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writefasttalkevenfaster · 5 years ago

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Poe Dameron / Home

Summary: Childhood friends who grew apart, Poe and you find your way back to each other. Again and again.

Word Count: 21,540

Warnings: M, swearing (i don’t use the star wars swears I’M SORRY), sexual situations (smut who am i kidding), mentions of amputation and injuries, angst, spoilers for TFA

A/N: the fact I’m writing a sw fic astonishes me. I have evaded this fandom. But that changed when I read @damerondjarin‘s fic “Show me the Stars” on a whim at 4 AM b/c social distancing has messed w/ my sleep. Anyway that’s when I discovered Poe Dameron and Oscar Issac and my life became a mess. Also I blame love @laneygthememequeen for doing nothing but encouraging this relentlessly (and putting up with my shit about this fic for far too long).

"What do you want, Dameron?"

You tried to sound annoyed. You did. An effort that was all too unfortunately wasted. Even as irritation dripped from your voice, injected into every iota of your tone, and placed front and center in your narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Even still, it wavered.

Because it was hard to be annoyed when Poe Dameron was standing before you, lips quirked in a pleading smile. As always.

"Come on sweetheart,” he tilts his head, you ignore the twinge in your heart at the term of endearment, “no need to give the cold shoulder-"

You scoff, choosing to focus on the task at hand of cleaning up the mess your quarters had become between double shifts at the medcenter, "I don't remember allowing you to call me 'sweetheart,'”

"Really, because I do?" He ran a hand through his curls, teeth grazing his lip, looking all too pleased with himself, "when you asked me out."

You scoff, refusing to acknowledge your traitorous cheeks, "That was at least 17 years ago. Pretty sure the expiration date on that offer ended almost two decades ago."

Another life within itself. A small deviation in a steady routine of friendship - one that you had sworn to never repeat.

"Look," the resignation in his voice only made you feel worse, made more so by his furrowed brow and twisting frown, "I need your help."

"How many times have you said that sentence to me?" Too many. You say it so easily, too playful that it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, despite it dancing across your tongue - already far too caught up in the familiar rhythm of the banter, and you knew he felt it too - by the smile that blooms on his lips.

"And how many times did you end up helping me?" He rolls his eyes, lips curled all too knowingly, as he leans against your doorframe again, "I know you put up a front, but after all these years, you're not a mystery to me, sweetheart. I know you'll say yes. You always do."

You stop in your rifling, biting your lip. Back to him, guilt crawled up your gut, until it clawed at your mind. He was right - you did always help. And you hated yourself for it, shoving uniforms into a drawer, before nearly slamming it shut. No matter how strong you were, no matter how many people you saved, no matter how long it had been, you still had a weakness - and he was sitting right in front of you.

"Please?" He adds, and you turn, arms crossed and shoulders slumped.

"What is it?" you hate how your heart squeezes when he beams at you, grabbing your hand and pulling you out the door, "You still didn't tell me what it is-"

He had the gall to squeeze your hand, and throw a smile over his shoulder, "Does it matter?"

No, no it didn't.

Whatever stupid plan or boxed corner Poe Dameron had gotten himself into, he always found a way out - and usually you were there with him — unless he was in his x-wing.

When was it that you realized you were truly stuck with him? Was it when you both bonded over losing your parents? Had the traumatic experience adhered you to one another? Was it when you realized you the Resistance was all you both knew? And when you realized that maybe it was all you would ever know. Or maybe it was when you were fifteen and you were being dragged along, just like this, and you realized you never wanted to let go. And now, you realized you still didn’t.

You thought you were over this.

You thought you were finally over this after seeing women falling head over heels for him time and time again. That's when you had believed it had finally clicked that you needed to stop holding onto feelings that would never come true. But, what happens to feelings that you never admit? They linger and fester - and then they return, at moments like this - moments where his hand fits so perfectly in yours, the heat of his body crawling up your own, and his lips quirk beautifully into a smile that leaves your mind a mess.

Oh, your eyes flicker to the back of his head as you follow him out of the building, what have you gotten yourself into?

You were better than this - smarter than this. You were a medic - highly ranked, widely regarded. You had even begun to mentor other medics and guide through the same training you had sat through. You repeated these things like a mantra, as if it would snap you out of the hold that he’s unknowingly had you in all these years. But it didn't. You thought you were smart. And you were. But not when it came to Poe Dameron.

He pulls you outside towards the landing strip for the x-wings, "Is something wrong with your x-wing?" He doesn't answer — which is answer enough. You break his hold on you, rounding him, forcing him to stop dead in his tracks, "what did you do?"

He rubs the back of his head, "So I may or may not have been flying it when I wasn't supposed to," you sigh, head already throbbing at the prospect, "and I may have damaged it trying to pull off a maneuver I've been working on-"

"Dameron, who are you trying to impress that you already haven't?" He flinches, and you know you hit the nail on the head. Ignoring the twinge of jealousy in your chest, you continue, "Everyone knows that you're the best pilot we got. Why don't you enjoy it and not endanger yourself and the ship?" Finally you find yourself at his x-wing.

"Seems like you care more about the ship than me," he grumbles, muttering something else you don't quite hear, but you slide right past it.

"Can you blame me?” you add, “Plus I would have taken care of your injuries by now," Crossing your arms, walking around the ship, "you're the one damaging the poor thing."

He snorts, "You act as if it has feelings,"

You raise a brow, "And you don't?" You bite back the smile at his silence, instead examining the outside of the ship, taking stock of any visible damage, "Why didn't you have your mechanic do this?"

"Because she would kill me,"

You snort, "And I won't?"

"You're a medic, what happened to do no harm?" You glower at him, and the corner of his mouth quirks, "Plus, come on, we both know you're stuck with me for life."

No, no dwelling on his comment, "And how about BB-8?"

He sighs, "Little buddy is tired after our last mission-"

"He is literally a robot,"

"Droid,” he corrected, “Pretty sure calling them robots is a little insensitive," he tilts his head, as if your tone finally seems register. He adjusts the sleeves of his shirt, unfairly rolled up to expose his forearms, "do you have a problem doing this?"

You keep your expression perfectly neutral, irritation ebbing away to regret.

No, and that was the exact problem.

Poe came and went from your life in waves. Missions would keep him busy, General Organa kept him busy. The First Order saw him more than you did. And it wasn't like you weren't busy yourself. And sometimes, always right when you're ready to put him in your past - the water finally recedes — but then he appears, and another wave breaks the shore. And you are stuck falling back into old patterns.

But you can’t tell him that. So you tell him half-truths, and hope he doesn’t see that it’s borne of half a lie.

You shake your head, popping the paneling open to examine some of the wiring, "Of course not, but I'm far from an expert. I only started learning from Wren how to repair these things, and I still have a long way-"

He steps up beside you to watch, his voice murmuring beside you, A long way to go for you means a hell of a lot better than most experts."

"I just want you safe, Dameron," you admit, suppressing a shiver at his voice in your ear, "and I want you to run tests with Wren after I'm done."

"I will, but I trust you," he adds, voice soft, "I trust you with my life."

You look up from the circuits instinctively, finding yourself much closer to his face than you thought you were. Noses practically brushing, you only see him, as always. You see the stray curls falling in his face as he stares at you, and you hope he couldn't hear the hitch of your breath. And did you imagine his eyes flickering from your gaze to your lips; and his lips, the sly grin falling from his features into something - something unreadable.

"You would?"

He chuckles and you swear you can feel the rumble of his chest, "I already have. And I always will."

"Always is a long promise to keep," you breathe back, and he smiles.

"Well for you, sweetheart, I have no doubt I can keep it," his fingers brush your cheek, and you hold your breath, eyes fluttering shut until -

BEEP.

BB-8 sends you two jumping apart.

Your heart in your throat and blood roaring in your ears - you don't have time to process what just happened. You shove it down, down to the place where all your feelings about Poe went. Untouched, but unforgotten.

Instead, you whip your head back to the circuits, trying to ignore both the burn of your cheeks and the burning linger of Poe’s gaze, "Hey little guy, long time no see," he beeps at you, "yeah I'm just looking over the circuits."

You glance at Poe, and see his mouth open and shut, before seemingly plastering on an easy smile, "Isn't she the best?" He kneels to talk to BB-8.

You preen at the sound of his compliment, despite your best efforts, Poe continues to explain to BB, "she's learning from Wren."

He chirps again, and Poe's brow does furrow this time, "He's right, why are you learning about mechanics? Don't you usually have a shift at the hospital now?"

And here is the other reason you didn't want to see him.

---------

"Stop," you follow after Poe as he walks away from the ship, "Poe, just talk to me."

He pauses a moment, but then strides forward with a second wind, until you catch him by the arm, "I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd react this way-"

He scoffs, he whips his arm away, as if your touch burned, as if it disgusted him - and you didn’t know which was worse, "How would you know my reaction? You don't even trust me enough to me that you are leaving the medcenter to become a mechanic?"

"I haven't left yet," you say lamely, and he shakes his head, walking off in a huff.

But suddenly, he whirls on you, fists clenched, "And you made this decision when?"

You pause, biting your lip, "A month ago,"

"A month?" He repeats, eyes hard, before turning on his heel again.

"Poe, I wanted to tell you,"

He scoffs, laced with sarcasm, "Obviously," he faces you again, lips twisted in frown, "You know I know we haven't seen each other lately, but I didn't think we stopped being friends. I pushed you to do this because I missed you," his words are so achingly true, red hot coal being dragged across an open wound, “but I see that you didn’t.”

Your chest aches, and you reach for him, so desperate for the touch you wanted nothing to do with earlier, tears stabbing at the corners of your eyes, "We didn't stop being friends," he doesn't listen, only turning to leave, "Poe, we didn't. I'm sorry."

"Then why?" His gaze towards the sky, arms crossed. And no words come to mind - and your wordless reply makes him begin to walk away again. Only at the sight of his retreating back do you find them, shaking free from the place you had shoved down.

"I didn't want to tell you I was breaking our promise!”

He stops in his tracks, "What are you talking about?"

It’s your turn to scoff, "You remember that I told you I liked you once, but you don't remember the promise we made to each other to follow our dreams?"

A hint of red in his cheeks, he doubles down on his scowl, "I remember the promise, but I meant what does that have to do with this?"

"Poe, you promised to be a pilot, and I promised to be a medic - that we were going to commit ourselves to the same cause our parents did. We were going to save people, together," his expression softens, "We did, and I did. And I was damn good at it — I am damn good at it," you see the corner of his mouth tug, "but I'm not good enough."

His brow furrows, "Wh-"

"I can't save everyone, and I know I can't. But I’ve watched the blood drain their complexion one too many times. I’ve seen their last breath exhale from their throat, their chest rise and fall for the last time,” you take a steadying breath, “I've seen people I couldn't do anything for, and I've seen people I could do something for, but I wasn't fast enough," you swallow lump in your throat, "it eats away at you. It was consuming me.”

His shoulders sag, "Sweetheart-"

"So, when I decided to go back on that...it was hard," you rubbed at your arms, a cool breeze sending a shiver up your body, "and it was even harder to tell you I was leaving, so I didn't."

"It's okay if your dreams change. It's okay if this isn't what you want to do," he says, finding his way back to your side, but he sees your hesitation - the same you desperately didn't want to admit, “this is what you want, right?”

And there is the other reason you didn’t want to tell him - he always could see right through you, charting a course through your expression to your feelings, even when you didn’t want to admit them. To the fear you had kept - the one you kept even from yourself.

“It’s what I need to do,” you admit, and to your surprise, he doesn’t push it any further, instead he only pouts.

"I just hate that you didn't tell me,” he sighs, shoulders sagging.

You sigh, muttering all too loudly, “There’s a lot I don’t tell you,” before you can catch yourself, and you swear under your breath.

His head snaps up, “What do you mean by that?”

You hesitate, “Nothing,”

He lifts a finger, “You’re hiding something. Badly. You’ve never been a good liar,” he slowly moves closer to you as you back away in tandem, “I’ve known you my whole life, I know when you’re hiding something, and if you don’t tell me what it is,” he steps closer, and closer, until your back is to an x-wing, “I’ll just figure it out.”

You stare up into his face - his eyes, his lips, everything far too close. You brush past him, shaking your head, flexing your fingers, "I'm sorry, I—” you cut yourself off, "I just need to go.”

