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mileskaneiscool · 2 months ago

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𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 '𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁 | 𝗈𝗇𝖾-𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍

—Poe Dameron x Reader | NSFW

Word Count: 6,969 (nice)

Tags: fem reader, no use of gendered pronouns, 2nd person POV, friends to lovers

CW: explicit sexual content, sex pollen, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex

Summary: Your lives run concurrent to each other for nearly ten years. What's it going to take to break out of the push and pull of your attraction to Poe Dameron?

masterlist | cross posted to ao3

You’re eighteen the first time you ever see Poe Dameron. The way people talk about him, you’d think he was some sort of mythical creature. A manticore or a phoenix, like the one in the stylized New Republic insignia on your sleeve.

Hosnian Prime is a hostile world that you’ve just entered. It’s not scorching and dry or filled with poisonous gas, but it is cold and sterile and filled with ruthless cutthroats. Except they’re really just young people your own age who would do anything to get ahead of the competition in the medical academy. Because you’re all already competing with the surgical droids, diagnostic scanners, and a whole host of medical AIs.

The flight academy is also on Hosnian Prime, and it seems every girl in your year is familiar with the name Poe Dameron.

He’s twenty-one. You can’t even remember the first time you heard his name. Though you get the peculiar feeling that he must have some character flaws that all the secondhand accounts fail to mention in between all that talk about his skills and his looks.

It happens on neither a notable day nor at a notable time. He’s at the river walk with his friends, you’re on a stroll with a group of your fellow medcorps privates.

“That’s him. Poe Dameron,” they whisper. “He’s one of Antilles’ best. Mother was a Rebel hero.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you glance up as you pass him. For a brief moment, you’re looking at Poe Dameron, and he’s looking at you. Then, the moment is gone, and you don’t think about him again for as long as his reputation will let you.

When you graduate from the academy and fully enter the New Republic service, there’s only a handful of your classmates left. The transfer from the academy to the naval base on Hosnian Prime is trying to say the least. Longer hours, smaller rooms, and more noise.

And Poe Dameron is there. He’s twenty-three and you’re twenty. The mess hall cheers when he walks through the doors.

“He’s so impressive, isn’t he?” a former classmate to your left titters. Her mouth forms into a frown when she sees your blank expression. “Come on. He’s just been promoted. Commander of his own squadron.”

“And he’s so young,” another girl adds.

There’s no way of expressing how insignificant any of this is to you without sounding bitter. So, you settle on saying, “Good for him,” in the most neutral tone you can conjure.

When you’re at blaster practice a few days later (because even though you joined the Navy to become a doctor, you’re still expected to learn how to defend yourself), Poe Dameron is at the shooting range. One gallery over with a couple of his pilot buddies. You don’t know who the officer on duty is, but they must be friends with Dameron because no one says anything about the ruckus they’re causing.

You hear their boisterous laughter, snippets of their conversation: “Blasted into oblivion… Flew circles around them… Told ‘em to punch it!” It dulls your concentration and makes you grit your teeth.

Shoulders back, feet apart. Hold the blaster like you’re not letting anyone take it from you. Breathe.

You squeeze the trigger, and in rapid succession, you hit all your targets. The sound of the blaster fire overtakes the hum of their laughter, and the conversation fizzles out. It isn’t until you lower your blaster that you realize the range has finally gone silent.

“Nice shot!” Dameron’s voice breaks the silence.

You turn to look at him, but he’s already scurrying out of the gallery, pulled along by his friends.

The rest of his time at the Hosnian Prime base, the two of you barely speak. There are only occasional nods and brief ‘good mornings’ as you pass each other in the halls. And then, in a month’s time, he’s gone. Deployed to some space station on some important mission. Inconsequentially, life goes on.

Mirrin Prime is your first and only foreign duty station. The last of your classmates are gone—scattered across the galaxy at other New Republic bases or space stations. Luckily, being in the service creates a shared experience that is good for fostering a quick sense of camaraderie.

The medcorps seniors take you under their wing. They show you the ropes, teach you the best places on base to study, and take you to the local hotspots. There’s one bar most of the New Republic service members seem to prefer, tucked away on the basement floor of a building in the seaport district.

