make up for the way you'd leave in the morning; the way he'd arise to find a you-size hole in his bed and heart, and a cup of half-finished caff on the side. With his brain tinged with the remains of a hangover from the previous night, he'd pour the cold beverage down the sink and go about his day.
Poe did manage to catch you one morning; he'd purposely set his alarm so that he would stir earlier than you and rest assured, you were still dead to the world when he came around. The sun outside was still rising, the sky a dull pink-and-blue, the day fresh with hope and brimming with potential for heartbreak. It felt unnatural to see you quiet and peaceful, and not running your mouth and poking fun at anyone who would listen. There was a reason that C3PO avoided you like the plague - it wasn't his fault he was an easy target.
"You watching me sleep, creep?" You murmured.
"Just enjoying the view." Poe replied. He rolled over, crossing his arms behind his head. "You're usually gone by the time I'm awake."
You peeled one eye open, your one-eyed glare enough to send a shiver down his spine. "Don't be passive aggressive, Poe. Just say it."
"Isn't it a little early to be so feisty?"
"Isn't it a little early to make back-handed comments?" You shot back.
"Sorry. I was trying to find a way to bring up such a touchy subject."
You reached across to squeeze his check. "And you did a great job, curly."
"Alright, that's enough of that." He swatted your hand away. "I did want to talk to you about it, though."
"What is there to talk about?" You sat up, brow furrowing.
"You're confusing." Poe began. "During the day, we're friends. At night, you can't keep your hands off of me."
"It's kind of sexy and mysterious." You tried to joke.
"Sexy and mysterious is tiring."
"Sexy and mysterious is also late for work." You quipped.
You rolled out of bed, reaching for your strewn clothes. Without thinking, you pulled one of Poe's shirts over your head, grabbing your boots and socks. So many of his clothes had just snuck their way into your wardrobe - all of your friends had noticed it, but none of them commented on it. Everybody knew that there was something going on between you, but they were wise enough than to point it out. There had been one new guy who tried to ask, but he'd quickly been shut down.
"I'll see you tonight?" You asked, tugging on Poe's your jacket.
His brown eyes lingered on the floor for a moment, before flicking towards you, holding your gaze in a chokehold. "I don't think we should do this again."
You wavered for a moment, a wave of guilt clouding your judgement for a moment. This had never been about feelings - at least not for you. It had just a bit of fun; a bit of fooling around with a hot pilot. You hadn't meant to get in so deep, or get to a point where you were dismissing his feelings in favour of your own. It was more of a survival instinct than anything - breaking his heart to save your own.
That was it: lack of trust, presence of fear. All things that stopped you taking the full plunge, simply for the worry of letting him hurt you - or worst, you hurting him. Maybe it was a little late to start worrying about the latter. That ship had sailed a long time ago. Maybe it had sunk too.
"Poe-" you began, before pausing. "I have a lot going on in my life. I just don't have room for anything real right now."
"I thought the same." He was still staring right at you. "So I made room."
"It's not that simple." You reminded him. "It's not like...decluttering a room. I can't just Marie Kondo that shit and declare my love for you."
Poe froze at the mention of the L-word. It had been an elephant in the room for a long, long time - but it was outdone by the presence of bigger elephants. Like the ongoing war, and the fact that mortality had never seemed so fucking relevant. It was something you wanted to put a pin in for later, but later wasn't something that was guaranteed these days.
"Fine." He shrugged. "Good talk."
--
The guilt weighed on your brain for days, like a lead hat made of bullshit and regret.
You hadn't realised how much of a hole Poe Dameron left in your life until he was gone -- it was massive, like someone had broken into your home and ripped out two of the walls during a harsh winter storm. Everything felt a little colder and more confusing, and the amount of times you'd had to resist temptation to find him and beg for forgiveness was astounding.
The only reason you hadn't done so was because you knew what you would have to do. Give into your feelings, and let yourself become fully and entirely his. Let him into your life and into your heart. All the bullshit you'd spewed about not having room had been just that: bullshit. You didn't need to make room for him in your heart when he, entirely and wholly, was your heart. And he'd taken a little bit of it with him when he walked away - well, when you'd walked away.
Is this how it felt to be the villain?
"Is everything okay, master?" The sound of your favourite droid brought you back to the present. "You're being uncharacteristically quiet. On average, you've usually said 356 words by 9AM."
"You keep count?" You glanced up from your paperwork, eyebrow quirked. "I'm fine. Just tired."
"Eight of ten times that you've said that, you haven't been fine-"
"- just give it a rest, Threepio." You cut him off. "Please?"
"If there's anything I can help with, let me know." He replied. "A droid's logic can be surprisingly helpful."
"I'm fine but thank-" you stopped in your tracks, pondering for a moment.
Logic. That was certainly something you lacked - the part of your brain that was supposed to be rational was too busy thinking about hot pilots.
"Master?"
"Sorry." You blinked. "Maybe I'll have your input on something."
"Please, go on."
"I love someone and he loves me." You said. "It's just very complicated."
"If a problem can be reduced down to seven words, I would not class that as a problem." Threepio said. "I would say a problem is at least thirty words or more."
You thinned your eyes at him. "What are you saying, goldilocks?"