He catches you by the hand, pulling you back to him, bumping against his chest, "No," and you feel his answer rumble against you.

Your cheeks flare, "What do you mean no?"

"I mean, tell me what you mean," he says, eyes narrowed, "no more lying, no more hiding. Tell me."

"You- I-" No excuses come to mind, instead all that is left burning on your tongue is the truth - and you can’t tell him the truth. You can’t. But his eyes bore into you, until you cover your face with your hands, "I just, just let me go, Dameron,"

He eases your hands from your face, "Do you still have a crush on me, sweetheart?"

Your expression gives away your answer and you know it. And even if it didn't, your hesitation surely did. Hesitation was the mother of truth. And you sit in the silence of it all - much like the embarrassment and fear on your throat, your heart fallen to the center of D’qar by now. "I-"

"Because I have one on you," he says softly, and you blink. A moment passes, and another. And still you don’t believe what you’ve heard. You only stare, as if waiting to wake from this dream. To awake in your bed alone, and utterly disappointed and embarrassed, like you were a moment ago. But it never comes.

And the only coherent reply that finds its way out of your mouth is a word, "When?"

It was his turn to hesitate, "When we were 15, maybe even before then. I just couldn't admit it to you. I don't think I could admit to myself," he shakes his head, before rubbing his forehead,

“Why? Why not when-”

“When you told me how you felt - it scared me,” Poe takes your hand carefully, fingers carefully intertwined as if you would disappear under his touch, “I thought I admitted I loved you back - I would lose you, like my parents,” he shakes his head, “It was stupid-”

“It’s not stupid,” you whisper, and he offers a weak smile.

"I didn't want to lose you,” he says, adding, “I still don’t.”

"Poe," his thumb brushes your cheek, "you never could have lost me."

He smiles, "I know, you are stuck with me after all,"

"Did you ever plan to tell me?" You asked, and his cheeks flush.

He clears his throat, "you know how we talked about the someone I was trying to impress?"

"Yeah?" He stares, "and?"

He groans, crossing his arms, "Do I need to spell out for you?" Oh. Oh.

"You think damaging your ship is going to impress me?" You grin when his lips form a pout, before it slips into a devious smirk, as he draws far too close to you for you to be able to think.

"Got me this far right?" And a shiver goes down your spine, his breath hot against your lips, he brushes your hair behind your ear, "okay, one last confession, the promise we made about dreams?"

"Yeah, you mean the one I brought up about two minutes ago?" He bites his lip, sighing, throwing back his head, only to drag a hand down his face.

“You are not making this any easier,” he mutters, "Okay, well we never said what our dreams were, you assumed I was talking about being a pilot.”

You tilt your head, “But you’re a pilot,”

He laughs, shaking his head, “Yeah I am, but what I'm trying to say is," he tilts your chin up, "you were my dream," your breath catches in your throat, only the feeling of his own breath against your lips reminding you to do the same, "and I don't think that's ever going to change."

You didn't realize you were crying until his fingers brush a tear away, "You could have just said you don't feel the same," he teases, but apprehension still creeps in his voice, and his tone falters, "you don't have to respond-"

You pull him to you, arms wrapped around his shoulders, burying yourself in his chest, "You were a dream I didn't know I could have," and lean back to look up at him, eyes shining, "but now that I know I don’t think I’ll ever let you go."

"You better not," his calloused fingers trace the length of your cheek, rounding your ear down to the nape of your neck, until his fingers settle on your chin. Tilting you up to meet his gaze, and his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips. You shiver as he leans down, whispering, "Can I kiss you?"

You answer by pressing your lips to his - it was chaste, but you feel him smile against you, as you lean away. But he chases your lips, this time intent on making good on your promise of never letting go.

All you feel is him. He cups your face in his hands, and you know he has you in the palm of his hands - and for once you're not scared. Not by his large hands slipping down the length of your body, nor the hot, open mouthed kisses he left on your neck, and not by the guttural growl in his throat when you use his shirt to tug him closer to you.

"I've wanted this for so long," he sighs, and you take advantage to press a kiss to his neck. He was practically panting now, lips and tongue skimming his neck, before closing around his pulse point, pulling a ragged grown from his mouth, "you don't know what you do to me, sweetheart."

You kiss the bruise you leave, "Tell me,"

"I can't," defiance evident in his tone, as you frown against his neck, until he leans back, chest heaving, "because I wouldn't know what to do with myself. Or with you."

The rasp of his voice makes you shiver, "I think I like the sound of that,"

Eyes dark, he raises a brow, "Not unless you'd prefer to do this with an audience,"

You kiss him, his teeth grazing your lips, "I don't wanna to share you."

"Good," he grins, "because neither do I."

~~~

“Are you going to sleep standing up, or are you going to join me?” Poe sat on the edge of his bed, freshly out of the refresher. Even after wiping his hair with a towel, you could see his curls were damp, water dripping down, slipping down beneath his sleep shirt.

You fidget, “I’m going to join you, I’m just...taking my time.”

You can tell he’s biting back a grin, instead, getting up from the bed, “You know nothing is going to happen tonight, right?” You cannot meet his eyes, cheeks inevitably burning at the thought, “nothing you don’t want to happen.”

“I know,” you mumble.

“Can I remind you that we’ve slept in the same bed before?” he reaches for your hands, waiting for you to take them, before enveloping them.

“Can I remind you that it was my bed and we were kids?” you smile at him, “you never did tell me why you couldn’t sleep that night.”

“Nightmare,” he sighs, dragging a hand through his wet curls, water flicking onto the bed, “It happened a lot back then.”

You squeeze his hands, “And now?”

He offers you a smile, “Well I have you to chase away nightmares, don’t I?” he presses a kiss to your forehead, “even if you want to go back to your own room.”

You look up at him, and your breath is knocked out of your lungs at just how painfully beautiful he is, inside and out. How gentle he is, despite his upbringing. How sweet he is, despite all of the carnage he has lived through. How willing he is to open his heart up to you, despite it being broken far too many times.

“No, let’s go to bed,” you tug him toward the bed, and the two of you crawl in beside each other, and it seems like the exhaustion hits you at once - it had been a long day far before Poe came to see you. And now - as he pulls you to rest against his chest, it felt like a different lifetime. Your eyes are heavy, shutting right away, the safety of his warmth sending you into the throes of sleep deeper than any sandman could, but still you fight it for a moment - peering up at him, only to find him staring.

“Staring isn’t sleeping,” you murmur, and his lips curl in a lazy smile, “is something wrong?”

“No,” he presses a kiss to your temple, “something finally feels right.”

~~~

Your eyes flutter open, and you’re alone - blinking. And you sigh, thumping your head against the pillow - a dream, it was just a dream. You didn’t know what hurt more after you woke up - the memory of the dream itself or the fact it wasn’t real.

You roll over and spot a note on the night table - and then your eyes flit to Poe’s still damp towel. You sit up, reaching for the note.

Sweetheart,

Was called away for a mission briefing. You can shower here or you can go back to your room. I’ll come find you after.

I know how much you hate to share me, but I’ll be back soon.

Poe

You couldn’t suppress the stupid smile on your lips. Face hot - you held the note to your chest, clutching it as if you were afraid it may disappear. It was real, it wasn’t a dream. You shook your head, biting your lip in an attempt to stop smiling.

You didn’t.

You took him up on his offer to shower at his place. Running your fingers through your hair, you recounted last night in your head. His hands. His lips. Poe. You covered your face, cheeks burning. Even his name just made you a mess - even more than usual. But his words were the things that rang in your ears - repeating on a loop like an earworm you never wanted to get rid of.

Shutting the water off, you started to pull your clothes on, but you realized your significant lack of a towel and your dripping wet hair. You peeked out of the bathroom, finding the bed just as you had left it, and you stepped out, grabbing the towel Poe had used last night.

“I don’t think you expected me back so soon,” you jump, whirling to see Poe on the other side of the room, just out of view. Clearing his throat, he averted his gaze, “Uh, find what you were looking for?”

You nod, flying back into the refresher, back pressed against the door. You pressed the towel to your heated face, shit. You shook off the slight mortification, slowly finishing getting dressed.

You stepped out, finding him sitting on the bed, flipping through a book, “I’m dressed,” you announced lamely.

He grinned at you, “I can see - I don’t know which I like better - dressed or undressed,”

A flush inches up your neck, “Dameron, you’re already on thin ice,”

“I wasn’t the one who walked out of your refresher in my underwear,” you gaped at him, who looked all too pleased at your reaction, before he smiles, “you know you’re beautiful, right?” You averted your gaze, and he grabbed your hand, tugging you gently onto the bed beside him. You bit your lip, “Because you are.”

“Really?” his brow furrows, and he rolls his eyes dramatically, before tilting his head.

“Want me to prove it?” he leans closer to you, lips quirking when he sees your breath hitch, and his hand slides closer to you, “Because I think I didn’t do a good enough job last night. And you know me,” he leans in and presses a kiss to your neck, “ever the perfectionist.”

“Poe,” he silences you with a sweet kiss on your lips, then your cheeks, then your forehead, and soon his lips are everywhere. His chest bumped against yours, firm arm wrapping around your waist only to pull you impossibly closer. Your teeth graze his bottom lip and you feel him groan, the rumble reverberating up and down your spine.

“Every inch of you,” his hands traveled down your sides, mapping you with the detail of a cartographer, wanting to know every peak and valley, “is beautiful. It was when we were ten and I found you covered in muck from when Nola dared you. When we were fifteen and you decided to confess to me, I never realized anyone could look at me like that, You were beautiful then, just like you are now,” He emphasizes each word with a kiss, “don’t forget that."

You press your forehead to his, “Will you remind me if I forget?”

He smiles, “Always.”

~~~

Your day goes by slowly - And you know exactly why.

“Tonight,” Poe says, as he walks you to your pod so you can change before your shift at the infirmary, “let’s go on a date.”

“You want to take me on a date, Dameron?” he rolls his eyes.

“Is that your attempt at teasing? Because you and me both know you can do better than that.”

“Fine, let’s go,” you say, “after my shift.”

He scratches his cheek, “No questions?”

“No questions, except one,” you add, arriving right outside the medcenter, you whisper in his ear, “What are the chances that I’ll get to see you without your clothes tonight?”

Poe blinks, opening and closing his mouth. You grin as you begin to step away, but he catches you by your hand, voice low, “Very likely,” he says, stealing your breath away with a kiss, “and if I didn’t have any self-control, it would be against this wall.” You stare at him, a thick heat settling over the two of you, until he walks away, letting go of your hand with reluctance and a smile, “But luckily I do.”

You should have known better than to tease him, because now it left you in this predicament: watching the minutes crawl by. Only two hours left.

You made your rounds, tending to the new injured that came in. You sighed at the state of the injuries, most of them from x-wing crashes. Mangled and broken limbs, twisted black and blue or each time split in ways you hadn’t seen before; others were less lucky - damaged organs, first degree burns, and even a woman who lost her leg.

Your team had managed to stabilize her, but she still hadn’t woken up from the sedatives you had given her. Rhea. An x-wing pilot. You didn’t know her personally, but she had crossed paths with you in the hospital before. Always smiling, always kind, always without a harsh word. And now you had to tell her she lost her leg.

Fucking First Order.

They had been attacking more aggressively over the last few weeks - the higher ups were trying to keep it quiet, but you knew by the amount of troops they were having to send out and how many of them they brought back broken, in more than one way.

You shook yourself from your thoughts, rounding the corner to check on the patient submerged in a bacta tank. When they had first brought this patient in, most of his skin was bruised, battered, and broken, but now, most of his wounds had healed. You flipped through the chart - another x-wing crash caused by enemy cannons. You looked up at the tank, and you saw Poe floating.

You blinked and it was your patient again.

“WE NEED A MEDIC!” A crash rings out across the floor, and you nearly drop your clipboard running to the commotion, and you knew exactly which patient it was -

“Rhea,” Her hands grasped at her blanket, trying to reach for her leg, the one that was no longer there. The lamp at her bedside had been knocked down. You turned to the terrified trainee, “What’s going on?”

“She just woke up, drowsy. She said her leg was itching, I was about to call someone when she started to yell it was hurting, and then she must have knocked down the lamp,” you told them to call another medic, and you turned to Rhea.

“Rhea,” you said softly, “are you okay?”

She looked up, eyes watery, “Where am I?”

“You’re in the infirmary,” you remind her of who you are, “Do you remember me?” she nodded slowly, “Let me check your vitals, okay?”

She let you touch her as you ran through the basic check, finally stepping back from her, setting down your clipboard, as you waved to the other medic to hang back, “You were in an accident, Rhea, in your x-wing, do you remember?”

Her brow furrowed, she held her head, “Everything is fuzzy, my head is killing me,” eyes squeezing shut, “I was pinned down, trying to destroy some TIE fighters on our tail, I got three, and I-” her voice broke, “I don’t remember anything after that.”

“It’s okay, it’s-”

“Why is my leg hurting? What happened to me?” you swallowed the lump in your throat, steadying your voice.

“I need you to lie down first, okay?” She did as you said, “Like I said there was an accident and-” she suddenly started to convulse, her eyes rolled back.

“Prep a scan and an OR,” you looked up at the other medic, “GO! Now.”

Wheeling her into the OR, you don’t think of Poe or the time, only that you weren’t going to lose this patient - you weren’t going to lose Rhea.