Poe Dameron’s squadron has been stationed at Mirrin Prime for over a year already, and you would have had to be living under a rock to not know it. He’s twenty-six, and you’re just about to turn twenty-three.

He’s always been this famed figure, fawned after by all, but now his reputation seems larger than life. The ace pilot, made commander in his early twenties, with somebody different on his arm every week. You scoff, despite yourself.

“What?” Miri asks. “It’s true. He could have practically anyone in this bar.”

“Then, he’s a bigger sleazeball than I thought,” you mutter under your breath. Getting into this with your friend isn’t really something you wanted to do. So, you try to laugh it off. You just don’t understand the fascination.

One night, he’s at the bar at the same time as you, and to your utter bewilderment, he slides into the stool beside you while Miri and Kryscha are getting more drinks. You’re about to tell him the seat is taken when he opens his mouth.

“Lemme guess, they don’t serve swill like this to rich girls like you on whatever Core World planet you’re from.”

His voice is smooth as Corellian whiskey. And paired with that playful look, you almost don’t hear him at all. It’s the first time your eyes and his meet so directly. But after a moment, your brain processes his words. You refuse to let him see you speechless.

“I’m from Taanab.”

One corner of his mouth quirks up. “Close enough. I’m Poe Dameron, by the way.”

“I know who you are.” Then, after a beat, you realize you should reciprocate. “I’m—”

“I know who you are,” he says, interrupting you cheekily. “I remember you from Hosnian Prime.”

When your friends return, grinning from ear to ear at the sight of Poe Dameron at their table, he invites the three of you to join him and his friends. You pass for tonight, but Miri and Kryscha are happy enough to go along with them. You can’t pass forever, though, and when your friends all start to invite you out for the chance to have a drink with Poe Dameron, commander of Rapier Squadron, you start to cave.

That’s how your acquaintance with Poe Dameron begins. More and more each time you meet, you’re convinced all the high praise he receives is just a bunch of hot air. He’s really just a cocky flyboy with a lot of reckless tendencies and dumb luck.

He proves your point a few months later when he’s brought into the medbay after a nasty crash, and you’re the medic on call. You can’t help the way you storm in, heart beating in your throat in anticipation of the chewing out you were planning on giving him.

And no, it’s not because you’re mad at him for inviting Kryscha out on that date last week. It’s not envy you feel swelling in the pit of your stomach. It’s frustration that Poe thinks he’s too good to best, too good to get himself killed.

“Hey, you,” he says weakly when he sees you walk in, and the scolding you prepared dies on your tongue.

You patch him up roughly, tie his bandages on a little too tight. He squirms beneath the undue strength of your hands, even stifles a few groans and covers them up with a chuckle.

“I can’t tell if you’re mad at me or if you’re getting some sort of weird pleasure out of this.”

“Please.” You fix him with your scowl. “Don’t joke about this. You’re lucky you look worse than you actually are.”

“Will my looks be spared, you think?” He hisses as you pat the scrape along his cheekbone with bacta.

“It’s a long shot, but I think they’ll survive.”

That’s the closest you’ve ever come to admitting Poe Dameron is an attractive man. Even now, you’re inches away from his face, his bloodied shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor, and your fingers hover over the musculature of his bared shoulder. All the evidence you need right in front of you, and you still won’t say it outright.

The months roll by, and all the while, the ever-expanding shadow of the First Order looms over the New Republic. Miri is deployed on a diplomatic mission alongside Rapier Squadron and comes back with stories about Poe that sound a little intimate. But you think you’re reading too much into it until Miri starts grabbing drinks after work with Poe alone.

When Poe’s rotation at Mirrin Prime is nearly complete, he’s twenty-eight. You’re twenty-five.

He’s angrier than he used to be. Still flippant, but there’s an undercurrent of unrest in his voice when he speaks up about the New Republic’s leniency toward the First Order. He clenches his jaw and patrols trade lanes in the sector when what he wants is to be daring.

He gets his chance when one of those routine patrols goes sideways. Apparently, his droid picks up a distress call from a hijacked freighter he’s been tracking. Four Rapiers engage. Only three return.