"Perhaps, your problem is only a problem because you think it is." He replied. "When you lay things out and look at them logically, it can make more sense."
"Logic isn't my strong-point. You know that better than anyone."
"You love Master Dameron and he loves you-"
"- I never mentioned names."
"My apologies." Threepio said. "I was simply reading the room."
"Right."
"Remove your emotions, and those are the facts." He continued.
It was bad enough when Poe was right, but it was even worse when C3PO was. But, for all his theatrics and whining, he was right. Decisions made with logic rather than emotion always had a better outcome. It was plain and simple: you and Poe loved one another. Everything else - your fear and his dismissiveness and your collective confusion - only existed because you let it. But your feelings for each other? That was something you couldn't help.
"Right - thanks." You murmured. "I'll be right back."
You quickly stood up, tossing aside your datapad and immediately exiting the room. The base was small, and Poe was never that far away, even when the room was on the furthest side of the base. It was also your favourite place in the entire camp; it was covered in photos of you and him and your friends, and it was always warm. The mixture of sentimental clutter and little knick-knacks, paired with the gentle smell of his aftershave clinging to the sheets and clothes scattered around, made it feel like an actual home.
You didn't bother knocking - that formality had gone out the window long ago. Instead, you took a deep breath and gently opened the door. There was no certainty that he would even be in - you could only hope. The chances of him being anywhere else were pretty slim.
They'd worked in your favour today, because Poe was stood by his coffee machine, a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was wild and curly and there were still drops of water on his back.
He turned around when he saw you, brow furrowing. Mostly because he had never seen you so breathless and sweaty, but also because he hadn't expected you to ever talk to him again. He'd always known you to stick by your decisions - he normally admired your stubbornness, but as of recent, it had been fucking exhausting.
"Hi-"
"- I love you." You suddenly blurted. "Hi."
"I-" Poe paused, putting down his coffee. "What?"
"I love you. More than anything in the world, ever." You shrugged. "That terrifies me, but I can deal with fear."
"You can. You're pretty bad-ass." He casually nodded.
"Right." You smiled. "I'm sorry it took me so long to say that."
"Hey, it's okay." He gently smiled. "Come here."
You met half way across the room, bodies colliding in a tight hug. His warm, post-shower skin felt like heaven against yours, large hands dragging up and down your back. He consumed everyone one of your senses at once, but mostly, he consumed your ability to think. Your brain was so over-loaded with feelings that the rest of it completely broke down and malfunctioned - kind of like the time you spilt coffee on BB-8.
"I love you too, by the way." Poe gently murmured. You let out a small chuckle.
"I know." You smiled.
"What made you say it now?"
"Threepio said something about logic." You muttered. "The only logical thing for two people who love each other to do is be together, right?"
"I mean, I can think of other things-"
"- Poe!" You whacked his shoulder.
It was though you had untangled your feelings, and the only thing left was a line that went straight from him to you.
"You're right." Poe said. "Thank you for realising it."
You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you for being patient."
"It's worth it." He couldn't help but grin. "Do you want some caff? It's still warm."
tags: @anetteaneta @poestardust @marvelinsanity
#i want a POE now please#idk why i even wrote this#hoe well#poe dameron imagine#poe dameron fluff#poe dameron blurb#poe dameron x reader#poe imagine#star wars fanfiction#star wars x reader#star wars imagine#star wars fluff#star wars x you#star wars angst#star wars imagines
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Give me my sin again
Poe Dameron / f!reader [no use of y/n]
Summary: A strange fruit leads to unintended consequences.
Alternatively: How you and Poe first got together.
Part of the "Goofballs in Love" Series of One-Shots: The Scoundrel’s Reward, Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, Flexibility (noun), Give me my sin again, Writing on the Wall
My Masterlist
Words: 3500k (Read it on AO3.) [complete]
Rated: Explicit
Warnings: language. explicit sexual content. PiV sex. theoretically sex pollen / aphrodisiac. but these two goobers were 100% down to start.
It was a beautiful night and Poe watched as you helped yourself to a bowl of fruit on the table between the two of you. You moaned as you popped a berry into your mouth and he grunted, looking away for a moment.
"You should try this," you said, holding the bowl out to him and he took it without looking at it too hard, slipping a juicy berry into his mouth and felt the skin pop and a flood of tart sweetness on his tongue. It was good and he reached for a handful more.
You were on a recon mission, dropped off that morning to meet up with a contact and scheduled to be picked up the next day. It was a simple mission - hardly dangerous. The only reason you were both on it was because you needed more time in the field and Poe was supposed to be evaluating you for General Organa.
Evaluating you did not extend to wondering if your skin was as soft as it looked.
Or if you would make that same moan if he buried his tongue between your thighs.
"Here have a roll," you tossed a piece of bread to him and Poe reacted a little too slowly, feeling it bounce off his shoulder before he could get his hand up to catch it. He frowned at you and saw you giggle. Maker, even your laugh was sexy.
"Ah, you eat the sinsai? You enjoy?"
The proprietor of the restaurant, a Karwheli, broke into Poe’s thoughts with his question and Poe turned to him. The man had been a lot of help so far - bringing out a variety of local unknown dishes when both you and Poe and balked at the strange offerings. Poe smiled at him. "Yes, we enjoyed it very much, thank you."