~~~

It takes hours.

But you find the cause. A clot in her brain that nearly killed her. Was it luck that she woke up before it killed her? Was it luck that you were talking to her when it happened? A second later and - you pry your gloves off, washing your hands as you've done a million times after surgery. But a part of you relished in it - you had saved her, she was going to be okay, or at least, she was alive. And that had to be enough, didn’t it?

Otherwise, you thought, how would any of us go on living through this?

Right now, all that mattered to you was getting home, getting in the refresher, and seeing Poe-

And then it occurs to you.

Shit. What time is it?

You are laughably late. So you do the only thing you can do - you run. Stuffing a change of clothes into your bag, you sprint out the door. A voice stops you in your tracks right past the entrance.

"I was wondering if I would have to admit myself as a patient to get your attention,” Poe stood, leaning against the wall, smiling, “maybe sleep out here.”

"Maybe I should have taken a little longer then," you can't help but smile back, as you walk toward him, panic a distant memory as he walks toward you, "Dameron sleeping on the ground? The scandal."

"Yes, idiot pilot in love with a chronically late medic," he presses a kiss to your forehead before you can reply, mind utterly shell-shocked at his words.

"You love me?" You blink, and there's a terrible moment where he pauses and your heart sinks, "I mean, I understand if you just said it in the moment, I-"

You look up to see him biting back a smile. You glare at him, "Poe,"

He laughs, "Sorry I wanted to see how long you would go,"

"On second thought, maybe I'm too tired for this date," but it's too late, his arms are curled around your waist, your back now pressed to the medcenter’s wall, trapping you in his embrace, lips murmuring in your ear.

"Of course, I love you, sweetheart," he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, "I don't remember a time when I didn’t."

You swallow your tears, instead turning to kiss him, and forgetting everything else, "What a coincidence," you manage, foreheads brushing, "neither can I."

~~~

Your stomach had surely twisted itself into knots by the time you arrived at Poe’s door. Something you would have to untangle before he got the food ready. But right now, it feels like you can barely sort through your thoughts. A blankness had overtaken your mind, but even still you could feel the cortisone churn through your body - a dull ache settling over you.

You don't know if it's from the day you had or the nervous energy that buzzes through you. With rationing, there wasn't much choice or variety, but all the same you were just grateful to eat Poe raises a brow and smiles at the loud rumble of your stomach, before placing a plate down in front of you and another for him. It had been a good twelve hours since you last ate.

You devour the food, only to look up and find Poe's food untouched, his eyes on you instead of his plate. His eyes were distant, placid, but still turbulent, as if he was darting through a storm in an x-wing: focused but afraid.

"Aren't you hungry?" He blinks, as if he's been broken from a trance and looks down at his full plate, "Dameron, what's going on?"

He picks at his food half-heartedly, "I am not supposed to tell you this, but," he sighs, shaking his head, "the briefing I was called away for - I’m leaving tomorrow.”

He swallows, forcing a small smile on his lips, “The mission they are sending me on, it's potentially-" he cuts himself off, clearing his throat, "it is dangerous. We are making big moves against the First Order, we discovered something that could finally give us a leg up-"

His explanation is drowned out by a ringing in your ears, as you watch his lips move, but you hear none of it. The same numbness overtakes your senses now - a void that narrows your focus to a pinprick.

And now all you can see is Poe. But not the one in front of you. Instead, his eyes are shut. His chest no longer rises nor fall. He can't smile. He can't laugh. Not when he's on an operating table. Not when he can't breathe anymore. Not when you couldn't save him. Scarlet coats your fingers, utensils now surgical tools. You weren't good enough. You were too late. You were too late.

You drop your fork against the plate, harshly clattering onto the table. He breaks off mid sentence, as you get up from the table, “I’m sorry, I-” you shake your head, holding up your hands, “I can’t do this.”

He frowns, setting down his fork, “I can tell you about the mission, sweetheart, no one will be put in danger-”

“No,” you cross your arms, looking at the floor, “that’s not what I mean.”

The words nearly die in your throat, and what’s left is a long silence - one that’s no worse than the storm that follows it, “Why?”

And no worse when you have to explain why you’re causing it, “If you get hurt," your voice wavers at the thought, "if something happens to you, this will just make it worse. If we do this, I don’t know how I would live without you."

"Sweetheart-"

"Don't call me that," the hurt on his face seized at your heartstrings, pulling until your heart was in shreds. Something in him had broken. And you had done the breaking.

You walk towards the door, “Please, don’t run away from this, from me,” he cuts you off, your small window of escape snapped shut, “What are you so scared of?”

“I’m not scared,” you say through gritted teeth, frustration mixed with melancholy, “I’m being realistic, I can’t- We can’t.”

“You’re running away, what do you call that? That isn’t realistic,” he snaps, jaw set, “That’s fear, you know what’s realistic? War," he says, tone as deadly as it's meaning, "This is a war, people are going to die. Like our parents did. I may die, but so can you. It can't dictate your life."

Anger flares in your chest, "I'm not letting it-"

"What do you call leaving your job? What do you call this?" He gestures between the two of you, running a hand through his hair, "why? Why are you letting it control you?"

"Because I can't lose another person, I can't sit back and watch you die. I can't watch you come back in pieces, and not be able to put you back together again," your hands shake, but you fold your arms, hoping it would be enough to hold you together, "and if that means it controls me, then it does."

His silence was suffocating, "Do you want me to stop being a pilot?' he says quietly, "is that what it will take?"

Hot tears well in your eyes, stinging, but not as much his words did, "I can't take away your dream," He smiles ruefully.

"But you already are."

You lean over, to press a kiss to his cheek - the last remnant you'll allow yourself of this dream - but he turns and your lips meet. You don't try to pull away. He kisses you, tenderly. Intent on keeping you here, stumbling away from the door. His fingers fist in your hair, tongue in your mouth. Your hand slips over his chest, fisting in his shirt, and you remember you are supposed to be leaving.

But his lips move to your neck, and you forget how to breath, much less move.

You give into it. Because it's easier. It's easier to focus on the feeling of him; of his hands gripping your hips, pulling you onto the couch and then onto his lap; of the stifled moan against your lips when you bite his lip; and it makes it easier to say yes when he asks:

"Please just stay the night," he asks, hopelessly breathless, but still his lips are all over you, tracing the length of your collarbone, "and then when I come back, we can act as if this never happened."

"Poe-"

He leans away, "I will never force you to stay, and if you need to go, go," he licks his lips, looking at you with so much love - and you wonder how blind you must have been to have never seen before, to have wasted so much time, "but if you want this too-"

You don't let him finish, instead you grip his shoulders, pulling him into another kiss.

And that's all the answer either of you need.

Then, you’re under him. Back pressed against the armrest of the couch, as you fall backwards against the plush cushions, but he is there to catch you. You found the same hands that held you when you lost your parents cupping your face to press breathless kisses to your lips; the same hands, the ones pulled you to so many places you never thought you would reach, playing with the ends of your shirt asking for permission before pulling it off; and the same hands, the calloused and gentle fingers that had always held your heart, now grasped at your thighs, lifting you up from the couch and carrying you to the bed.

He placed you softly on the bed, and he crawled on top of you, fingers tracing your cheek, smiling, "Poe-"

He shakes his head, "I don't know how anyone can be this beautiful," he chuckles, thumb dragging over your lips, and your lips caught it, "sweetheart." He shudders under your touch, a rumble in his chest, "what are you doing to me?"

You tug at his shirt now, over his head and onto the floor with ease. Your hands explored the exposed skin far more than you explored any planet or galaxy - with reverence. You kissed every scar you could spot, gasping as his hands squeezed your breasts. Defenses down, he attacked, catching your eyes as his fingers ghosted your bra. He unhooked it, and you felt yourself waver under his gaze.

"Fuck," he murmured, and you arched into his touch as his lips pressed a constallation of kisses along your chest, his warm breath fanning across your skin, but denying his touch to the places that ached for it the most.

“Poe,” you sighed, and he smiled up at you, “don’t tease me.”

“How can I not?” his deep chuckle rumbles against your body and sends a shiver up your spine, as his eyes grew sad, “when it might be my last time?”

You waver, “I-” any reply is cut off as his mouth descends on one of your peaks, and he forces a moan from your lips, “fuck,” his other hand makes itself known, pinching and kneading, alighting each one under his diligent touch, and you feel him smirk against your skin.

Your fingers find his hair, weaving through his curls, pulling when he chooses that moment he chose to squeeze particularly hard. His low groan only adds to the sensation, and you can’t stand it anymore.

You pull him to your lips, tongue sliding into his mouth, before flipping him so that he’s under you. You rise, ridding yourself of your pants, any shyness lost obliterated under his steady gaze.

His hands reach for his own pants, but you stop him, "Let me," he blinks, before leaning back on his elbows and watching you through lidded eyes. You undo his belt, and then the button, before sliding them off. You find Poe’s lips again, easily and effortlessly - the exact opposite of your entire relationship.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Your legs on either side of his hips, you straddled him, and he hissed.

“Already this wet for me?” he gasped as you ground against him, smirking as his hands fist in the sheets that certainly did not go unnoticed, “now that’s just cruel.”

“You’re not the only one who can tease, Dameron,” your hands trail delicately down his body, your lips choosing to busy themselves with memorizing every scar, every blemish - everything beautiful about this man who was only made more perfect by his imperfections.

He squirms under your touch, desperate, he growls your name, “please, give me somet-” he moans, when your fingers brush against his cock through his boxers, before dipping your fingers underneath the elastic. But too soon, your hands withdraw, running the length of his thighs, until -

You’re underneath him again, his lips worshipping again with renewed passion. Panting and cheeks red, he stares down at you reverently, “I can’t let this night end early, sweetheart,” he presses a kiss to your lips, your neck, your breasts, kissing his way down your body, perched before your lower lips, “not before I taste you.”

You moan at his words, finding him searching for your okay before proceeding, “Poe, please,”

Sliding your underwear off, he groans at the sight of you, "Fuck," and your thighs attempt to squeeze shut, "let me look at you,' he breathes gently, pressing a kiss to your thigh. Cheeks hot, you ease your legs apart, and his lips draw closer and closer to your center, until he kisses it, his stubble rubbing against your thighs. He inhales, pinning your thighs in place as they tense under his attention.

You shiver, pleasure traveling up and down your body in larger and larger waves. He starts slow. A small kiss, allowing himself a taste. And then his tongue brushes you, tracing over your soaked core. His hands hold your thighs apart, as his tongue licks a stripe up. You feel him grin against you at your whimper, rewarding you with another kiss. Your mouth opens to protest, when he finally parts your folds, tongue slipping in. Your fingers finding purchase in his curls. You moan his name, loudly, as he worships you. He groans in tandem against you, when your fingers pull at his hair.

"Poe," he moves faster, your walls contracting around his tongue, working in circles, "I think i'm-"

He places his lips on your clit and sucks harshly, and that's the breaking point. You come undone with his name on your lips. He teases you through your orgasm, holding you as you come down from the high, his tongue lapping at your essence, making your muscles twitch in response. You finally lift your head to see him, and you bite back a groan, his face coated in your release.

“I think I'm addicted," he murmurs, his tongue darting out to clean his face of your release. Your head rests against the pillow, as he winds his way up your body, fingers tilting your face so he could look at you come down. Your eyes flutter open and you find him smiling at you, and you move to cover your face, but he’s faster, gently prying your hands away, “Did you forget again?” He asks, echoing his words from before.

“Maybe,” you mumble, and he cups your face.

“Should I remind you?” he presses lazy kisses to your face, his curls tickling your nose, “What do you want, baby?” You feel his fingers skim against your clit, and you arch into his touch, “tell me.”

“I want you,” you say, and he laughs.

“You already have me,” he says, as you reach over, dipping your fingers into his boxers, pulling them down for him to kick off, “but you can’t get enough me, can you?”

Any sarcasm dies in your throat when you see his earnest smile, “Is it that obvious?”

He kisses you again, deeper this time, slower, “Only because it’s me, and only because I feel the same way,” he whispers against your lips, and you pull him down to you again, as he positions himself over you, swallowing your moan when you feel him brush against you. You arch your hips, one arm around his middle, the other fisted in his curls - anything to feel closer to him.

But still, he breaks away, pressing his forehead to yours, "Are you sure?" And you smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. He is the same boy you fell in love with, isn't he? The same one who could always make you laugh; the same one who could convince you to take a risk, the same one who held your hand when you lost your parents in a raid, the same one who allowed you to be brave, and the one you were too scared to lose.

"Poe, I've never been more sure of anything," and your hands wrap around his neck to pull him down to kiss you, and he pushes into you.

"Fuck, you're wet for me," he groans against your lips, as his hand caresses your cheek, "and tight." He waits for you to adjust, pressing kisses everywhere to distract you from the discomfort.

"Poe," you whisper, and he nods, beginning to thrust into you. You can't get enough of him, even now, your hands wander before settling on shoulders, "Fuck, harder, please."

He does as you say, thrusting harder, as he buries his head in the nape of your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses to your skin, "You don't know how long I've wanted this - wanted you," he says against you, and you moan, "to know what it's like to kiss you, to feel you, but now," he swears as you thrust back against him, sinking deeper into you, "I don't know how I'm going to live with knowing."

“Neither do I,” you kiss him again, forcing him to swallow your words, and the regret you had along with it.

He leans back to look at you, eyes fluttering shut, his thrusts grow more urgent, the slick noise of him moving in and out growing louder and louder. And you feel yourself growing closer and closer, towards that peak, "I love you," you whisper, pressing another kiss to his lips, before you orgasm, your walls tightening around him.

He follows right after a few thrusts, carrying you over that peak, before spilling inside you with a groan of your name. You feel his release leak out of you, and he rests against you, fingers ghosting up and down your hips, panting in your ear. Your lips meet lazily again, and you rest your forehead against his again, enjoying how his breath feels against your skin.

He stays inside you for a moment, before finally beginning to move away, but he pauses, only staring.

“Poe?”

He shakes his head, pressing a last kiss to your lips. "I love you too,” his fingers fall from your face, “and I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

You look at him wordless, and he spares you the agony of replying, instead shifting to lie down beside you. You follow suit, his arm curled around you, as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling. And you affix this memory in your mind, and allow yourself the fantasy of the relationship for a moment - for beautiful mornings spent waking up beside each other, lazy afternoons spent laughing with the feeling of his lips against yours, and of quiet evenings, spent in each other’s arms.

You only reply when you know he’s asleep, comforted by his even breaths and quiet snores, “I know I’ll never stop.”

You fall asleep beside him, legs tangled in the blanket. You feel the rise and fall of his chest, and you tell yourself it's okay to love him, because he's safe. He's okay. But you know, as you lift your head to take one more look at him, tomorrow he won't be. Tomorrow, you can't love him. Not like this.