You finally get the holocall you’ve been expecting. Poe Dameron is waiting for you in the medbay. His head got dinged sometime during the engagement over Suraz.

“I was being careful. I promise.”

He says it for your benefit, but it rings like a lie. You gently move aside his dark curls to apply bacta to his stitches.

“So you’re not going to do anything stupid?”

Poe cracks a grin at that, suppressing the wince that results from the coolness of the bacta against his warm scalp. “Now, why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” You’re too tired to think of something witty right now, so you pass that off for him to do.

“Why don’t we make a wager? If I come back alive from whatever it is I’m about to do, you go out for a drink with me.”

Your fingers stiffen up, and you quickly withdraw your hands to your sides. Even when you’re expecting something crazy to come out of his mouth, Poe still manages to surprise you.

“No, thank you.”

You turn to wash your hands and gather your things, and he lets you leave without another word. When you mention the short encounter to your friends at supper, unnerved and quite frankly a little angry that your friend, Poe Dameron, would deign to ask you to have a drink with him, they burst out into uncontrollable laughter. As if nobody in their right mind would relate to how you feel about it.

“Seriously? So, you turned him down then,” Miri asks.

“Of course.”

She shakes her head like you’re being ridiculous. “You don’t have to spare my feelings. It’s not like we were ever anything serious.”

“It’s not that,” you insist.

“Then, what is it?”

You close your mouth with a snap. There’s an answer waiting on your lips, but you’re afraid that it’ll sound like you’re being judgy. You simply do not want to be another person to fall over themselves trying to spend a night with Poe Dameron. Your refusal would likely do little to temper his ego in the long run, but it was really just about the principle of the thing.

When Poe disappears, not long after your conversation in the medbay, you can’t even be surprised. Command is furious. His squadron mates are brought in for questioning.

In the midst of the confusion, you’re sent with a different squadron on a mission to a space station in the mid rim. A hologram message from Miri fills you in. Poe has returned and been detained.

By the time you return from your mission, he’s gone without so much as a note, along with what was left of his squadron. There are rumors he’s joined the splinter group of the New Republic led by General Leia Organa.

It’s not long after your twenty-seventh birthday that you and a few of your fellow medics decide to defect to the Resistance too. You’d heard Poe landed his own command of an entire attack wing in the Resistance.

Sure enough, one of your first missions sees you working with a few pilots from one of his squadrons. He’s just gotten back from one of his own operations and is there to personally brief his men. His lips quirk up at the corners when he spots you approaching.

“This one’s trouble, so keep an eye on her,” he says teasingly. “Make sure everything’s in order before you head out.”

He dismisses the pilots to finish prepping and turns to look you over like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. You bite back the acid that threatens to spew out of your mouth at him for leaving without a word.

“Been a while. How you doing, sweetheart?”

No, he doesn’t get to do that. “I have to go, Dameron. They’re waiting for me.”

You go to shove past, but he stops you with a large hand on your shoulder. Looking at him this close reveals shallow lines of age at the corners of his eyes and the plane of his forehead, eyes sunken in, and a hollowness to his cheeks that you never noticed before. Nearly a decade has slipped by without you even realizing it.

“It’s good to have you on board.” He says it with an authenticity that he reserves for serious occasions, few and far between.

You answer with a nod, and he releases you. He waits and watches from the hangar until your ship makes the jump to hyperspace.

The sound of blaster fire rings in your ears as you sprint through the unfamiliar hangar, an insistent hand on the small of your back pressing you on as you swerve to avoid stacks of cargo and startled droids. You want to turn around and snap at the man the hand is attached to, but the situation you find yourself in is a little too precarious for personal gripes.

“Shouldn’t we go back and help?!” you yell over the twangs of ricocheted shots on metal.

“No time!” Poe says as he ushers you into the cramped cockpit of the light freighter he’d flown you in on. “Besides, we’re the ones they’re after. I need to get you out of here.”

“But—”

The words you were about to speak fade away under the roar of the ship’s engines. You barely have time to throw your bag onto the floor and slip on your headset before Poe launches the ship out of the hangar. He narrowly avoids scraping the ship against the edge of the entrance on the way out.