"You and your lady, have good time!" The man tapped the bowl with the berries in front of Poe. "Good time!" The man winked at him.
Poe paused, seeing you do the same across from him. "What do you mean?"
"Sinsai make strong feelings. Go make babies!"
He heard you choke and suddenly his tongue felt too large for his mouth. "We’re not-"
"We’re not together," you said quickly. He felt a small pang at that but ignored it.
The man’s eyebrows drew together and then he smiled again. "Doesn’t matter. Sinsai say you make babies, you make babies."
Poe blinked at the man and then you gasped. "You’re saying the fruit will make us make babies?"
The man nodded, smiling even wider. "Sinsai make make babies."
Poe’s eyes met yours across the table, saw the dawning look of horror on your face. "What happens if we…"
"If we don’t," Poe finished for you.
The man shook his head vehemently. "No good. Make babies. Must. You’ll see."
As he wandered off Poe tried hard not to look at you, shutting his eyes and swallowing. "How many did you eat?"
"I don’t know," your voice drifted back to him. "A dozen maybe? How many does it take?"
"I dunno." He thought back, trying to remember how many a handful was. A half dozen? Maybe more? Did eating more make things worse? Also how long did it take to take effect? What were the effects? Were you at risk of not even making it back to-
"We should probably go before-" you start to say and Poe nodded.
"Yeah."
As you walked side by side back to the hotel in silence Poe felt his skin begin to tingle. Your nearness was always torture for him, had been since the day you’d come in from the Republic Navy and taken over blue squadron. You were a rock solid pilot and an exceptional Commander for all you’d only been in the Resistance for a few months. That alone was enough to gain you Poe’s respect.
But you were also just a good person. Poe had lost count of the number of times you had lightened the mood in dark times or made the galaxy a slightly better place for him and everyone else. You were a light in his day and he looked forward to any time he got to spend with you - even if it was just in endless strategy meetings.
He had, until this mission, thought he had done a good job at ignoring how attracted he was to you. How his body was drawn to yours and the heat that creeped under his skin whenever you were near. But now, with the sinsai fruit pulsing through his body, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Every sound you made flooded through his senses, the movement of your body near his enough to set him thrumming. He watched your ass sway as you walked into the hotel in front of him and he wondered what would happen if he set his teeth to one of the globes. Or what it would feel like in his palms if he cupped beneath them and lifted you against a wall with his cock buried inside you.
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts, but now he was looking at your neck and his mouth watered. Fuck those berries were potent. It was going to be hard enough to sleep near you tonight before this had become an added complication. Sharing a room hadn’t seemed like the worst idea when it had been proposed. There were two decent sized beds, and it ensured you were with each other if something went wrong. But now…
The room felt small, hot. Poe tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying to pull the sticky fabric from the back of his neck. Had it been this hot in here earlier?
"I’m going to-"
"Yeah."
You ducked past him into the refresher and Poe restrained himself from turning and following you with his eyes. When he heard the water turn on he groaned, trying not to image you nude and wet and…
The beds looked awfully close together. Maybe he could move them farther apart? He ducked down and looked but they were bolted to the floor. He glared at the offending metal, reaching a hand out to feel the hardware. It wasn’t much, probably even hand-tightened. If he gave it a little bit of a-
"Ha!" he grunted, pulling the bolt free. Now to just do the other three. He stood up and heard your shriek of surprise, reaching out quickly and steadying your body from where you ran into him. He felt sparks along his fingertips where they touched your skin and heat rocket through his body. You smelled… nice. Without meaning to his eyes fell to the way your tank top clung to your damp skin.
Your nipples were hard.
Fuck what was he supposed to do with that information? Were you as affected as he was? Did you want to touch him as badly as he wanted to touch you?
In later years, when you discussed what happened in that hotel room, neither of you would ever agree on who moved first. Who closed the gap between your lips and started the sequence of events that happened that night. Regardless, the gap was closed and your hands were around his neck and he heard you moan into his mouth and any thought he had about trying to ride out the effects of the fruit on his own flew out the window.
His hands rucked up the hem of your shirt so he could lay his palms flat to the skin of your back, feel the heat seep into him. His body was on fire, every pulse of his heartbeat throbbing in his whole body. He was already hard. Painfully rock hard and ready to be inside you. He clutched you to him and you adjusted yourself so that he was nestled right in the crook of your thighs, one of your legs coming up to hook over his hip.
The bed was close. Close enough for him to lean you back and crawl over you, his mouth never leaving yours. Your hands pulled his shirt over his head, lips breaking apart only momentarily. Your fingers on the bare skin of his chest made him shudder, his hand on your hip pulling you up closer to him.
"I want you," you moaned into his mouth and he groaned in return, wrenching himself away and looking down at you with wild eyes.
"Are you sure?" Maker he hoped you were. If he couldn’t get inside of you, couldn’t see your eyes roll back when you came, he was pretty sure he was going to die.
"Yes, please Poe."
He’d never made someone beg before and the sound of your plea sent rational thought reeling off. Your hands and his tangled as you each tried to get the other naked first. He managed to push your shirt up and off with no issue. He heard a pop, felt his pants go slack and you looked at each other with identical looks of surprise.
