a light, a song, a bluebird (Poe Dameron x f!Reader)
words: 6.4k
warnings: contains smut and difficult themes so 18+ only please; Reader has certain trauma responses that not all readers may relate to (including being touch-adverse, temporarily non-verbal, and âflightâ related conflict responses); intimacy related anxiety; dealing with trauma indirectly (source of trauma is never explicitly declared); assumed consent typical of a developed relationship; passing mention of having children in the future; canon typical violence; dancing; Jedi!Finn (not that itâs a warning, but itâs necessary for context)
a/n: FINALLY THE FIC I HAVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT FOR MONTHS IS HERE!!!!! I donât really get into my trauma on here but this fic is pretty heavily based on me and the way I exist which is SUPER vulnerable and makes me very stressed but Iâve had a few requests over the years for something like this and I think Iâm finally ready to post more about my experiences. Weâre gonna start with this and see how it goes. Itâs also a new narration style Iâm trying!
I definitely could add more scenes to this thing (and I still might add to it) but I just need to post it and let it be imperfect. But if you guys like this universe, let me know? Maybe Iâll make this a little series? Not that I need another damn series
(Also if youâre interested in the playlist for this fic, itâs here)
I hope this means something to you. Writing it has definitely meant something to me.
__
Poe could have sworn you were a statue with how still you sat. Shoulders hunched near up to your ears, only a slight sway of your head gave you away: the human among life-like metal and stone.
He takes a cautious step into your workshop, head on a swivel for company and your self-designed traps. Only once had he missed a tripwire, sending a misshapen clay headâhe later found out it was an attempt at a lothcatâ swinging through the air and into his jaw.
He carefully navigates the stacks of artwork as he heads for your work station. As he passes though, he brushes a thin layer of ash off a carving of a Force-tree and rights a pile of tarps threatening to topple onto a half-finished clock. He never would have lingered on the timepiece, tucked under a larger depiction of a four-legged, seemingly hairy creature he doesnât recognize, if not for the delicate gold gears set into its face. Not only were the gears golden, but you had pressed metal leaves of the same warm shade into the preserved wood of the clockâs body.
He freezes as he hears you call out, âMr. Bey?â
Youâre shocked at how quickly his head snaps around to look at you. It usually takes him a moment to respond as he feigns having the reflexes of a normal person, making it more than clear that heâs undercover, but you werenât one to call a man out. His business was his.
And your discretion kept him coming back.
You had turned in your seat and were grinning at the handsome man, yanking your earpieces out of your head. They clatter to the tabletop. Standing, you tuck your hands into the front of your stained apron, sending your bag that was always slung over one of your shoulders swinging at your side.
Something about the softness in his eyes makes your heart flutter.
He takes a small bow, carefully tipping the grey cap he has sitting on his curls in your direction as he made his way to his feet. Something in his knee pops and you flinch on his behalf.
He coughs, surely from the thickness of the air. The volcanic island that houses your shop has experienced recent activity, sending debris and ash into the air. Given how sparse his visits were, you doubt heâs used to the air quality.
âI hope I didnât startle you,â he says, his voice gravely. Thereâs something child-like about how he carries himself, like a boy in his fatherâs clothing.
âYou didnât,â you say with a shake of your head. Leaning around the large chunk of unworked metal that was blocking your view, your eyebrows quirk up as you notice the subject of his study. âI didnât think a non-standard timepiece was part of the Princessâ order.â
âIt wasnât this time. But Iâll put a good word in.â
Your laugh is a gentle exhale. You rock back on your heels before turning around and pushing aside the grease-stained cloth that curtained off the underside of your table. The box heâd come for had been tucked under your workbench all day in anticipation of his arrival.
Every time your swinging legs had collided with the crate, you had seen his gentle brown eyes as clear as if he was standing before you.