~~~

He doesn't wake you before he goes.

You wake up in his bed, and you don't remember the last time you’ve felt this alone. This time there was no note, you think with a lump in your throat. There was no promise of a date. Instead, there was only a sinking feeling in your stomach, and your eyes burning with tears.

He would be back, you told yourself, wiping the tears from your cheeks, He would be back and everything would be okay again.

~~~

“Alright!” Poe jerks away from the guard’s grip, “alright!”

The guard doesn’t relent, still adjusting their hold on him, as Poe actually gets a look around. His mouth ajar, he saw flying ships, pods (like the one he came out of), and nothing but Stormtroopers everywhere, swarming like bees in their hives. It would have been impressive if it wasn’t so horrifying.

How did he end up here? Taken captive on Jakku, and BB-8 and some of the most valuable information in the galaxy left wandering.

Fuck.

The guard yanks on him again after a moment, and he is being ushered off somewhere - likely to get tortured, likely to be killed, but never - never, would he give anything up to them. He stares straight ahead, twisting in the cuffs they had on him. The same hands that had held yours not that long ago. His gut twists at the thought of you.

Sorry sweetheart, he thinks, I may not make it back to you after all.

He grits his teeth, But I sure may die trying to.

~~~

They torture him, of course.

Why wouldn’t they?

The first few beatings were something - warm blood dripping down the sides of his head, his shirt and stomach slick making the fabric cling to his wounds - but at some point, they just stopped being creative. It was the same thing over and over again, and at some point he stopped even dignifying them with so much as a grunt of acknowledgement. The best they could do was keep him awake until their fearless leader came - or so he heard one of the bucketheads whisper to the other when they thought he was knocked out.

But still, he thinks when the room is not empty of siths and he is left only with his thoughts, what that man had done to him earlier, his body locking up in place, an unfathomable power overcoming his own will, unable to do anything, but just watch a village get slaughtered. But it wasn’t unknown, was it?

And the whole room began to spin in that moment. He blinked, vision unbearably blurry, straining his eyes to see straight, but relented, shutting his eyes, resting his eyes for a moment. A small voice in the back of his thought, and what does that mean about what else he can do to you?

He isn’t sure how long he’s asleep, but it’s enough time to dream of you.

He hadn’t gone on on his mission. You hadn’t decided to break things off. Instead, you both decided to spend the day together. He had woken up next to you, instead of pressing a kiss to your forehead before he left.

He could feel your fingers drawing mindless patterns against his thigh when he woke from a dreamless sleep and saw you beside him, “Good morning,” you whisper, adorably and painfully shy, even after all he had done to you last night, and after all you had done to him.

“It is, isn’t it?” he murmurs, unable to resist pulling you closer so he could rest his head right beneath your chin, “every other morning seems to pale in comparison.”

“I guess we’ll just have to make this a habit,” you hum, when he burns a path of kisses up your chest and across your shoulder, his need for you unyielding, “Poe, please.”

He chooses that moment to suck softly at your pulse point, “Hmm?” he mumbles against the sensitive skin, soothing it with his tongue, “You need something, sweetheart?”

You smile up at him, “I only need you.” You lean up to kiss him, and then suddenly it’s gone.

You’re gone.

Instead, he finds himself waking up to the sound of a voice he was dreading to hear. It takes him a moment to rouse himself, his head swimming as he forces himself to be alert.

“...the best pilot in the resistance on board,” he has to repress a snort, they tried torture and now were they going to try flattery? He forces himself to meet the Commander’s gaze, refusing to let his eyes water or his gaze waver even a moment. He would be damned if he chose to falter now - not to him, not any of the First Order. Even if it meant his life, “Comfortable?”

No shifting, no hesitance, no weakness, but an answer was required, “Not really,”

“I’m impressed,” he admits, whilst sounding not so impressed, stepping toward Poe, “No one has been able to get out of you what you did with the map.” He looms over him, as if that would intimidate him at this point.

He peers up at him, “You might want to rethink your technique,” and he wonders if he kept that mask on only to hide how his face twisted.

He lifts his hand, a dull throb starts in Poe’s head. It’s a low whine at first, kind of like when his ears popped after a spiral or all too sudden dip in his x-wing, but no, this was different. It was the same as before. He shifts in his restraints, feeling it crawl into every muscle, every bone, every crevice of his body, He tries to bite back the groan that claws its way up his throat, but he can’t - because he’s too busy trying to fight off this foreign invader. His body turned traitor, but this time - no, he thinks, a horrible revelation dawning on him, it was his mind too.

It throws his head backwards against the chair, his ears ringing and mind screaming for mercy.

The dull ache he felt now is a roaring storm, pushing up against the gates of his mind, ripping, scratching past every defense. But still he resists, swallowing any thought of giving in, steeling himself even as the pressure builds both in his mind and another on his throat, squeezing, only allowing him enough air to keep him breathing. Poe knew that he would be dead if that’s what the First Order wanted. But they didn’t want him dead, he strained against his grasp, helpless, no matter how much he wished they did now. It would be better to be dead than for them to find what they were looking for.

“Where is it?” He asks, and Poe feels every muscle in his body contract and ache against their imagined restraints and his very much real ones, the veins in his neck throb, another grunt falls from his lips as he feels the force push against his mind again and again and again.

But still he won’t give.

He thinks of Leia, of the Resistance, of his parents, of you.

“The Resistance…” he manages to whisper, “will not be intimidated by you.” His body arches forward, a new wave of pain washing over him, as he brings him forward in his restraints unnaturally.

“Where is it?” he repeats, and with his words, he feels another surge - this time bigger than all the others - he feels a crack in mind - one that the force wriggles its way into forcing it open. He screams, a guttural noise he didn’t know he could make. Even though he knows it’s helpless - that he’s helpless, he rails against it. But his body cannot.

The commander lowers his hand at once, and Poe’s body collapses against the chair, “Placing it in your BB unit, smart,” and Poe can imagine the bastard smiling underneath his helmet, “The First Order thanks you for your assistance.”

Poe cannot say anything - cannot summon even the strength to respond, he only watches him toward the door, allowing the guilt and shame to wash over him, before succumbing to the darkness that beckoned him to sleep.

~~~

He doesn’t dream of you this time.

Instead, he slips into a dreamless sleep. Minutes go by like hours, and by the time he’s forced to wake, he wonders how long he’s been captured for.

“Ren wants the prisoner,” he hears one stormtrooper order, and his restraints fly off. As he’s dragged down corridor after corridor, he wonders if there is any chance of escape. He’s not strapped to a chair, but he also has no gun, he has cuffs, and there are stormtroopers everywhere - including the one yanking him to wherever Ren wants him. Even now as he walks, he has to will himself to keep walking, and not simply collapse on the floor. He barely has the energy to spare a scowl at the stormtrooper. He wouldn’t give them the pleasure of seeing him fall.

But instead, he shoves him into a closet, “Listen carefully,” Poe stares at him, bewildered, “If you do exactly as I say, I could get you out of here.”

“What?” he didn’t know stormtroopers had a heart or a conscience - and that’s because largely they didn’t. That was stolen from them as children.

So, what was this? A trick or a farce?

When he pulls off his helmet, Poe believes it couldn’t be either - they never took off their helmets, “This is a rescue. I’m helping you escape. Can you fly a TIE fighter?”

He feels hope kick up in his chest, “You’re with the Resistance?”

“What? No, no, no, I’m breaking you out,” impatient and antsy, his eyes flickering to the hallway, “Can you fly a TIE fighter?”

The possibilities run through his head: he stays on his ship, he dies; he follows this stormtrooper, he’s lying, he dies; he follows this stormtrooper, he’s telling the truth, and they escape. Or they die.

“I can fly anything,” and he could, but still that nagging question still remained, “Why? Why are you helping me?”

He pauses for a half-second, “Because it’s the right thing to do,”

Bullshit, “You need a pilot.”

“I need a pilot,” he admits. And he was the only person who he could ask without risking immediately getting vaporized, or worse. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. He knew first-hand what they did to Resistance members, a chill went down his spine, who knows what they did to traitors.

Either way, he thought, lips curling, worked for him, as he long he could get off this deathtrap and back to BB-8. Nodding, “We’re gonna do this,” and he doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince - the trooper or himself.

“Yeah?” Maybe both, but he believed it regardless.

~~~

Poe has had a lot of stupid ideas over the years - and yet, he didn’t know what could top this one. Escaping in a TIE fighter off their base, with a rebelling stormtrooper who didn’t know how to shoot.

No, he really couldn’t think of something worse.

But was it impossible?

No. He could fix this. Or that’s what he told the stormtrooper when they realized the TIE fighter was tied down to the bay.