"Did you just-?" he looked down at his pants where the button was missing.
"Stop talking," you urged, pulling at his pants again, hands slipping inside. He hissed when he felt your fingers wrap around his cock, his lips dropping down to pull your nipple into his mouth and suck hard.
"Poe!" You gasped and he did it again, thrusting into your hand.
"Pants. Off." He ordered, his hands scrambling against the soft cloth of your sleep shorts. You helped, pulling them and your underwear off together and spreading your thighs wide so he could settle between them.
"Oh fuck," he groaned. He could feel how wet you were, his cock sliding along your lips with ease. He saw you bite your lip and reached down, parting your folds so he could press against your clit. Rubbing his cock up and down, coating himself in your slick.
You nearly arched off the bed. His hands grasped for the back of your neck, holding your face tilted up to his while he thrust his tongue into you in time with the rocking of his hips.
"You feel so good," he mumbled, eyes closed tight against the overwhelming sensations of your body.
"Poe I need-" your plea cut off on a gasp when he thrust his hips harder.
"I know," he whispered, moving his weight to the side and reaching one hand down between your bodies. His fingers found you, and when he began to circle your clit he notched the head of his cock at your entrance.
"Can I-?"
"Yes," you urged, canting your hips upwards and he slid inside. Sweet Maker, you felt good, like a part of him had been waiting for this moment his entire life. He eased himself inside you slowly, concentrating more on the movement of his fingers and the twists of your body than his cock. Your nails raked down his back and he slid himself fully inside you as you came. Your muscles clenching around him, a surge of wetness easing his way.
He held himself still while you breathed harshly in his ear. He could feel the aftereffects of your orgasm in every twitch of your body. "More?" He asked, hoping for an affirmative answer.
You nodded, hands clutching around his neck and he pulled his face back to look at you. Your eyes were open, lips parted. "Yes, more," you pulled his lips down to yours, thrusting your tongue into his mouth and mumbling. "I want everything Poe."
Oh he was more than willing to oblige.
The pace he set was slow. Deep. Pulling out nearly all the way and then pushing back until his hips ground to yours. His hand held your hips down, stopping you from moving beneath him. You whined softly, struggling to surge into him, to set a faster or harder pace. But Poe held firm, pressing your hip to the bed while he fucked you exactly like he’d been imagining.
"You had yours," he scolded, nipping at your chin. "It’s my turn."
"I only get one?" You grumbled, eyebrow raised in mock seriousness.
He bit your lower lip, pulling it gently before letting it go. "Greedy thing, how many do you want?"
You giggled and he thrust harder, hearing the laugh turn into a moan. "Poe."
He groaned in return, thrusting into you with more force. "Maker, I love how you say my name."
"Poe I-"
"I know," he reassured you, lips trailing down your neck. He pulled his knees up, shifting his position so he had you spread across his thighs. "I know, I got you."
He sat up, holding your hips in both hands to help keep you steady on his cock. From this angle he could see the way your face tilted upwards, your lips parted in worlds gasps. The way your breasts bounced while he fucked into you. The way your cunt stretched around him and the glisten of your arousal on your thighs.
He closed his eyes, head dropping back. "Fuck you look so good." He reached up with one hand quickly, grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand down between your bodies. When your eyes opened and your lips parted he smiled at you. "Wanna see you come again."
You nodded, fingers slipping down and gently teasing along his cock, circling him while he thrust into you. It felt… fuck it felt good and he nearly groaned from the loss when you moved away to focus on your clit.
Poe tried to watch the movement of your arm. Tried to time his thrusts to correspond with how fast or gentle you were touching yourself. But the sight of you was soon too much. He leaned back over you, hands propped up next to your shoulders. Fucking down into your wet warmth.
Your back arched when he did, your free hand lifting to clench at his bicep. "Poe," you whined, eyes squeezing shut. "More."
Poe nodded to himself, thrusting harder, pushing himself more roughly into you. He could feel his orgasm tingling at the base of his spine. "Please tell me you’re close," he begged.
"M’so close, I’m-"
You came apart. If he hadn’t been leaning over you Poe was pretty sure you’d have shot off the bed. As it was your body hit his and your arms clamped around him and he found himself falling forward with you. Pressing your body down into the bed while he let go of his control and groaned, his release flooding inside of you.
When Poe’s brain began to work again he thought he’d feel sated. Blissed out. And to be honest he felt both of those things. But he also felt hungry. Like he wanted more.
His nose was pressed beneath your jaw and your hands were stroking down his back in a soothing caress. He wanted to kiss every one of your fingers, to slip his tongue along the inside of your elbow, nuzzle his nose into your shoulder.
Well, that last one at least was easy to accomplish.
You giggled when he pressed his nose to you, tracing a path down your neck and then following it back with his tongue. He felt as much as heard you gasp, the soft shudder in your body, your thighs tightening on his hips.
"Again?" The breath of your voice caressed his ear.
It was an offer more than a question. He lifted himself on his arms, grinning down into your face. Your answering smile made his heart lurch. Thanks to the sinsai fruit he could already feel his cock twitching, ready to dive right back into another round.
"Again," he agreed, pressing his lips to yours before pulling away. "But this time I have some ideas I want to try out."