“Kriff! The only thing I need protecting from out here is you!” you shout, grappling for a hold of something to keep yourself steady as you struggle to strap into your seat. The high-pitched sound of two TIE fighters screeches behind, followed by more blaster fire.

“You sure about that?” he retorts, sending the ship into an evasive dive.

You’re pretty sure Poe stalls for as long as he can to show off a few of his flashy maneuvers to no one in particular, hooting victoriously in his usual self-satisfied manner after each one. Finally, he lines up a shot and takes out both enemy fighters in quick succession.

“Did you see that?!” Poe cries.

You fight the urge to let out a frustrated scream. “We didn’t have time to go back and help, but you somehow had time for that? Honestly, Dameron, just get us the hell out of here!”

“Okay, okay,” he says, finally punching in the proper coordinates to make the jump to hyperspace. Once you’re hurtling through the familiar blue tunnel, you breathe a small sigh of relief and relax the tense muscles of your shoulders.

“Aw, stop your pouting, Doc. We made it out in one piece, didn’t we?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I wouldn’t call losing an entire shipment of medical supplies a win.”

That purchase had taken weeks to set up and cost the Resistance a not-insignificant sum. Kalonia was gonna kill you.

“It wasn’t worth the risk. You’re more valuable than a bunch of bacta and synthplast,” Poe says.

From anyone else, those words would have sounded like a compliment. But this is Poe Dameron, and taking harebrained risks is almost second nature to him. The unexpectedly charitable comment rolls off you like water off an airtight seal. It takes a lot of restraint to hold in a scoff, but you’ve had plenty of practice.

He’s always been impossible.

“Didn’t you manage to salvage a few things?” Poe jerks his head toward your discarded bag. You’d only had enough time to shove a few handfuls of supplies into it without checking what you were taking once the shooting started.

“A few bandages and some pain medicine? Regardless, we should have gone back and helped,” you mutter, folding your arms across your chest. “Not just for the supplies. We were meant to refuel before heading back.”

“Don’t sulk. It’ll be fine. And I’ll put in a good word with the major for you,” Poe says.

And with that, your self-control falters. You let out a short laugh. As if he were so important that his word would do anything to lessen the failure of your mission.

“No, thank you. I think I’m good,” you bite out at him.

He pauses to scrutinize you pensively. “I honestly thought you were just having a bad day, but you really don’t like me, do you? I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realize it.”

A bad day, he says. That’s one way to describe it. But his accusation finally catches you off guard and you sputter a bit.

“A-are you sure you’re not just used to getting special treatment from everyone else?”

He shakes his head. “Look, it’s okay. I know I’m not everybody’s cup of tea.” He lapses for a moment, thoughtful, then adds, “I mean, I’m most people’s. But not yours. There’s no accounting for taste, but I respect your opinion.”

You groan quietly and dig the heels of your palms into your eyes. He’s teasing you. Or he isn’t, and he’s disguising a genuine wound behind a glib attitude. Part of you doesn’t wish to know which is true, so you unstrap yourself from your seat and hoist yourself up onto your feet.

“I can never tell if you’re screwing with me,” you mutter as you duck out of the cockpit and shut the door behind you.

You’re not running away. You’re not. You’re just tired and overwrought from this mission. It’s going to be a few hours before the ship reaches D’Qar, so you might as well try to relax. Luckily, there’s a space in the main hull for you to put up your feet. And although you’re not looking for it, you fall expeditiously into an uneasy sleep.

The feeling of the starship lurching out of hyperspace jerks you awake. Even though you’re groggy from your nap, you know it’s too soon for the ship to have reached the Ileenium system already. You stretch out your arms and get to your feet.

“Poe?”

He doesn’t look up at you as you squeeze back into the cockpit. His focus is fixed on the nav computer, brows knitted and his lower lip drawn into a soft bite between his teeth. There’s an ever-growing sinking feeling in your stomach.

“Poe, what’s going on?” you ask carefully.

“We, uh…” He chuckles sheepishly. “We ran out of fuel.”

“What?”

“Now, you don’t have to say ‘I told you so.’ I admit, we should have fueled up before we left.”

“You think?”