Poe flicked switches, pressed buttons, brain on auto-pilot, as he ran through procedure to free this damn ship, and finally he almost was done, “I’ve got it,” he tells the trooper, who had been surprisingly holding his own with the blasters.

Free from their restraint, they zoom away from the maw of the monster, but they weren’t free of it's grasp yet. His eyes dart, spotting several cannons along the base. There was no way they would live more than a few seconds unless they destroyed those. He relayed this to the trooper who nodded, “All right, I’ll get into position, just stay sharp,” and he hoped he was as good as he sounded with those blasters.

Poe lines up the shot, heart in his throat, as the trooper shoots, and they land their mark, zooming through the wreckage without a hitch. A wave of exhilaration thrums through his body, even as lasers dart past them, he can’t help but celebrate, if only for a moment.

He was alive. And he was out. And he didn’t even know his partner in escape’s name, “Hey, what’s your name?”

“FN-2187,”

Poe looks back at him, “FN- what?” He was far too tired for this.

“That’s the only name they ever gave me,” Poe frowns. FN...whatever wasn’t much of a name - it was barely a code. It was just a way of distinguishing them - the stormtroopers weren’t their assets - they were expendable. And a number was another way they knew that.

“Well, I ain’t using it,” he decides, “F-N, huh? Finn. I’m gonna call you Finn. Is that alright?” he asks, sparing a glance behind him.

“Finn? Yeah, Finn, I like that,” Poe grins, turning back to the console. Well now that’s decided-

“I’m Poe. Poe Dameron,” but there isn’t much more time for pleasantries when there are missiles on their tail. Dodge left, dodge right, shoot one down, and another replaces it. They needed to go, and they needed to now.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going back to Jakku. That’s where,” the entire fate of the resistance was back there - and there was no way he was leaving it there.

“No, we can’t go back to Jakku. We need to get out of this system.” He grits his teeth, should he tell him? Tell him why BB-8’s important? Tell him the truth. It could risk the mission - it could risk the information.

“I gotta get my droid before the First Order does,” he ignores the twinge at the thought of Ren ripping the memory from his mind.

“What? A droid?” Finn repeats.

“That’s right. He’s a BB unit, orange and white, one of a kind.” He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t tell him - but he pushes any harder against it - he won’t have a choice.

“I don’t care what color he is. No droid can be that important,”

“This one is, pal!” he snaps. He has to tell him - he knows, but if there’s any chance on convincing him without compromising-

“We gotta get as far away from the First Order as we can. We go back to Jakku. We die.”

Fuck it, “That droid has a map that leads straight to Luke Skywalker.”

Poe barely hears Finn exclaim, “Oh you gotta be kidding me!” before a blast sends their ship into a spiral. They plummet towards Jakku, faster and faster - and Finn screams to deploy themselves from the ship, and he does so, shooting off and away from the ship.

He himself? He wasn’t so lucky. He flipped the ejection switch, but nothing, "Shit, are you serious?" He tugged at the mechanism only to find his jacket had jammed it. He slammed his hand against the console, squirming his way out of the jacket. He looked at the growing ever closer ground and took control again. Well, he said he could pilot anything.

Fingers flying, he works his magic, trying to soften the ship's crash as much as possible, "Come on, baby," darting around the controls as the ship was approaching the ground - he had a small window - two, maybe three seconds.

"3," he looked out the window, the planet barreling toward him, he thought of you, "2," he had made a promise to you to make it back, "1." And he was going to keep it.

He threw himself from the ship right before it crashed, propelling himself as far from the crash as possible.

~~~~

It had been over a week. And you couldn't shake the feeling something had horribly gone wrong. It was a constant pit in your stomach, a gut punch when you thought of the last night you spent with him - the moments spent with smiles and love, only to end up colored with bitter regret.

This was only made worse when you reached out to your contact in the upper aughts of the Resistance that he hadn't replied to any communications since landing at his destination.

And then you heard - the Resistance camp had been destroyed, everyone slaughtered, and there had been no sign of Poe. You heard while at work, and there was no day more excruciating, each word, every movement bespoke with the possibility of tears. But instead you held it, tightly wound in the trenches of your stomach, until you walked through the doors of your pod and collapsed in the middle of the floor.

You don't remember how long you cried. You didn't eat, didn't change - you just slept. And slept. And slept. He was dead. Or they were torturing him. And you didn't know which was worse. No, what was worse is that you were wrong and you were right - you were wrong that it would hurt less when it ended, because you knew it surely hurt more, and you were right - that he would come back to you in pieces. If he would come back at all.

The pit in your stomach twisted, much like the knife you had plunged into his heart had. And now every word you said seemed so foolish, every step you had taken to avoid this pain so pointless. It was the same pain in the end - the pain of breathing without a purpose, of living without a dream.

You nearly laughed, how couldn't you see that your dream was always him?

Hours passed, and you nearly missed your shift at the medcenter, but you didn’t. Always early for work, but late for everything else, Poe would tease you. You tried to convince yourself that he could be okay - he could be alive, but then you thought of the dead on Jakku. You heard whispers from the others at the center - not a single soul made it. Each one of them had been run through without a thought.

Had Poe? A small voice nagged at the back of your head. Stomach lurching, you sobbed alone in an empty patient room, until all the sadness had left, leaving only the hollowness it had carved behind. Empty.

Was he in pain? Was he lying somewhere, blood trickling from his body, motionless? Alone? You had trained your whole life to save lives, but you couldn’t save him. He always wa— is the bravest person, your fingers brush your lips, for better or worse. He wanted to save the entire galaxy - you glanced at your uniform - and maybe it was time that you stepped up and did the same. And, finally stopped running away from everything that frightened you. Because it was going to happen - whether you hid from it or faced it.

"I want to rescind my resignation," you tell the chief medical officer, wringing your hands behind your back, her brow contorted in both exasperation and interest.

“You want to rescind your resignation on your last day with us?” her tone was far from the pleased tone you had foolishly had hoped for (but didn’t expect), her arms crossed tight across her chest, “You are one of our best medics, you have an impeccable record, and we would be glad to have you - but I thought you said this was not your calling any longer.”

"I did," you swallow the lump in your throat, "I will admit it was out of fear than anything else.”

“Fear?” her eyes sparked with disapproval.

“I had chosen to run away than towards my responsibilities - all the things we see," you suppress a shiver, "it was a lapse in judgement, one I won’t be repeating,” you add, steeling yourself for her rejection, “I understand if you can’t-”

“Your resignation is rescinded,” she cut you off, “You have done exceptional work, you’ve saved many lives, including Rhea’s - it was most impressive. Stars know we will be needing that help soon,” but her gaze hardens, “but the next time you resign, it will be final.”

“Thank you,” you gave a tight smile, relief flooding your chest and yet a thought nagged at your chest, “but why will we need that help soon? Is there another-”

She shook her head, “There are some things you are better off not knowing. Not yet. Not until we need to be ready."

You nod, wondering as you hear the whoosh of her door shut - how do you exactly prepare for war? Especially, you may have lost one of the reasons you were fighting for.

He woke on a planet. Or that's what he realized when he felt the ground around him. Was he dead? No, no, he groaned, muscles screaming as he tried to turn onto his side. Your body didn't cry for death when you were already dead. His eyes watered, though he nearly did.

His ears were ringing.

Where was he? What was he doing? He couldn't remember anything - anything. Not what he was doing, not his job, not even his name. Nothing. Fear trills up his spine, heart pounding hard against his chest, as nothing - nothing was coming to mind. Nothing at all, except...

The only thing he could remember was...you.

Your name played over and over in his head on a loop. And he didn't know why. He saw flashes, of your smile, of your face, but he could remember nothing else. He hissed in pain, a stabbing sensation in his head. His mind practically vibrated with pain, his fingers finding dried blood on his skin. Blood? From the crash?

The crash. The ship. Jakku.

He was on Jakku. He had to find BB-8 and get back to the base. But his body wouldn't move. Couldn't. As much he willed it to move, his body wouldn’t follow. Instead, he could lie there, and wonder if this is how he would die. Not at the hands of the First Order, not in his x-wing or Black One, but instead here, alone in a random desert of Jakku. It wasn’t what he imagined for when he’d die, but he was hoping he wouldn’t have to die right now - not when he had so much left to do and so much he wanted to say.

He coughs, pain splintering through his body, hand reflexively covering his face, and he sees a glimpse of the shiny red on his fingers.

He wanted to get BB-8. He wanted to be there when the First Order was defeated. He wanted to punch Ren.

More than that, he wanted to thank Leia, for everything she’s done for him. He wanted to thank his whole squadron for being the family he never got to have. He wanted to have a future, one without war, death, and misery, one with you. One where he could just hold your hand.

But, his eyelids tugged, begging him to close them, maybe that wasn’t meant to be. His eyes fluttered open and shut, and he heard footsteps and shouting, before he succumbed to sleep.

"Please help," he muttered, before he was pulled into slumber once again.

~~~

You knew a launch of an attack was coming. Evident by the flurry of mechanics by the strip, the nervous energies of the soldiers, and the solemnity of the leaders. You had caught a glimpse of General Organa walking past the medcenter - the bags under her eyes complimented the grim line her mouth was drawn into. She must have not slept for days. You knew she had a soft spot for Poe - how did she take the news when she heard? But how does a leader take news upon hearing another one of their soldiers have died? Does it grow harder to care each time? Or does it hurt too much to dwell on?

Your chest squeezed. You didn’t care to dwell on that.

Instead, you readied yourself - an attack meant serious injuries, possible organ damage, and surgeries galore. You made sure each room was stocked with at least one bacta spray - supplies were running low - and you reviewed surgical procedures, ones more common with the sort of attack being waged. X-wings meant injuries of all sorts, and triage would need to happen within a snap. You knew you couldn’t save everyone - your body ached at the thought of Poe - but you sure were going to damn try.

The grief came in waves. Sometimes you were hopeful. Maybe he had pulled off another Poe Dameron miracle. You almost laughed at the idea - Poe Dameron simply showing up in a ship out of nowhere - how fitting. Stars knows he did well with his back to the wall. But then there were other times. Other times, you could barely stop crying - crying at the thought of him dying alone, either after being tortured or killed without a second thought. You rubbed at your eyes, no tears left to fall. Instead, you felt a dull ache between your eyes. Lovely. It had only been barely a week since he had gone, and it felt like a lifetime.

It was easier to work. Staying in your apartment only made your thoughts drift to him. Easier to let your mind grow numb with routine and busywork, with the preoccupation of patients and treatments. Besides, you felt closer to him this way - you weren’t running anymore, and you would never let fear dictate your life again.

After taking care of your patients for the day, you left the medcenter. Your eyes drifted to where Poe had been waiting for you, your nails digging into your palms. Would this gaping hole in your life ever leave? Would it grow smaller over time? Would his loss always cast massive shadow over your life? He would want you to be happy - and he would, of course he would and maybe you will be - but, you look up when you hear shouting, what was happiness without him?

You force yourself to continue walking, unable to look back. Spotting a crowd gathering by the strip, you frown - was some sort of send off ceremony happening? But why would other pilots be gathering around - and then you saw it. You blink.

The Black One.

Walking towards the crowd, your heart pounds against your ribcage, compressing any hope you had, any expectations, any thoughts at all. But your body wasn't having it - limbs shaking even before, as you parted your way through the sea of people. You couldn't hear. You couldn't speak. Not until you knew. Not until you saw for yourself - not until you saw if -

Finally, you break through to the center, and your breath catches in your throat. Your hands fly to your mouth, unwilling to let this moment pass - in paralyzing fear that it’s not real.

Was this a dream? You blink back tears - because you never wanted to wake up.

Poe Dameron stood, in one piece - his clothes worse for the wear, but smiling and laughing. His curls dusty and flat, his body red with scratches and black and blue bruises peeked through his sleeves. He was tired - his smile not reaching his eyes, shifting his weight as if he was ready to leave his welcome crowd.

Alive. He was alive.

And he made it back.

He looks up, as if he sensed you. And he finally sees you. His eyes light up, lips falling into an easy smile - one that reached his eyes, one which required no effort. He steps forward, sliding past the others, "Sweetheart-" he broke off, smile faltering, "sorry, I mean-"

You didn't let him finish. Your arms around his neck, you pulled him close, burying your head in his chest, "I'm okay," he mumbles, and you know he feels your tears wet his shirt, "I made it back to you." He whispers, as if he can’t believe it himself.