You winked and he felt his cock twitch again. "That’s good to know. Because I have some ideas of my own."
The night was young and the bed was big. Plenty of room to spend the next few hours exploring all of the ideas you both had. Which you did. Enthusiastically. And when the two of you managed to destroy the bed - the sheets a tangled and sweaty heap hanging off the side - he helped you move onto the clean one and cuddled against your back. He thought you might want to talk but you sighed into the pillow and slipped away into a deep sleep before he could do more than press a kiss to your shoulder.
There was always the morning, he figured.
He woke up groggily a few hours later, the morning sun slanting through a gap in the blinds that made him groan and blink.
"What time is it?" You asked with a yawn and he lifted himself slightly to look at the clock.
"Eleven," he grumbled, nuzzling his face back into your hair.
A moment passed. Then you both sat bolt upright. "Eleven?" You yelped at the same time.
The room became a flurry of movement. Your transport was going to arrive in fifteen minutes. Poe hopped into his pants, suddenly remembering that they no longer had a button.
"Here," you offered, holding out a small pin. "For your-" you waved at him and he nodded, trying not to notice that you weren’t wearing a shirt and your bra was lifting your breasts and offering them to him in a way he was more than willing to accept. And not to notice the dark bruise forming at the base of your throat that was obviously from his mouth.
"What?"
Poe jerked his gaze back to yours. "You should button your shirt all the way."
"What?" Your brows drew together, "Why…" You raised a hand and touched the spot and then your eyes went wide and you nodded at him, shrugging into your shirt and hiding his view of both the bruise and your magnificent breasts.
Poe and you arrived at the landing bay about ten minutes late, seeing Pava leaning up against a crate and tapping her foot. "There you are, Karé went looking for you."
"Sorry," Poe mumbled, tossing his bag up the ramp and reaching for yours to do the same. "I’ll go find her I-" He turned to look at her and saw the pack of deep red berries in her hand the same moment you did.
"No!" Poe and you shouted at the same time.
"What?" Pava’s eyebrows shot up. "What’s the matter?"
"Are those sinsai berries?" You asked with a worried frown.
"Yeah?"
"It’s an aphrodisiac," you told her, reaching to take the sack from her.
Pava snorted, twisting her body from you. "No it’s not."
Poe nodded, "Yes it is. We were talking to a guy last night and he told us-"
"To Karwheli," Pava snorted, "yeah. But not to humans. You really do never read your briefings, do you?" She took a berry and then held the sack out to him. "You should try one, they’re delicious."
Poe could feel heat crawling up the back of his neck, his jaw working but no sound was coming out. He thought he heard a small distressed sound come from you and he ignored it while he continued to stare at Pava - the pilot thankfully oblivious to your dilemma.
"Oh hey, it’s Karé. Karé!" Pava shouted, turning from the two of you and taking off at a jog across the landing bay.
He didn’t turn, didn’t look at you. His mind was crawling back over the events of the night before. The fruit had affected him… hadn’t it? He’d felt a burning need to kiss you, to be inside of you, to lose himself in the warmth of your body. It had been overwhelming, all-consuming… there was no way that was just-
"Oh Maker," he heard you mumble next to him. "Did we really rip each other’s clothes off for no reason?"
Poe finally turned to you, his eyebrows raised. "I’m not sure it was for no reason."
You looked away quickly, biting your lip. He saw you squeeze your eyes closed for a moment before relaxing and smiling at him. "So would now be a good time to confess I’m attracted to you?"
"Really?" He tilted his head, "I would never have guessed."
He caught your hand when you playfully punched him, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and then laying your palm over his heart. "We kind of went about this backwards but I’d like to do more… pursue… get to know you…" He stumbled over the words he was looking for.
"Poe Dameron are you asking me out?"
"Well, except for the fact that there’s not really anywhere to go on base, yes."
Your hand turned in his, fingers interlacing with his own. "I’d like that."
The hesitant smile on your face was lovely, and he couldn’t help but lean in and kiss you softly. His lips lightly playing along yours and then breaking away to press his forehead to yours.
"Maybe we should get some more of that sinsai fruit."
You drew back in confusion. "Why? It doesn’t… it doesn’t do anything."
Poe grinned, "Yeah but you see, I know this girl and she doesn’t know that…"
He grunted when you elbowed him and kissed you again. The fruit was delicious, and he had some ideas about what the two of you might do with a handful of sweet berries and a little bit more time.
.
Tagging people who have enjoyed these Goofballs in Love before (let me know if you don’t wanna be tagged):
@wasicskosgirl @waatermelon-sugaar @rebellou @hansonveggieclub @be-the-spark-flyboy @aellynera @onfiretakemehigher
Special thank you to @foxilayde from whom a conversation sprung which inspired this.
#poe dameron x you#poe dameron x reader#Poe Dameron / Reader#Poe Dameron / You#poe dameron#star wars fanfiction#star wars sequels#goofballs in love
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The story of how I read ASoUE books in Russian
I read these books a couple of years ago and I still admire them. There is a wonderful plot, interesting characters, touching morality.. But beyond that, the language in which these books are written also grabs me. It’s impossible to convey my enthusiasm for the stylistic devices that Handler used in this story.