You grunt as you pull it free. With a quick tap on the top of the weapons case, it begins to levitate itself. With a careful shove, you send it towards Poe. âThere.â You rock back on your heels again, your head cocked. âWill that be all, Mr. Bey?â
He brushes some ash off the crate with his sleeve. âThis time.â He sets the credits â more than he owed you for the weapons, if your eyes didnât deceive you â on a squat table beside him.
The man was always careful to keep his distance from you. Though your quips were given with a smile and you seemed to take his teasing as well as you dolled it out, there were certain moments that you became timid around him.
He didnât want to be the one to chase away your smile.
âAre you sure you donât want to come on an adventure?â he asks, knowing your response.
Heâd asked every time heâd come to pick up orders from you. It had taken you a few occurrences to figure out exactly what heâd meant. That he wasnât just a stranger attempting to kidnap you. That he was actually asking you to come with him.
The Princess. A handsome scoundrel with a fake name. Shipments of weapons disguised as art. You didnât need to be a genius to figure out what exactly you were assisting.
The Resistance.
Though it was a noble cause, and you couldnât be happier to assist the General-Princess Leia Organa, you couldnât imagine what being on a military base could offer you, other than sleepless nights and the feeling of uselessness youâd been trying to avoid since birth.
So, you shake your head. âNo, thank you, Mr. Bey. You enjoy your adventure and Iâll see you soon.â
âWell, alright.â He bows again. âTake care.â He gently pushes the crate out your front door without looking back.
*
Itâs weeks before Mr. Bey comes back to visit you. Heâs transporting bombs, this time. Expensive ones. Youâd traded a few of your best pieces for them. Things you were proud of and didnât want to part with for anything.
Except, apparently, the fate of the galaxy.
His trip is short, as it always is, but heâs been sure to ask you: âDo you want to come on an adventure with me?â
Your answer is no, again, and he does look disappointed, but he smiles at you and leaves without pressuring you, as always. Itâs like he canât be anything other than sweet. He doesnât know how. It simply isnât in his programming.
You wonder what a man like that is doing in the middle of a war.
*
âWill you join me on my adventure today?â he asks softly.
Mr. Bey is wearing a long cloak this time. The thick fabric pools at his neck, failing to hide the suture tape that lines his jaw. He carries a new weight on his shoulders this time, months after youâd seen him last, his eyes sunken and hands unsteady.
You wonder idly what would happen if you were to say yes. Unfortunately, you hadnât planned for this to be the moment you find out.
You push the crate towards him. âIâm afraid not, Mr. Bey. Who would finish this piece if I were to come with you?â You gesture to the metal sculpture in front of you before returning your hands to the strap of your bag. You worry the frayed edge with your fingers as you gaze down at your current project. Itâs nowhere near finished, barely resembling the tree you could see in your mind. Two small birds, one still missing its wings, lay on their sides on your desk.
The floor begins to shake.
You move to duck under a table but Mr. Bey surges forward, holding out a hand. You take it gingerly, only because of the intensity of his gaze.
âWe have to go.â He pulls you along with him as he heads for the door, abandoning the crate of weapons.
âItâs just a quake,â you try to explain, dragging your feet to slow him down. âThey happen from time to time. We need to find coverâŚâ
He opens the exterior door and swears.
The buildings surrounding the landing field burn. Two Planetary Defense ships plummet out of view, black streaks across the sky. Your lungs seize around the ashy air you drag in with your gasp.
A unit of TIE fighters close in on the Flight Tower. Two shots, and itâs set ablaze. Another, and itâs falling, fallingâŚ
Mr. Bey grips your wrist, dragging you out of the rubbleâs path. The world moves in slow motion as it crumbles around you.
You clutch your bag tight to your chest and you run, hand in hand, from the building as the world explodes around you.
Two hands wave at you through the dust from the far side of the landing field. The shuttle that the person â a human, from what you could make out â is standing on hovers right at the end of the field, where flat earth drops away to sheer cliff and the rolling magma ocean below.