"I know, you’re here. You’re here," you don’t know if it’s to reassure him or you.

He pulls you away from the crowd, arm wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers tight. You lift your head to look up at him, his fingers brushing a tear from your cheek away, another running right over it.

“I will always make it back,” for you. Even though you don’t hear those words, you know it’s what he means. And he always has, hasn’t he? That was Poe Dameron.

“I know,” you lean away, your fingers drift to his, intertwining them, “and that’s only one reason why I love you.”

He blinks, "I-what do you-"

“I love you, Poe. I know I can’t stop,” You cup his cheeks, thumb running across his cheek, into the divots of his dimples, "I realized losing you isn't the scariest thing in the world-" he frowns, brow furrowed, "it's losing you without loving you. Loving like I do. Like I always have."

"Sweeth-" he cuts himself off again, and you shake your head.

"Call me sweetheart, call me whatever you want," more tears slip down your cheeks, "when I thought I never would hear you call me that, never hold me again, never tease me, never kiss me-" your voice broke, tears splattering on the ground, shaking your head, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I was so scared. So scared to get hurt. But it was so much worse when you were gone-"

"Shh," he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, "I know. I know. The whole time, everything I did, I did to make it back here. To you, sweetheart." His eyes glassy with tears, "you are my home."

You leaned up, brushing your lips to his, chastely. And again. And again, until his arms found purchase around your waist, pressing you to him. Your hands tug on the front of his shirt, and he groans, but not in pleasure - in pain.

You break the kiss, and a small moan leaves his lips in protest, "How injured are you right now?"

He hesitates, biting his lip, "I got some treatment but -"

You shake your head, "Trying to pull more fancy moves to impress me?" You press another kiss to his lips, pulling him towards the Medcenter.

But he tugs you to his chest with a yelp, "Well it's worked out for me so far, hasn't it?" He nips at the soft spot behind your ear, before sighing, content, burying his face in the nape of your neck.

“Poe-”

“Just let me hold you for a second, okay?” you wrap your arms gingerly around him, fingers carding through his hair, rooting yourself in the reality that he was here, he was okay, he was alive.

~~~

“So you didn’t leave the medcenter?” He says, when you re-enter the patient room you had stuck him in, and you give a wry smile.

“Someone very wise told me I should stop letting fear dictate my life,” you say, pulling on gloves, “so I did. It was hard, but I realize what’s more important in life.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Oh, and what is that?”

Your lips curl, “Shirt off, Dameron,”

“Yes, ma’am,” he pulls the shirt over his head, as you return with bandages, a washcloth, a small basin of water and soap, “if you wanted to see me with my shirt off, you only had to ask.” You survey his torso - mostly bruises and scratches from what you could see.

You roll your eyes, dipping the washcloth in the warm water, “Don’t think I know that already?” You wring the cloth of almost all the water, before beginning to clean his cuts. “You are mine after all, wasn’t that the deal?” He leans up to press a kiss to your cheek, and then another to the hollow of your throat.

“As long as you’re mine,” Your hand glides over his chest, and he hisses as you scrub. You bit back a small smile, survived the First Order, and yet, still sensitive about his bruises. And it gives you an idea. Again, your hand slides over his chest with the damp cloth. But this time your lips follow its trail.

And this time when he hisses, it isn’t because of the pain, “Sweetheart,” it’s almost a warning - it’s cute, his voice deepens ever so slightly, and you feel the hitch in his throat when your lips ghost over it. His hands reach out to touch you, but you shake your head.

“I have to finish,” an innocent smile that he knew wasn’t innocent at all. You stand between his legs now, reaching behind him to scrub his back. Not exactly effective from a medical standpoint, but it definitely distracted him from the pain. You didn’t stop him from burying his head in the nape of your neck, his lips dotting paths all over any exposed skin, his breath heavy against your skin. He groans when your mouth ghosts over his ear.

Finally, he snaps.

His legs cage you in, his hands pulling you into a bruising kiss, before they rake down your sides, and you muffle a moan in his shoulder when he squeezes your hips. His fingers toy with the waistband of your pants, a moment of clarity in a thick haze of lust, “Poe, we cannot-” he pouts, lips pursed, and it’s all it takes to break you, “fuck it.” you mutter, no one was around this late anyway.

He grins, another searing kiss against your lips, his hands eager to wander, but you step away towards the exit to lock it - only for it to open instead.

“Oh, I-” your cheeks burn, “General.”

Correction, no one was around, except maybe the General.

General Organa stood in the doorway, a small smile on her lips, greeting you by name, as you stepped aside to let her in, “I heard you had returned, but I see you’ve been too busy to relay that information to me yourself.”

Poe scrambles to pull his shirt back on, and you open your mouth to protest, but upon seeing the...growing problem that he covers with the hem of his shirt, it dies in your throat, much like the moment, “General, after you are finished speaking, I do need him to finish getting treated. He still needs to be bandaged-”

“I understand,” she says with a nod, her lips pull on the corners of her mouth, “I understand you’re very important to him, more important as of late, so I’ve heard,” Poe coughs, looking pointedly from Leia.

You’re sure you look all too pleased with yourself, “He is to me too.”

Poe shifts his gaze between the two of you, “Who told you?” Leia shakes her head, a glint in her eyes.

“If you do not want people to talk, then perhaps don’t show your affection in front of a crowd,” Leia says, striding toward the door, “and perhaps lock the door earlier.” A flush crawls up his neck, as he follows her out, still daring to throw you a smile over his shoulder.

You blink, so does that mean you have her blessing?

~~~

Night falls quickly, but Poe's return is not. You don't bother to wait at the Medcenter - you know he would find you when he was done. But your eyelids pull at you, pleading for you to crawl into bed, underneath your warm sheets. And eventually you do - unable to stave off sleep any longer.

Well at least for a moment or two.

A knock on your door wakes you with a start, heart in your throat. Bleary eyed and stumbling, you find the door, knocking over half of what you own in the process. Without a second thought, you open it, rubbing at your eyes. You already know who it is after all.

Poe, lips pulled into a small frown and forehead creased, “Poe?”

“Sorry,” he says, eyes not quite meeting yours, “meeting ran long.”

You shake your head, yawning, “Don’t be sorry,” you tug him inside, door shutting and locking behind him. He didn’t sit - instead he stood, in the middle of the room, expression stormy, “What’s wrong?”

And like a snap of lightning, he looks up, “Nothing, nothing, sorry,” he shakes his head, before heaving a sigh, one that seemed to carry the weight of the universe with it.

“Dameron, you can’t lie to me,” you amble over, still half-asleep, wrapping your arms from behind, face buried in his back, “what’s wrong?”

You feel the vibrations from his chuckle, as he pulls your knuckles to his lips, “Leia, she's-"

“Sending you on another mission? She wants you to lead the attack?” his head whips around, and you raise your eyebrows, “I’m not stupid, Poe. You’re the best pilot by far - you’re the commander of your own squadron. Of course they need you.”

He bites his lip, “And you are-”

“I told you,” you sigh, intertwining your fingers with his, “I’m okay. I will be here when you get back, and you will get back, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs, hands slipping out of yours and onto your waist, "I like it when you take charge."

"Oh? Is that so, Commander?" You tease, your hands trailing down his front, tugging him closer with a small grunt leaving his throat, a quiet moan suppressed in his throat, "then let me take charge."

He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off with your lips, firm and unyielding, "And what do I get for listening?"

His hands grasp at your face, sliding down the sides, deepening the kiss, "You get to do whatever you want to me after,"

You walk him back towards the bed, enjoying how pliable the pilot had become in your hands. You pull at his shirt, over his head it goes, your hands immediately taking stock of the exposed skin. Your lips drag over his chest, smiling against his skin when his breath stutters from your touch. Your hands reach for his belt now, pulling it from his waist, wasting no time ridding him of his pants as you pushed him to sit down on the bed.

His palms rested against the edge of your bed, as his eyes peered up at you, biting his lip. You press your lips to his parting his legs to make room for yourself, moving his head in tandem with yours, leaning into your touch, even as your touch left him all at once.

A growl left his throat, "Sweetheart,"

"Patience, Dameron," you strip your slowly shirt off over your head and pull your shorts down, eyes never leaving his. He swallows, his eyes darkening when you realize you’re not wearing anything underneath. You step out of them sliding back over to him, between his legs again, “keep your hands on the bed, okay?”

“Baby-”

Your fingers weave their way into his curls, tugging his head back gently as you press a sweet kiss to his forehead, “I just got you back,” his eyes soften, “let me take care of you for once.”

He nods wordlessly, and he leans up for another kiss. You don’t think you would ever tire of how his lips felt against yours, how his body trying desperately to press closer, closer still, or how his soft moans vibrated against your lips. And then your lips leave his, kisses dotting a path down his body, lighting a fire that you would be sure extinguish slowly.

Your lips shudders against you, his eyes questioning as you kneel between his legs, “I didn’t take my time before, I didn't savor it," your hands run up and down the length of his thighs, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh before smiling against it, "I will never take you for granted again."

"Sweetheart," he moans, and you climb back up to press another kiss to his lips, as your hands trail downwards.

His hips jerk when you reach for the waistband of his boxers, lifting himself off the bed to help you pull them off. You kneel again, taking your time to familiarize yourself - kissing, sucking, brushing, but never touching where he wanted you to. Where his hands desperately wanted to lead you.

"Please," he asks, his knuckles white against the edge of the bed.

Your fingers brush his cock, spreading the pre-cum over the length of it. Fingers grasping it at its base, licking a stripe up the bottom. You look up to see him biting his lip, “Don’t hold back,” you murmur, and he looks down at you with lidded eyes, as you take the head into your mouth.

He groans, guttural and raw, as you take as much of his as you can into your mouth, “Sweetheart, please,” you begin to suck now, pulling another moan from his lips, you look up to see his head thrown back in beautiful, debauched bliss, “I want to touch you.”

You guide his hands to you, his fingers immediately threading into your hair, his hips being to thrust gently into your mouth, “Fuck, you are so beautiful,” he meets your gaze, panting, his cock twitch in your mouth, “I love how you feel around me, sweetheart. You do that so good.”

You swirl your tongue around him, and his fingers tighten in your hair, before gently pulling you off of him. Staring down at you, his chest rises and falls, a beautiful flush has taken hold of his skin. Your fingers trace his thighs, muscles still clenched tight under your touch. You slowly rise, licking your lips clean of him. He reaches out for you, asking silently if he could finally touch you, and you take his hand.

In a moment, he has you in his lap, your legs spread out for him, thighs on either side of his waist. He groans in your ear, when his fingers finally brush you, “So wet for me," he parts you with two fingers, and you gasp, "only for me," he murmurs, with an edge of possession that has you rocking against him. He sucks his fingers clean, and growling when he feels you grow wetter. He squeezes your hips, "tell what you want sweetheart."

You don't say anything instead you position yourself over him, his head prodding your entrance, arms around his shoulders, "I want you."

You see his breath catch, before he grabs you by the back of the neck, kissing you, all teeth and tongue. Then he pulls your hips down and you sink onto him, "Fuck," you whisper against his lips, and you hear him shudder when you shift, "I love you," you breathe, intermingled with his own, and you begin to move.

“Every time I wanted to give up,” Poe breathed, his lips pressing kisses to your collarbone, fingers squeezing your breasts, “I thought of you, and how much I loved you. How much I wanted this - to be with you every night. To wake up next to each other every morning. To not be afraid of leaving you.”

“Poe,” you whisper, and he loves how he moans your name in your ear.

His hips begin to snap up, meeting you with every thrust, “I will always make it back to you,” he grabs your hips and shifts you so he hits deeper the next time, and you begin to clench around him, “and I want to feel you cum for me. C’mon sweetheart,” he licks up the side of your neck, his fingers drifting to where you met to rub at your clit, “Say my name when you cum for me.”

And you tighten around him, as he pulls you into a kiss, his lips swallowing your moans, continuing to thrust through your high, until you hear him groan your name against your lips, “Come inside me,” you say, breathless, and he does as you say, spilling inside you.

You ease into his lap, still buried in you, as you both come down. His arms steady you, warm and safe, trailing up and down your body before settling right above your hips. You run your fingers through his hair mindlessly, relishing in how he felt pressed against you. His head buried in your shoulder, his curls tickle your neck as he presses lazy kisses against your skin.