I didn’t read books in the original, but in translation into my native language - Russian. You probably already guessed that because of this, I missed many riddles that I had to look for additionally (for example, the list of patients in the eighth book). Unfortunately, it’s impossible to adapt absolutely all the subtleties of Lemony Snicket's language, but there are some ridiculous flaws that at one time ruined my reading. Moreover, I still have to constantly consult the original in order to understand some things. Recently I acquired a print edition with Netflix series covers, and I would like to talk about a few incomprehensible details that confuse me.
To begin with, I want to say that the quality of the covers, prints and illustrations is excellent. There are no “beautiful” and “unique” Russian illustrations, only Helquist's drawings, which are adapted to the Russian language. It's done well and I don't feel obvious editing in Photoshop:
But this is where the pluses end, because the Russian edition only changed the design, but they didn’t bother to edit the text.
Let's take a simple example. At the beginning of the third book, Mr. Poe gives children peppermint. There is nothing wrong with this, but personally, for a long time I couldn’t understand what kind of dish it was. In Russian, Mr. Poe gives children some “мятные лепешки”, which translates as “mint pancakes”:
I googled it in both Russian and English, and you know, I was always inclined to think that Mr. Poe gave them pancakes in a bag:
If you are wondering if it could be translated normally, then there is a word in Russian for peppermint candy (мятный леденец), so I don't know what was the problem to translate and edit it for reprint. It's funny that not only me, but also my friends, who read this book in Russian, for a long time couldn’t understand what was the cause of Baudelaire’s allergy.
Now let's turn to the adaptation of text printing. Despite the fact that I recently praised its quality, the print still missed some interesting ideas. Remember that famous Lemony warning page?
We don't have it. It was replaced with three words and one word in italics. Four words instead of a whole page:
It doesn’t affect the understanding of what is happening, it's just a shame that I didn’t have the opportunity to fully trace some of the madness of these books (((
Another oddity lies in the incomprehensible translation of some words. For example, the word “baby” was often not translated, but simply written in Russian letters in the English manner - беби/бэби (read it in the same way as in English, only with a Russian accent). This is strange because we don’t use Anglicisms for such simple words in literary speech. We do this ONLY in colloquial speech due to constant communication in a foreign language on social networks, in any other case it doesn’t fit into the norms. But these books were translated in the early 2000s, when the influence of the Internet on the language was almost non-existent, so I don't understand how the editors missed it in print.
Sometimes it worked. For example, in “The Ersatz Elevator” Esmé constantly used Anglicisms, not only the word “беби/бэби”, which created the effect of her advancement and unusualness. Moreover, due to the fact that Gunther also had a certain foreign accent, they both seemed to come from the same world of an absurd mixture of languages.
”I guess the baby won't be very helpful, but that's to be expected. Let's get a move on”:
But when I saw that in Kit Snicket's rescue scene, I had fun, but not anxious. Because, first of all, I experienced bewilderment than worry about a person's life, and this is bad. It prevents me from getting into the story.
“The baby is arriving“:
The last thing I want to say is a change of context in the Russian translation. This is perhaps the worst part of my story, because before that we saw clear details that can be easily verified. Now I’ll talk about those things that are invisible without reading the original, but at the same time they most of all interfere with the understanding of the meaning of the text.
Let's turn to the end of the first book. When Violet tried to turn on the stage lights, Olaf told her: “I'll get my hands on your fortune if it's the last thing I do," the voice hissed. "And when I have it, I'll kill you and your siblings with my own two hands”.
I love like Chekhov's gun went off at the end. He promised to kill the children, but in the end he saved someone else's life. He promised to steal the fortune, but in the end he stole only the kiss of the distraught woman. This is a very interesting circular plot of the character's actions and moral choices, which the author hinted at at the beginning of the story. By the way, it explains why until the very last moment he wanted to get the Baudelaires' money. Even when he was dying he talked about it (I don’t mean motivation, it’s unknown to anyone. I mean building a composition of story: we’re told that Olaf's last act should be the theft of a fortune, and we’re not told until the last what he will do in fact).
This is missing in our translation. Olaf only says that he’ll steal the money and then kill them all, but nothing is said about the last act.
Perhaps it isn’t important, but I have never compared this scene with the ending of the story, as if there was no connection between them. And there is a connection. I noticed this RANDOMLY a couple of days ago, wow.
The question arises: how much of such interference not only in the plot, but also in the composition of the story was there? How many things have I missed? I don't know, because for some reason our adaptation interfered with the structure of the text. I haven’t told about half of the changes, only about those that I myself have recently found. And there are many more of them. I understand that in this case it’s necessary to read in the original, but I have neither the opportunity nor the proper knowledge of the language to do this. Therefore, I’m very offended that I don’t fully know this story.
In the end, I want to apologize for the mistakes and misuse of some words, since the text was written in Google Translate. I don't know English very well, but I hope you understand this post :3
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Radio Silence Chapter One: On the Other End
Poe Dameron has been assigned to work as an intel receiver to Acer, a Resistance recon agent. They’ve only ever talked through the comms, so when she’s captured by First Order troops he assumes she’s lost forever. When Poe accidentally rescues the absolutely infuriating Resistance spy Y/N L/N from a First Order Star Destroyer, he knows she’s got nothing do with with Acer. Right?
series masterlist / next
Poe Dameron slides into a seat in front of a gleaming array of navicomputers and tech displays. He considers the many buttons and levers in front of him, then methodically enters a series of commands into a console. He waits one second, two, then it beeps at him. Correct password- well, he’d hope so. He’s done this so many times that he could enter in the digits in his sleep.