Poe finally turns to meet your furious gaze with those big brown eyes of his, exuding innocence. “In my defense, I was trying to save our lives.”

At this point, you’re trying your best not to smack yourself in the forehead in frustration. First, you fail to complete your mission. Now, you were going to need rescuing on top of that.

“Okay, what do we do now? Did you get in touch with the base?” You don’t even know why you’re making such an effort to keep your voice steady and calm.

“Great question,” Poe says in a chipper tone that puts you on edge. “We’re getting picked up by a New Republic patrol. They should be here in just a couple hours.”

Maker, you knew what that meant. It meant the Resistance couldn't spare a ship to pick them up, so they’re letting someone else who was already in the area do the rescuing. And it meant more time than expected spent in close quarters with Poe.

You’re still feeling awkward from earlier. Maybe you should head back to claim the hull for yourself to wait it out alone. You’re just about to do just that when Poe speaks up again suddenly.

“Hey, I don’t suppose I could have some of that medicine? I think I pulled something running away earlier.”

“Whatever.” You wave your hand dismissively and drop back into your chair, staring out into the starry void.

He gets up and shuffles around behind you. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

Poe doesn’t answer. It sounds like he’s fiddling with something now, like a stick lid. You let out a beleaguered sigh and turn just in time to see him jimmy the opening of a small canister.

“Wait—,”

It opens with a pop and releases a loud hiss. Although you can’t see anything, the noise is a clear indication that Poe has just released something into the air. Instinct takes over, and you spring up to smack the canister out of his hand. It clatters to the ground, and he gives you a strange look.

“What was that supposed to do?”

“I don’t know!”

“What was even in that thing?”

A thousand scenarios race through your head. It could have been anything. Poe likely inhaled most of whatever came out of that canister. “Do you feel anything?”

He contemplates for a moment, then shakes his head. “I feel normal.”

“Okay, that’s a good sign.”

You get up and walk over to where the canister has rolled against the wall. When you pick it up to inspect the label, you have to rub your eyes to make sure you’re reading it right.

“Uhm… you’ll be okay, Poe. Don’t panic, okay?”

He jumps to his feet. “I do not like the way you just said that. What is it, Doc? Poison? Just tell me.”

You fight against a furious blush. Before you can form an answer, Poe’s eyes widen slightly and his head snaps up to meet your gaze. He may not have felt anything before, but it’s clear the effects have started to take hold now.

“What’s happening to me?” he asks, his voice calm but shaky.

There’s a flush spreading over his face that you’re sure matches yours. Perspiration shines on his temple, and he swallows as his blackening pupils flicker around restlessly. They hone in on your mouth when your tongue darts out to wet your suddenly dry lips.

“Experimental drug. Mostly black market.” You pause to bite your lip anxiously. “Acute aphrodisiac. It was developed to artificially increase populations of an endangered species native to the Tapani sector.”

Poe moans into his hands and rubs his knuckles into his increasingly bloodshot eyes. “Okay, that explains… things.”

Embarrassment burns through you, hot and bright. Not for Poe, but for yourself. Because in spite of yourself, there's a lick of desire that shudders down your spine at the sight of him. You turn abruptly to hide your face. What kind of sick person would react this way to this?

You try to turn your frustration around on him. “Why would you mess around with something when you don’t know what’s inside it?”

Behind you, he lets out a groan that sounds as if it’s been muffled against his fist. If he hears your question, he doesn’t have the patience to respond. “How long is this going to last exactly?”

The answer is too mortifying for you to push out of your throat. You wrap your arms around yourself self-consciously. There’s only one way to make the effects of the drug go away. And if you don’t do it, he’ll be in excruciating pain for hours.

There’s not just the waiting for the New Republic patrol to consider. There’s also the matter of getting towed to the nearest system. And if there’s no one who can treat him there, he’ll have to endure refueling and getting the rest of the way to the Resistance base on D’Qar.

You steel your resolve and try to make your face as neutral as possible when you turn back to him. “You don’t have to be in pain. There is something we can do now to neutralize the drug.”

He laughs weakly through his discomfort, and that makes you raise your eyebrows at him. “You’re not seriously suggesting what I think, are you? That-that’s just crazy. Right? Doc?”