Then he pauses, “Do you think we could try this in an x-wing?”

You snort, drawing back to look at him, “That’s what came to mind?”

He laughs, a noise that makes your chest swell, and you smile at him, “Something to share, sweetheart?”

“I just love you so much,” you sigh, eyes shutting even as he helps you move from his lap. Your eyes begrudgingly open, “What are you-” He maneuvers his way to his strewn clothes. You bite your lip as your eyes drift to his ass, unabashedly admiring it, as he pulls his boxers on.

He raises a brow as he turns around, catching you in that act, “And apparently, my ass too,” he grins, much too pleased, before stepping into the refresher, only to return with washcloth to clean you both off. You shrug, trying to suppress your own smile, as he crawls over, washcloth in hand, you take it from him. When you finish, he hands you his shirt, “because I know how much you like how I smell.”

“And how do you know that?” you murmur, pulling on the shirt, resisting the urge to bring the fabric to your nose. He leans close to press a small kiss to your lips.

“Because I felt you sniff me the night before I left for Jakku,” your cheeks burn, as you splutter, and he raises a finger, “you’re such a bad liar. It’s cute,” he adds, you roll your eyes, “No wonder you can’t be a pilot.”

You gape at him in mock offense, “And what does lying have to do with being a pilot?” and the smile slides off his face, and his jaw sets. A flicker of emotion disappears as quickly as it appears. It felt as if the air had been sucked from the room, instead a thick tension settling over the room. Stifling. You watch him, the thoughts in his mind a haze over eyes, “Poe-”

He shakes it off with a terrible attempt at a smile, “No, it’s nothing. I’m sorry-” he kisses your forehead sweetly, “I don’t want to ruin our only night together-”

“Poe,” you cup his face, and he stops, your thumb drawing back and forth against his cheek, “We never talked about what happened after Jakku.”

“You don’t need to-”

“I want to know,” you tilt his face up gently to look at you, his eyes glassy, “if you’ll tell me, if you want to talk about it. You should talk about it.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but his shoulders slump under the weight of it all. And you see him give up before a fight. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, “It’s not pretty,”

“I didn’t expect it to be,” He stays silent, “I don’t want to force you, but I love you, and I’m always here-”

“They tortured me,” he blurts in a whisper, “At first, it was nothing - nothing I couldn’t handle anyway. They train you to resist - I mean they don’t call us the Resistance for nothing,” a bitter laugh caught in his throat. You want to comfort him. You want to say something. But every word feels wholly inadequate. Every sentence a platitude. Instead, your fingers brushed his shoulders, arms engulfing around him in the comfort you wanted to surround him, chin on his shoulder. A reminder that he was safe. That had made it back. Despite the odds, he had lived.

“I’ll spare you the details, but, when Ren came - it was different,” muscles tensing, he squeezes his eyes shut, “He tried to get to talk, and then when he couldn’t. He used the force on me.”

Your eyebrows knit together, “Poe-”

“It was a low buzz at first - I could feel it, slipping into my body, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it,” his body roils, his fingers curling into fists, veins throbbing. His heart thrummed in his chest, against your front. Your hand found his, gently prying at the nails digging into his flesh, until intertwined, “Then it was stronger still, pushing, urging, slamming. A hand reaching into my body, my mind - looking for something I wouldn’t give it,” A tear splatters against your thigh, “I tried to fight it. I thought I could. And then..”

He shudders, covering his face, covering his eyes with his forearm, “I couldn’t anymore. I couldn't stop him, and now…" his nails dig into his skin, and he swallows - the fear, the sadness, but not his anger, “I swear, I will bring them down. I will burn the First Order to the ground.”

You give a tight nod, “I know,” your hand guides his gaze to yours, “You will. We will,” before adding, “You’re not in this alone, Dameron.”

A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest, “I’m not?”

“Never,” you press your forehead to his, “not as long I’m here. And Leia. And everyone else here. We won’t stop until the end.”

“Until the end,” he repeats, eyes slowly shutting at the thought, a small smile on his lips, “A galaxy without a war.”

“It will happen,” you squeeze his hand, “and we’ll be there to see it.”

He sighs, as he chooses then to lie his head in your lap, eyes shutting as your fingers explore his curls."and then what will we do? After the war?"

You hum, ignoring the flutter of affection spreading across your abdomen, “I never really thought about it, have you?” you ask, and he purses his lips in mock thought, and the affection swirls into nerves, jittery.

“I always thought about living on Yavin IV again,” his expression softens, “where I-”

“Where you grew up with your parents,” you finish, as his eyes peer up at you, “I know you pretty well, Poe Dameron,”

“Really?” he turns so his head is now facing your stomach, “then, answer these questions,” His fingers slip under the hem of his shirt, igniting any jitters into heat, “and I’ll make it worth your while.” His lips press a kiss right above your belly button.

“Question?”

He smiles against your stomach, “Parents’ names?”

“Shara and Kes,” you feel his lips explore the soft flesh of your stomach with reverence.

“When did I find the love of my life? I mean, the one besides you,” he adds. You laugh, his deft fingers making it no better by brushing your sides.

“I think you were six?” and he confirms it with a kiss, “When your mom taught you to pilot for the first time, and you never stopped.” you feel his lips wander below your bellybutton now, “Do you think about her a lot when you fly?”

“It’s more a feeling,” he sighs, and you shiver when his warm breath billows across your bare skin, “i always remember how it felt to fly with her - it was exciting, but it was also…” his lips quirk against your skin, as he meets your gaze, “It was safe.” Your hands trace absentminded circles across the panes of his shoulders, “Okay, last question.”

He parts your thighs to make room for himself between them, pushing the hem of his shirt far above your hips, fingers splayed on either knee, drifting closer, closer, closer. His lips skim your knee, closer to your thigh now, and then even closer.

“Who do I see spending my life with on Yavin IV?” he rests his head against your knee, curls tickling the skin there. And impossibly. your feelings for him grow.

It was a warmth in your chest that told you so, but it still seemed ever so implausible. It was unfeasibly so. Each day you thought you knew him. Each day you thought you loved him. But everyday you learned something more - something else about him you didn’t know. And loved him even more.

How was it possible to love someone so completely?

“Are you trying to sweet talk me so I agree to the x-wing?” And his chuckle reverberates across your entire body, as he leans closer to your warmth.

“Sweetheart, I already have.”

~~~

Morning comes all too soon. As does the dread, so deeply ingrained in your dreams the night before - you thought Poe had already left when you awoke. But no, he laid sleeping next to you. You tamp down the urge to brush your fingers over his face or press a kiss to his cheek - you knew he would wake and it would be that much sooner that he would leave. It was easier - easier to let him sleep, to enjoy these few moments with him, his breaths puffing out evenly from between his lips.

It was nice to see him so peaceful after last night.

A stab of anger went through you, before it became a roaring wave. What you would give to run that monster’s own lightsaber through his chest. But he would get his own one day - hopefully not before Poe had his chance to punch him.

And perhaps, for you to get your own in as well.

But you didn’t want to think about the First Order. You didn’t want to think about the war. You didn’t want to think about the fact that he was leaving soon.

You just wanted to think about him. About a future after the war. About Yavin IV.

You jolt from your thoughts when he rolls over closer to you, “You know it’s very difficult to sleep when someone is watching you,” his voice thick and deep with sleep, his arm winds its way around you, pulling your head to his chest. Ironically, your breath stutters when he breathes you in, “but I don’t mind it when it's you.”

“How did you wake up?” and a small rumble vibrates against your skin.

“I had a dream,” he sighs, eyes fluttering open as he moves away to gaze at your face, “but I think I prefer reality.”

“Even when you have to leave soon?” your eyes drift to the chronometer, but he draws your gaze back to him with a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“Even then,” he grins, pushing himself up to hover over you, noses brushing as he stares down at you, “because it will be that much sooner that I get back to you, sweetheart.”

"I know," and he reaches inside his shirt, pulling a chain out - the same one he wore at all times, his mother's ring glinting in the sunlight as it hung from the chain.

"I want you to have this," he starts to pull it off, but you stop him, "no, I do." His eyes blazing, any protests die in your throat, "this is my promise. This is my promise that I will make back to you."

"Poe," you shake your head, and his face falls, "I only need your word to know that you'll make it back to me. Your mother's ring is important to you - she's the reason you fly," you press a kiss to his lips, "I'll get to wear the ring someday, after all of this is over. But right now," you press a kiss to his lips, "you should keep it."

He pauses for a moment, before cracking a smile, his curls falling across his forehead, "did I just hear you propose to me?"

“Consider it a promise,” and his expression softens, lifting your knuckle to his lips.

“I’m holding you to that, sweetheart.”

After some time, you’re forced to get dressed - both to say goodbye to Poe, and to go in for a shift.

At the hangar, you stand to the side, watching him run through the tests for the Black One with Wren. He wipes the sweat from his brow, stepping back from the ship, an easy smile on his lips when his eyes fall on you again. You adjust the white vest over his orange jumpsuit, the orange reminding you of a certain droid, “Tell BB-8 that I miss him okay? And that I’ll see you both soon.” you tell him, a flicker of guilt crosses his face, “you will find him. He’s okay.”

“I know,” he bites his lip, “I just hate flying solo.”

“You love flying anytime,” finally his lips quirk, and his arm tugs you close his hand drifting dangerously close to your ass, “Poe,” you mean it to come as a warning, but it comes out far too breathless.

“I’m still holding you to your promise,” he murmurs against your cheek, and you flush, looking at the x-wing, “and I'll keep mine." His jaw sets for a moment as he glances at the ship - and he frowns. All too preoccupied with thoughts of war, BB-8, the impending battle. You tug at his vest.

"A small home," his brow creases in confusion, "on Yavin IV. Maybe in a clearing somewhere, surrounded by trees. Enough space for you to fly, and maybe to teach someone to fly," his eyes shine at the thought, "we are taking BB-8 with us right?”

He kisses you then, full and unyielding, and you taste the ration he had eaten this morning on his lips. His fingers on the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, before he finally parts, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes shut, "Anywhere I go with you is home."

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to cry. You will not cry over Poe Dameron again. Even as he boards. Even as you watch him take off with his squadron.

Because you will see him again.

~~~

The quiet around the base during an attack is eerie. The silence hangs over the entire encampment like a low lying smog - suffocating and visible. Fewer x-wings line the strip, fewer people rushing about, mechanics in their barracks, and a quiet settles. The fear very much sits in your throat, with every breath or every bite of food you swallow. It also lingers in your stomach, much like a disagreeable meal.

There were moments you forgot: you laughed at something your co-workers said or at a joke your patient made. You would smile, but then you would feel it - the memory of a wound that hadn’t happened yet. And the happiness would dissipate, leaving only the thought.

It was worse when it was quiet.

Even worse when you weren’t busy, and all you were left with were “what ifs” again.

And that’s why you found yourself sitting by the hangar, watching mechanics return to the barracks after doing some repairs. Your head drifted towards the sky. No sign. And no word for that matter.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting for him this whole time,” Your head snaps to attention and you see General Leia Organa standing. You had seen the General very few times. Poe was her protege - yes - and you were just one of the many stitching up her soldiers. You didn’t blame her, of course, you wouldn’t trade places with her for anything. The immense pressure, the pain of loss, the fear of failure…It must weigh on her each and every day - and yet, she still rose. She still led. She still fought.

“General,” she puts you at ease with a gentle wave of her hand, and you found her beside you. You stood in comfortable silence, relatively, as comfortable as you could be besides the leader of the Resistance. You resist the urge to wring your hands or to glance at her. Her stare was penetrating - one look you felt completely vulnerable, completely open. Like she had your worth and your life in one fell swoop. But still...you couldn’t resist asking, “What are you doing here?”

“The same thing you are doing,” out of the corner of your eye, you see her staring at the sky as well, “looking.”

“What are you looking for?” the words slip out, and regret washes your face in red, "Apologies, General, I-"

"I'm thinking about my husband," you try (and fail, you suspect) to hide the look of shock coloring your expression, “don’t look so surprised, aren’t I allowed to reminisce?”

“Of course, I apologize. It’s just-” you break off, a complete loss of words.