âJump!â He shouts, dragging you across the gap and onto the boarding ramp of the ship.
He holds tight to your hand as you gaze down at the landing pad, watching the ships, the trading village, and your home explode and crumble into the sea below.
Mr. Bey does not let you go until the both of you are safe inside the shuttle and the doors close. As the shuttle lifts off, you scramble for purchase on the smooth, clean metal walls.
Tin can. Youâre inside a tin can, flying away from your home.
âSteady, there.â The human that waved you into their shuttle sets a hand on your shoulder and you jump, gluing yourself to the wall.
âItâs okay. Youâre safe.â Mr. Bey doesnât approach you but holds out a hand. You timidly take it. He gestures to the other man. âThis is Finn. Heâs a friend.â
âAnother code name, Mr. Bey?â you ask, still shaking.
He chuckles, the sound warming you. âIâm Poe,â he says, âPoe Dameron.â
You donât know the family name Dameron. Youâre not sure if you should. But from the way he says it, the sheer weight the name seems to carry as it rolls off his tongue, you know heâs important. His family is important. This man carries a legacy that you donât need to know to respect.
You introduce yourself quietly, shaking his hand where he already holds yours. âI guess Iâm joining you on your adventure this time, Poe Dameron,â you say. In your head, the words sound more confident than they come out, hanging awkwardly between you.
But he chuckles again. It calms something in you, and you smile too.
âItâs gonna be cramped with four people, but weâll manage,â the man called Finn says and you shrink back against the wall.
Poe quickly lets you go, still smiling. âCome meet our pilot? Sheâs great. Youâll love her.â
You keep your bag clutched to your chest as he and Finn lead you through the ship. They both walk in front of you, turning back to check that youâre following occasionally but giving you space as you navigate to the cockpit.
The ship is a relic from an ancient time. The vents are clogged, and you can smell salt and sand and something definitely rotting somewhere. Despite that, you can tell the ship is very well loved.
You follow the curve of the upper deck towards the cockpit. A small brown-haired woman pokes her head out the door. âStowaway?â she says.
Her deadpan has your gut twisting. âIâMisterâUm, Poe⌠Poe said I couldâŚâ
âYouâre good. Reyâs kidding.â Poe introduces her to you and you carefully shake her hand.
âWelcome to the Falcon,â Rey says before taking her seat in front of the controls.
âSheâs a little odd,â Poe whispers, warmth and love radiating from every word. You just nod, trying to smile.
Finn takes the seat next to her and Poe sits behind her, so you take the only remaining seat in the small cockpit for the remainder of the flight, tucking your knees to your chest and making yourself as small as possible, your bag resting over your knees.
The flight to the Resistance base is much shorter than you had expected. It makes sense, given how often Poe came to visit you for supplies, that theyâd want somewhere close if they got into a jam.
If you could equate âa jamâ to the war raging in the galaxy.
Upon landing youâre quickly taken through a medical evaluation and then meet two members of the Resistance leadership, a taller woman with pink hair and a shorter one that seemed to carry the galaxy on her shoulders.
You canât remember their names. It takes all of the concentration you can muster to keep from trembling. Youâll have to ask Poe later, for their names and a map of the base that quickly reveals itself to be a labyrinth. Surely heâll be able to help. Heâs been at your side since the Falcon had landed on DâQar, providing enough smiles and kind words that you didnât shake apart.
He walks beside you then, excitedly rambling about how well youâll fit into the mech unit that had been stationed on base and how heâll make sure you have enough supplies to still make some prettier things.
âYou could still sell them, you know. The Resistance doesnât exactly have that many sources of income. It would be the same work you were doing for us before!â he says.
The light in his eyes makes you want to trust him. You donât have the heart to burst his bubble, but you know you arenât going to fit in with the other mechanics. You donât have the skills to contribute and you arenât enough of a social butterfly to make a meaningful contribution to morale.
It was why you had always worked alone.
But there was no going home. So what else could you do?