Indignantly, you anchor your hands to your hips and frown. “What is it that you think I’m suggesting?”

Poe is quiet for a moment as if he’s waiting for you to give up a jest. But when you only watch him expectantly, he drops his tight smile and says, “Oh, you are serious. No. No. It’s out of the question.”

“I’m suggesting I help out a friend,” you sigh. “Why is that so unthinkable?”

“By having sex with me?” He shakes his head with a scoff.

His tone grates at your nerves. “Well, thanks for that. I thought you were willing to fuck anything that moves, but I guess I’m the one exception to that rule.”

You storm out of the cockpit and mash the side of your fist against the release to close the door behind you. Poe throws himself through before the door can shut completely and grabs you by the shoulder.

“Wait! No, that’s not—,”

You’re about to send your elbow straight into his gut when he doubles over with a cry. He releases his grip on your shoulder and flails wildly until he gets a hold of the wall, letting out a long groan.

“Dank ferrik,” you mutter as you slide your arm under his. He leans against you as you lead him to the sofa where you’d taken a nap earlier. Even through the fabric of his shirt, his skin feels scorching to the touch.

“You have to believe me. It’s not that you’re not a beautiful woman. Because you are. Beautiful, I mean.”

His voice is thin like he’s not getting enough air. You push him to relax against the backrest with a shush.

“Would you just take it easy? I don’t care about that. You’re only putting yourself in more pain.”

“No.” He takes your arms in his hands to cease your ministrations. “You need to hear me. This isn’t how I want this. It’s all wrong. That’s why I can’t have sex with you.”

His gaze is too direct, too piercing. You have to force yourself not to look away. “W-what?”

“Ideally I’d like to have sex with you because you like me,” he says through a groan. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he bites back his pain. “Not because you feel obligated to sleep with me when I’m on the brink of passing out.”

You sigh and crouch down so you’re at eye-level with him. “Poe. I don’t feel obligated to. I want to help you.”

“Doc, no. Okay? And that’s final.”

He shuts his eyes and sucks in a breath through his teeth. And it’s in that moment that it all hits you.

He’s choosing now to be chivalrous. To absolve you of your guilt for causing the continuation of his pain. But you want no part of that. Carefully, you reach out one hand to cup his stubbled face, and the muscles of his jaw jump beneath your fingers.

“I’m not gonna let you suffer.”

His eyes flutter open in time to watch you lean forward, putting your face millimeters from his. They stare transfixed, first at your eyes, then at your lips.

“It’s always been hard to resist you. But I don’t think I can control myself right now.”

His words shoot straight to your core. You’re practically hovering over his lap now. He clenches his fists at his sides—one last desperate attempt to hold himself back.

“You don’t have to,” you breathe.

Then, everything snaps, and Poe is sitting up straight as a knife, mouth crashing onto yours. He kisses you like a man starved. Desperate, without thought for breath, his hands grabbing at your hair and the nape of your neck.

He swallows every gasp before they can even tumble from your lips, knees parting so he can wrench you flush against his chest. His stubble is merciless on the soft skin of your face, and the small moans he emits between nips compounds the growing ache between your legs.

It’s nice. It’s all way more than nice, but he needs more than this to quell the effects of the drug. You reach down between your bodies and feel around and—

Kriff. The bulge at his crotch is already as hard as durasteel. Poe lets out a whine as you squeeze him through the fabric of his pants.

“Not yet,” he whispers, shoving your hand away.

Before you can protest, he flips you onto your back on the sofa and dips down to capture your lips with his again. His tongue slips past your teeth, drags against the roof of your mouth. The pressure of his fingertips on your neck is bliss. When he moves to press a kiss to your throat, your heart starts to beat rabbit-fast in your chest, breaths coming in short bursts.

Poe claws at your arms, grabs at your chest and hips over your clothes, too far gone to bother removing the layers. Your own hands slide under his shirt and along the damp skin of his back, fascinated by the way his muscles ripple beneath your touch. Driven by need, you shove your face to the crook of his neck and mouth at the cords of his throat. His taste bursts across your tongue.