After that, it only takes a couple of seconds to call up the secure communications channel. There have only ever been two people with access to this channel: one sender and one receiver. Poe is the receiver, as always, recovering data sent to him by the Resistance recon agent they’ve got stationed out somewhere in the Outer Rim or the Unknown Regions. He doesn’t know anything about her, that’s stated in the Resistance regulations- no sharing information that could get your spies killed. That’s a must.
At exactly twenty standard hours, it is time for Poe to flip on the radio channel and receive the latest intel from his sender. He waits for a minute or two in silence, brow furrowing as he spends more time in solitude, and then his ears are greeted by the reassuringly familiar crackle of static across the console speakers. Poe grins. “Acer, that you?” He can practically hear her smile across the radio channel. “Who else would it be?”
Poe leans back in his chair, finally able to relax. “You were three minutes late, you know. That’s against protocol.” Acer sighs dramatically. “Oh come on, Bravo. You going to report me to the General for overwhelming tardiness in the line of duty?” Poe rolls his eyes. “I might, now that you mention it.” Acer laughs. “I’m sure you will. Honestly, I just think this means you care about me. Were you worried for me?”
Poe taps a few buttons on his console, adjusting the sound for perfect quality. “I’m not going to answer that. You got anything good for me?” He can hear the sound of Acer’s navicomputer as she loads in the data filed for transmission. “I don’t know, Bravo. I’m not sure it’s anything major.” A sudden whir from the console catches Poe’s attention, and he waits as the data files finish sending. There’s a final ding of completion and Poe grabs the readouts from a dataport.
He whistles as he takes in the preview on his console. “You got troop lists? How’d you manage that?” Poe can’t see her face, but he’s fairly sure Acer’s smirking. “I figured that if I was going to peek through the transparisteel to see the bucketheads shine their shoes, I might as well tally them down as well.” Poe shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s amazing. I don’t know how you manage it.”
Acer speaks through a slight flash of static. “Well, I’m not going to act like it was easy. My hands are still shaking.” Poe clicks his tongue. “Hey, that’s personal information. I’m not supposed to know about that.” Acer’s worried tone breaks up into laughter. “What, that I have hands? Did you think I was a droid?” Poe grins, pleased with himself for making her smile. “I wasn’t about to assume anything. You could be a very human-sounding droid.” Acer groans. “If you thought I was a droid throughout all of this, then I think I understand why the General doesn’t have you as a spy.”
Poe’s mouth drops open. “Are you insulting me, Acer? After all we’ve been through?” Her laugh sounds musical, even through the crackles of a radio line. “I don’t know. It might not be in my programming.” They chat for a while longer before Acer’s voice drops off. “It’s time already. The minutes fly by, don’t they? Well, that’s all the data I’ve got for today.” Poe smiles ruefully. “Well, there ain’t nobody like you. Bravo, over and out.” Acer calls out the same goodbye code before her end of the line goes dark. Poe waits a few minutes, as according to radio procedure, then shuts off the encrypted line.
It’s strange to think that at the end of the day, Poe doesn’t know anything more about Acer than he would a First Order lieutenant. Can you consider someone a friend if you’ve never seen them before? Whenever Poe’s sent on a mission to some planet under First Order command, he can’t help scanning the crowds of people as if he thinks he’ll see her somewhere. It makes no sense- he has no idea what Acer looks like, and she only knows him as Bravo, the voice across the air. Yet he still looks around as if hoping she’ll show up, like he’ll see someone and just intuitively know that they are the spy he’s been speaking to for so long.
Poe can still remember when he was first given the assignment. At first, he had chafed at the idea of being confined to a desk when he could be out in his X-Wing, taking down TIE fighters and rescuing Resistance officers like always. He’d plunked himself down at his assigned station, an empty room in a distant corner of the base. Poe had turned on the encrypted channel, readying himself for a boring half hour of talking to some dry business-as-usual intel agent. Yet instead of being forced to share comms with a watery old recon officer, he’d been greeted by Acer. Wild, laughing, ruthlessly clever Acer. He’d want no one else.
They’d become friends soon after that, it was practically inevitable. Poe doesn’t know much about the other spies the Resistance sent out, but he does know that Acer is one of the best there is. Poe feels some extension of pride whenever he gets to deliver the newly recovered data files to the General, like he had just as much of a role in their transmission as Acer. To be fair, he has talked her through a couple of bad scenarios, like when a First Order intercomms agent demanded to see her radio or when a shady Knights of Ren sympathizer nearly found her out. No matter how bad it got, they’d always found some way to make it through. They were a team, weren’t they? Acer and Bravo, the two ends of the comms.