"My husband and I had many adventures. Sometimes together. Others apart. But we always shared the same sky - perhaps not the same planet's, but we shared the same galaxy. Most times it had been enough," her gaze fell to the ground, "other times it wasn't."

You don't waver this time, "I was scared at first. Poe, what he does. It scared me that I wouldn't be able to save him. That I wouldn't be enough -" you finally allow yourself to look at her, and you found her staring back, "but I realize I didn't need to save him. I just needed to support him," you bite your lip, "maybe you both need to support each other."

Expression unreadable, her gaze shifts away from you, “You’re just as Poe described,”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “And how did he-”

“He spoke of you with pride, but softness,” she tells you, almost wistfully, “everything he does, he does with his whole heart, he does for the Resistance, but he also does it for you.”

“How do you know?" Her features grow softer.

"Because I've felt it for another," she takes one last look at the sky, "they will arrive back soon enough," she nods at you, "please be ready to treat them. I am counting on you to do your best."

You barely remember to nod, watching her back retreat, and she pauses, "I entrust you with his care. He is a good commander, but an even better man."

"I know," your voice caught in your throat, "I will."

And for a moment, the quiet doesn't seem so daunting.

~~~

And it was as General Organa said: it happened quickly.

The front doors of the medcenter bursted open, an orderly panting from running from the strip nodded, and that’s when you knew. They had returned.

Grabbing your kits, everyone rushed out prepared to triage, stabilize, and transfer.

They came back, some were lucky - some made it back intact; but others were not. Already you could see a few fires where x-wings had crashed into the ground, the smell of burning metal and flesh heavy in the air. You didn’t have time to take in much else.

It was patient after patient.

One by one, you darted from x-wing to x-wing, helping other medics to get the severely injured to the medcenter, stabilizing the ones you could do on site. The most difficult part was the diagnosis - one mistake, and it cost the person their life. And a little bit of your humanity.

Dislocated shoulders, broken bones, chemical burns - nothing you hadn’t seen before, and in quantities that the medcenter could handle. Still, your nerves bit at you, waiting - waiting for the other shoe to drop. But with every patient you handled, you slowly realized it wasn’t coming - the patients grew less, and less ships began to return. But was that a good thing? A shiver went down your spine - after all, these were just the ones that were able to return.

And still, no sign of Poe or the Black One.

But it wasn’t the time to think of that. You had a job to do, taking a moment to wipe the dripping sweat from your brow. Everything else would come later.

Hours passed, and you went from one patient to the next. Barely a moment to breathe, much less sit, but you allowed your body a moment of stillness, amongst the chaos. Staying in place was as dangerous as lying down - especially if you wanted to keep working.

Either way, you couldn’t stay idle, not for long anyway - not when you had a job to do, and a procedure to get to. Despite this, you still heard the whispers amongst the medics - the battle had ended. You could see it too - less panic, less chaos, and less medics. Soon you could go home - and a tiny part of you hoped - hoped Poe would be waiting outside, against the medcenter wall again.

But when you found someone waiting for you outside the medcenter - it wasn’t Poe - it was his mechanic, “Wren,” you blink, “didn’t I tell you I decided to stay-”

“You did,” the corners of her lips made an attempt at a smile, but instead it only made her frown more pronounced, “Poe asked me to pass on a message for you, he had to run out on another mission,” throat tight, you give a stiff nod, heart dropping down to your feet.

“Thank you for letting me know, any idea when he will be back?”

She shook her head, “You know how these things are - but he did get BB-8 back, so he’s in good company,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

“Well between the two of them, BB-8 does seem to have custody of the brain cell more often, especially for a droid,” Wren grinned, and you sighed, the thought weighing on your already tired body more heavily than you thought it would. You took a step forward, and the planet spun underneath you, legs made simultaneously of iron and jelly.

Everything was garbled, distant, even as Wren asked, “Are you okay?” you barely heard it, and then nothing.

~~~

Warm. Too warm. You felt consciousness and reality pull at you, but you pushed it away, instead focusing on how comfortable you were in the slippery arms of sleep. You felt something brush against your forehead, and you knocked the annoyance away, utterly too sleepy to deal with being bothered. But that only served to wake you further. You furrowed your brow, realizing the edge of this bed was much closer than you though-

You froze, this wasn't your bed.

Eyes blinking open, you groaned, covering your eyes again, the harsh light of the world of the living far too...harsh for you. Stars, your head hurt.

Groggy and confused, you finally could open your eyes. And you spotted familiar surroundings - no First Order abduction, but rather one done by your workplace. You moved to sit up, but after several seconds of struggling, you gave up, resigned. It felt like someone jabbed a lightsaber right through your forehead. What happened?

You fell back on your pillow, squeezing your eyes shut, you were still so tired. A groan left your lips, drawn out and muffled against your pillow.

"And what a welcome home that was," you furrowed your brow, lifting your head.

Arms crossed across his chest, his white popped collar shirt looking thoroughly slept in. His lips pulled into an impossibly wide grin, eyes somehow still glinting mischievously, despite the dark bags under them. He set down the rations he had, rounding the bed to your side. And somehow you found the strength to push yourself up and into his arms, head resting against his very real middle, "is this a dream?" You mumbled against him, his laughter made you vibrate.

He hummed, "I think if this were a dream we would both have much less clothes on," you scoffed, and he laughed again, as your hands fisted in his shirt, "I thought I was the one who was supposed to end up in the hospital, not you."

"I don't even remember what happened," you pulled back to look up at him, and he frowned, "I remember the x-wings returning, triaging, then leaving to go home, and then...Wren told me you left on a mission."

"And then you passed out from dehydration," he shook his head, running his fingers through your hair, "Wren brought you inside. As soon as I heard, I came here, and I slept here. I wanted to be here when you woke up."

"Hm, not the same as waking up beside you," you said, burying your head in his middle, hearing his heart thump particularly hard against his chest, "but close enough."

"Well now that you're awake, I think we can arrange for that," and you drew back, grinning up at him, he ran his fingers down the side of your cheek, "if you'll have me?"

You pulled him by his collar into a kiss. He succumbed to your touch immediately, his fingers finding the back of your neck to pull you closer, his tongue sliding into your mouth. Your hand found purchase on his shoulder, and then in the small curls on the back of his neck, re-affirming for this moment, and forever, he was here. He was home.

"Poe Dameron," you murmur, foreheads pressed together, "I think I'll have you for the rest of my life."

EPILOGUE

And again, you found yourself in the exact same predicament.

“What do you want, Dameron?” you didn’t look up from the small cutting board, even as his arms curled around your waist, pressing his chest to your back. The afternoon light pierced through the open window, casting the whole cabin in a warm hue, despite the shade the immense trees provided.

So maybe, not the exact same predicament.

His beard dragging over your skin as he pressed kisses to the crook of your neck, “Sweetheart-”

You held up your hand, the one with the knife in it, “No sweetheart,” you turned, hands on your hips, “you’ve been distracting me all day, and I’m actually trying to cut some fruit for us to enjoy since we have not eaten since this morning.”

He bit his lip, before his lips curled in a smile, eyes flickering up and down your body, “Well I ate just a few minutes ago,”

Your cheeks burn, “I meant food.”

“Oh,” he says with a cheeky smile, “fine. Then, how can I help, wife?”

You roll your eyes, pressing your lips into a line to hide your smile, “Why don’t you go wait for me outside, General?"

“Yes, ma’am,” he winks, stepping out of the cabin, and you smiled, despite yourself, finishing up with the fruit.

You find him sitting on a tree stump, and you pause. His black curls had a touch of salt and pepper gray in them now, including his beard. He grow it out, thick and mildly untamed, especially when you let it slip how much you actually liked it.

You weren't complaining.

His eyes still had that glint in them that made your heart skip several beats, and his smile remained utterly and annoyingly charming, his laugh even more so - no longer weighed down by the pressures of war. Now he could fly anytime he wanted - but just for the thrill of it. His hands were now bruised and rough, but not from risking his life, but from making one with you.

“Are you just going to stare at me, or join me?” you blinked, as he turned his head to smile at you, “because I don’t mind either.”

“How do you always know?” you hand him the plate, choosing to sit against his legs on the ground, “Does being a pilot entail having eyes in the back of your head?”

“Always ready, baby," you peer up at him, head between his legs, "our groves are doing well, aren't they?"

You hummed, "Because of your work on them, and all my help, "

"You mean when you watch me work without my shirt on?" He snorts, handing you a few pieces of fruit from the plate, “very helpful.”

You take a bite enjoying how the cool citrus flavor dances across your tongue, “I meant more taking care of everything else,” before you add, “well besides cooking.”

You don’t need to look at him to know he has that knowing smile across his lips and you turn to confirm your suspicions, only to watch him lick his fingers, the juice from the fruit running down his fingers, hiding his smile behind his hand.

You turn around, licking a wide stripe up the side of his hand, all the way up his pinky. His pupils dilated, lips parted as his eyes, the smile wiped off his face as your mouth closed around two of his fingers, sucking the juices off his fingers, before mouth popping off, as you dust yourself off.

Walking backwards, grinning at your still dumbfounded husband, “Isn’t it about time for dinner?" You grin at his agape expression, before scurrying off towards the cabin, your laugh echoing above the thick jungle of Yavin IV when you hear him yell your name as he chases after you.

~~~

After a very long night, Poe awakes to an empty bed, his arm not finding your soft warmth, but a cold sheet. His eyes flutter open to see the light filtering in through the window, “Sweetheart?” he groans, burying his head in the pillow for a moment, listening to the silence for a reply.

Nothing.

BB-8 rolls in the doorway, “Buddy, where’s-” he beeps, waiting for Poe to follow him.

"it's so early, what is-"

You were staring at the x-wing, arms crossed over your middle, "Sweetheart?" You jump, spotting the nearly imperceptible motion of you wiping a tear from your eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," you offer a small smile, eyes still glassy. You must notice his furrowed brow, as you shake your head, "everything is fine."

"Your eyes don't seem to agree," you laugh waterily, intertwining your hand with his easily - as easy as it always has been. He always loved the weight of your hand in his, maybe that's why he was always dragging you everywhere. It was an excuse to touch you, to be closer, to breach that line he had drawn for himself in the sand. The one he thought he'd never breach.

He'd never be able to thank the stars for your slip that night. Your admission that led to your kiss. Otherwise maybe, you wouldn't be dragging him somewhere.

You pulled him towards the x-wing, and he raised a brow, "Are you actually offering-"

"Once was enough, Poe," you roll your eyes, "it was also uncomfortable and I think I still have bruises from the dashboard to prove it."

"Still worth it," and you scoffed, "then why-"

You pulled him in, making him take a seat, at the helm, "Remember when we talked about our life here?"

He blinked, "Yeah?'

"Well, you said you always wanted to teach someone to fly this thing," he tilted his head, gears in his mind working out this riddle, "and I'm sure not flying this thing."

His mouth fell open, and his eyes flitted from your face to your stomach, "You-"

"We are," you squeezed his hand, moving it to place on your stomach, "BB-8 is going to have a sibling." His laugh was consumed by a sharp breath, pressing his forehead to yours.

"We're having a baby, sweetheart," he whispers reverently, feeling the corners of his eyes sting with fresh tears, his lips press to yours, pulling you into a tight hug. He inhaled deeply, burying his face in your shoulder. He never wanted to forget this moment.

He squeezed his eyes shut. When his mother passed, he thought he would never forget - forget the sound of her voice, what her smile looked like, what it felt like to be held by her. But time wore on, fraying the memories at their edges until they unraveled. Some things he remembered better than others, just as some days are better, but even now those strong memories were beginning to waver. Each time he realized, it gnawed away at him, a loss that he believed would never leave him. And it wouldn't. Not completely. Nor would the pain of the battles he had fought. The people he had lost. His parents. Leia.

Leia. He knew she would have loved his child. He knows it - so much so that his chest aches. Probably would have spoiled them. Doted on them. He thought he would never get over losing her -

But now, maybe, he leaned back to look at you. Even a little, that loss seemed to ebb away, and instead of sadness, he felt hope.

He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, "I think you just gave me my new dream, sweetheart."

You smile, "And you just gave me mine."

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #star wars #poe dameron imagines #sw #sw fanfiction #tfa #the force awakens #i worked too hard at this fic holy shit #please give it a read #i have no idea what to tag this as whoops #star wars imagines

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