The moan he releases makes you clench your thighs together, and you realize the sheer amount of slick that’s managed to accumulate at your center. Shame heats your face—you’re getting hopelessly turned on by a drugged-up Poe. You’ve refused to be another notch in his belt for almost a decade.

“Hey, look at me.”

He takes you by the chin and tilts slightly so you’re looking into his eyes. They’re nearly black, but there’s still something warm in them that eases the tension in your shoulders. He’s still Poe. He’s still your friend.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He rocks his hardened length against your thigh, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’m not.” The words are leaving your mouth before your brain has time to think. They shock him as much as you. For a long moment, all you do is stare at each other, chests heaving. Then, Poe rips the waistband of your pants and underwear down to your knees.

He growls your name into the juncture between your neck and shoulder and dips his index finger into your cunt without preamble. The sudden intrusion makes you lift your back off the sofa, gasping. Another finger joins in, then another, as Poe groans eagerly.

“I’m not sorry,” you pant, hips squirming. “I care about you, Poe.”

“I care about you too. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.”

His head disappears and suddenly he’s positioning his face between your legs. Hot breath fans across your soaking folds as his fingers continue to fuck you unrelentingly. A shudder runs through you in anticipation.

“I’ve thought about tasting you for years,” he murmurs.

Even now, when he’s hovering over his goal, Poe can’t help but love hearing himself talk. You make a frustrated noise and glance down at him. His eyes make contact with yours just as he flattens his tongue against your clit.

All your thoughts dissipate at the molten hot feel of his mouth. There’s no build up, no softness. Just the firm swirl of his tongue and the slide of his fingers, desperate and frenzied like years of longing are pouring out of him at this very moment.

There’s nothing to hold on to, so you fist your hands above your head as you cant your hips. Poe doesn’t mind your writhing. Seems to savor the way your body reacts to his touch. Perhaps he’s dreamt of how you would look pinned beneath him like this.

Pleasure builds at the base of your spine as he moans into your cunt like your sweetness is everything he’s imagined and more. When he closes his lips around your clit and sucks, a cry finally rips from your throat.

“O-oh! That’s—,”

“You like that?” His voice is so low and husky it reverberates in his chest. Makes you shiver deliciously.

“I need to fuck you now.”

An eagerness forms on his face as you kick your pants off the rest of the way and press your foot into his chest. Obediently, he wraps his fingers around your ankle and straightens, lets you push him down until his back is against the armrest. He flashes you a dark smile as he languidly kisses his way from your ankle to your calf.

“If I’d known you were so keen, I would have done this ages ago.”

“Shut up.” His teasing rips a hole in your pride, but you can’t think of anything more clever to say.

“Yes, Doctor,” he says, winking.

You scoff and make quick work of the closures of his trousers as Poe grips the swell of your hips. He was being way too cocky—you want to smack that smug expression right off his face. The effects of the drug must have been quelled by what the two of you have done so far, but it’s going to take release for him to be cured completely.

With his free hand, Poe reaches past the waistband of his underwear. When he eases out his cock, it’s flushed an angry red and already weeping at the tip. He must be frustrated from the neglect, aching from need. Curiosity compels you to wrap your fingers around his searing thickness, and his mouth falls open with a moan.

A thrill runs through you. He’s beautiful like this. Dark brows drawn together, plush lips parted, and head tipped back to reveal his sharp jaw and exposed throat covered in unshaven shadow. No, he’s always been beautiful. You’ve just always been too stubborn to admit it.

“Please.” His voice comes out like a whine, but a part of you still clings to the idea that his plea is just him indulging you to get what he wants.

Every secret resentment you’ve held against him over the years bubbles to the surface. “I can’t stand you, you smooth-talking, arrogant, laserbrained ass.”

You roll your fist hard over his cock. Poe bites his lower lip to muffle a cry, dazed by the mixture of pleasure and pain.

“You’re gorgeous. I adore you,” he moans, splaying his fingers over your thighs. The strength of his grip makes your mouth water.

Swiftly, you raise your hips up and position the head of his throbbing member at your fluttering entrance. When you sink down, taking the length of him inside you, you both groan. Much to your surprise, it doesn’t feel like defeat.

“Stars. You feel so good.”