Poe finds that he’s actually come to rely on his daily check-ins with Acer like he would a chat with a friend. He has no idea how it feels to be in her position, stuck in the middle of First Order space with nothing but a fragile lie to protect you. Sometimes, he can hear it in her voice- the fear, the knowledge that at any moment she could be found out and shipped off to a distant cell where she would rot for the rest of her days. Spies are risky operators, and oftentimes the Resistance can’t afford to bring them back, not if it would compromise the rest of their intel rings.
Poe remembers the instance when he was captured by the First Order and tortured on board their ship. He had known even then that the likelihood of him being brought back to the Resistance was low, almost negligible, yet he’d been fortunate enough to have been rescued by Finn. Renegade stormtroopers with hearts of gold, however, were hard to come by, and so Acer wouldn’t even be able to rely on that. It twists Poe’s stomach to think of her on her bad days, when she’s surrounded by the fear that she would disappear on those backwater city planets and never be found again. He’d look for her, he promises himself, but even Poe knows that one radio operator wouldn’t be enough to find Acer if she went missing. All he can do is hope that it won’t come to that.
A couple of weeks later, Poe is on the line with Acer again when he first hears something in the background. It’s a quiet noise, barely there, yet something about it feels strange. He speaks up. “Hey, Ace, you got a roommate there? I thought I heard something behind you.” There’s quiet for a moment, and then when Acer speaks again her voice is strained with panic. “I live alone. There should be nobody here with me.” Both of them stay silent for a moment as they realize the implications of this. If Acer should be alone, but somebody is there, then that means-
The explosions go off about half a second later. Distantly, Poe can hear the draw of a blaster from a holster and repeated fire. Acer bends close to the radio, speaking quietly so the attackers won’t hear. “There are First Order troops in my quarters. I repeat, there are First Order troops here. This is Acer, I am requesting sendoff. Bravo, do you copy?” Poe’s blood feels like ice in his veins. The sendoff code is one that he had hoped to never hear. It means that Acer is outnumbered, that she’s about to be captured. It means that the Resistance has to make a choice whether to save her or to damn her to end the rest of her life in First Order cells.
This is Poe’s greatest fear. When he speaks again, he has to force his voice to stay calm and never waver. If he sounds nervous, then it will only enhance her own fear. “This is Bravo, affirmative. I verify your sendoff.” He can hear a quiet sound, like a half-sob almost hidden in the din of the blaster fire. Poe feels sick to his stomach. He can’t do this, can’t abandon Acer like this. He knows in this moment that if he doesn’t do something he will never forgive himself, but what is there to do? It’s not like he can help fight the stormtroopers. He feels their separation like a knife. She is cut off from him in all ways but the radio, but what good can a comms channel do in a firefight?
Desperate, Poe clicks on his mic once more. “Acer, can you read me? Can you send your location?” This is his last hope- if she can send even a couple of coordinates they might be able to track her down, might be able to save her from the cells. Acer’s voice comes back over the air, and Poe feels his heart drop at her words. “That’s a negative, Bravo. I can’t risk any more transmissions.” Her voice breaks off, but it doesn’t sound like a tech difficulty. When she speaks once more, her voice is leaden, and it chills Poe to the bone.
“I’m not making it out, Bravo. It’s been good to know you. See you in the fall.” Poe’s jaw tightens when he hears the last phrase. ‘See you in the fall’ is a joke they have between them, that someday there will be a day when he and Acer will be able to leave their stations and find each other at the end of all of this- at the fall of the First Order, of the war and resistance effort itself, when everything is finally over. If she’s saying this, then she knows- Acer isn’t making it back.
Poe’s voice is seconds away from breaking. “I’ll see you in the fall, Acer. I promise.” He can hear her slight smile over the line, and it nearly kills him. Even now, she’s forcing herself to stay strong. “You have to end the channel, Bravo. Otherwise they’ll find you.” Poe shakes his head before forgetting that she can’t see him. “Don’t make me leave. I know I’m not here, but I can’t-” Poe forces himself to remain calm. He has to do this, it is his last job. He owes her this, at least. He owes it to her that the mission not fail completely.
Poe takes a moment to steady himself before continuing. “Affirmative, Acer. This is Bravo, over and out.” Poe drags his hand over to the buttons lining his console and robotically types in the command to permanently end the channel before the First Order can find them through it. Just before he severs the line, he hears her voice one last time. “I read you, Bravo. Acer, over and out.” Then there’s one last flurry of static, and everything goes quiet.
Poe sits for a second in the silence. His ears are ringing with the last remnants of the blasterfire. He stares at his hands, still hovering over the controls. Just like that, his friend is gone. Acer has been captured, and she knows that there’s no hope of her return. Poe has been fighting in the Resistance for a long time now, and he’s seen many friends and allies fall. This loss, however, is the hardest he has felt in a long time.
Poe’s footsteps echo through the halls until he comes to a stop in front of General Organa. She turns to him, expecting a proffered data file, but her smile fades when she sees the haunted look on his face. Poe’s voice registers dully in the room. “Recon Operator Acer has been cleared for sendoff.” And just like that, Poe has lost one of the best things in the fight.
#poe dameron#poe dameron imagines#poe dameron x reader#poe dameron series#star wars#star wars imagines#star wars x reader#star wars series#poe#poe imagines#poe x reader#poe series#star wars poe#star wars poe imagines#star wars poe x reader#star wars poe series
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