He urges you to move, shoving your hips forward in a grinding motion. You squirm above him as you struggle to adjust to his size. When he pushes you back, his cock hits something inside you that makes the edges of your vision go white. You keen his name, and he quickens his pace, guiding you back and forth atop him.

“Say it again. Say my name like you only want me.”

“Poe,” you sigh, driving your hips against his. You clench around him, desperately chasing the sweet release that was just out of reach.

He releases a soft grunt as he lifts up off the armrest and captures your bottom lip between his teeth. You wind your arms under his and dig shallow crescents into his back with your fingernails as he drags the bite out then flicks his tongue over the resulting sting soothingly.

“I’d be yours if you asked, Doc,” he murmurs as he tangles his fingers in your hair. “All you’d have to do is ask.”

You nip at his lip in retaliation, hard enough to draw a yelp from him. “Stop bullshitting me, flyboy.”

Poe’s fingers close around a handful of hair, and he gives it a short tug. You gasp as your head falls back and his lips latch onto the side of your throat. He brazenly sucks a mark into the delicate skin there and grins at his handiwork.

“Brat.”

“Sweetheart.”

He bucks up into you, his cock reaching deeper inside you than his fingers ever could. In a few simple moves, he’s turned the tables and taken control again. The irritation rises in you in tandem with the heat of pleasure building in your belly.

“I’m being serious. It’s not the drug talking,” he says between pants.

You know that. At least while he’s fucking you, the drug has no effect on him. You roll your eyes at him and just focus on riding him. But Poe doesn’t give up easy. He whines your name.

“Leave me alone,” you mutter, grinding down and taking him in to the hilt.

He sucks in a breath and shakes his head. “I can't.”

Rough fingers find their way to your clit and draw tight circles over the bundle of nerves. His other hand slips beneath the fabric of your bra and toys with a hardened nipple. Poe handles your body with the same confidence he has when operating the dash in his X-wing. It’s the last straw that puts you over the edge, and suddenly you feel like you’re taking off into the stars.

He fucks you through your orgasm, plunging into your cunt over and over as he lets broken moans tumble from his mouth indiscriminately. “Beautiful. I’m close. So close.”

You surrender to the frantic rhythm of his thrusts, boneless and hanging on to his taut shoulders for dear life. When his hips begin to stutter, you clench down on him, earning you a strangled cry of your name. Poe drives up one last time and spills inside of you, and the sensation of his hot spurts makes you whimper and shudder over him.

When he collapses back onto the armrest, he takes you down with him so that you’re lying flush against his heaving chest. Everything sounds so distant, so far away compared to the roar of blood pumping in your ears. You stay like that for a while as the both of you try to recover.

“Did that… work?” you ask finally, breaking the silence filled with only the sounds of your combined breaths returning to normal.

“You could say that,” he says. He glances down at you. “Oh, right, the drug. The pain’s gone. Don’t think it’s coming back.”

“Good.”

You start to shift to pull yourself off his softening cock, but he presses a hand against the small of your back to hold you still. Inquisitively, you look back up to meet his gaze. Warm brown was starting to return to the edges of his eyes as his pupils receded.

“Listen, sweetheart. I know you think I’m a flirt. But the truth is it’s just my way of staying in control.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you let out a tired exhale through your nose.

“It’s true. C’mon, best pilot in the Resistance? I’m just a conquest for these people. Turning them into conquests puts the power back into my hands,” he says. “None of them want me because they actually know me.”

“What are you saying?” you ask, your heartbeat high in your throat.

Poe’s fingers dance lazily across your back as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’m saying you’re not a conquest. I wasn’t just chasing after you out of some sick, twisted need to bed the one girl I couldn’t have.”

You lift yourself up slightly to get a better look at him, and the softness of his expression threatens to break your heart. He brushes his knuckle against your cheekbone and tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear. The gesture is so tender and intimate, it makes your stomach flutter.

“Let me prove it to you. Let me take you out properly when we get back. I promise you, you won’t regret—,”

“Poe,” you say, cutting him off and taking his chin between your thumb and index finger. “It’s a date, alright? So shut up.”

And with that, you lean down to kiss him again and feel him smiling against your lips.

masterlist | cross posted to ao3

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