Poe leads you down a quiet hallway near the back of the base, where the walls are open to the evening air and you can gaze out at the jungle. At the very end of the hallway, he opens a door.
The room is small, the furniture well-used in a way that instantly makes it cozy. A clean set of sheets has been laid on the unmade bed, which is squished into the corner against a wall of windows.
âThe windows darken, if they make it feel too open for you. I noticed you cover most of the windows in your workshopâŚâ He moves over to the panel laid into the wall next to the windows and hits a button. The glass becomes opaque, leaving you in darkness.
He giggles, letting out a small, âOops,â as he paws at the panel, struggling to find the light. Your eyes adjust quickly to the darkness. You move towards him, hitting another one of the buttons.
The lamp in the ceiling stutters to life and you quickly back up, realizing how close youâve gotten to Poe. He smiles, not unkindly, and says, âItâs okay. Youâre going to be safe here. I promise.â
You nod. Your jaw has glued itself shut, keeping you from responding with anything more than a hum that you hope sounds encouraging.
âIâll leave you to get settled in. We can head down to Supplies tomorrow to get you some clean clothes. There are a few shirts in the dresser. I thought you might want to sleep in something clean.â Poe points to the dresser and makes his way to the door. âWell, goodnight.â He backs out of the room, still smiling as the door closes between you, leaving you alone.
In the dresser, you find two shirts, one with long sleeves and one with the sleeves cut off. You lay your dirty clothes in one of the other empty drawers and put on the long-sleeved one. Itâs worn, small holes dotting the edge of the collar where a necklace might have snagged it. But itâs warm. You dress the bed and lay down, fiddling with the hem and staring at your flickering light until sleep finds you.
*
You lean against the wall outside the cantina, clutching your cup tight in one hand. Youâd brought tea in case the night got cold, but the dancing, screaming utter chaos inside the building seems to seep out, warming the night long after the sun had gone down. You watch the shadows that the people inside cast through the windows.
âHey, Mech! Are you coming inside?â One of your favourite techs calls from the doorway. In your panic, you forget her name.
Even a year of knowing someone canât stand up to the adrenaline spike that courses through you at someoneâs eyes meeting yours.
Your open your mouth to respond but your tongue sticks to your teeth, so you shake your head, holding up the unlit stick of spice that rests between your fingers as an excuse.
She grins and yells, âEnjoy!â before heading into the building.
You wonder how long you can go using the same stick of spice as a way to get out of talking to people before someone calls you on it.
A crowd of pilots make their way up the short road between the town and the base. From their yelling, theyâve already broken into the liquor stash. A few voices stand out. KarĂŠ and Jess, more specifically. Black Squadron. Which means Poe is surely among them.
Quickly, you survey them. Poe is there, his flight suit only half on. Heâs tied the arms around his waist, securing the bottom half of his jumpsuit in place and leaving him in a white undershirt that showed off his arms, shoulders, and most of his chest. Rey always says it âbarely counted as a shirtâ and you giggle to yourself at the memory, stopping only when you realize how crazy youâll look if someone spots you.
You tuck your knees into your chest, making yourself as small as possible so they donât notice you.
Youâre almost successful.
Poe Dameron slides down the wall beside you, waving his squadron into the cantina as he settles. âDâyou need a light for that?â He gestures to the spice in your hand.
You shake your head.
âJust needed a minute by yourself?â
At that, you nod.
He grunts as he sinks back into the wall. âCool. Me too.â
You gaze out at the jungle together. Poe canât sit still, as hard as he tries. He begins to sway to the music that blasts from inside the cantina, humming along and tapping a rhythm line you canât hear on his thigh.
âDo you want to dance?â He finally blurts out.
âIn there?â You whisper, somehow finding your voice as you point to the door.
He shakes his head and stands up, brushing off his flight suit. âWe can dance right here.â He grins down at you. Pure energy radiates from him.
You canât disappoint him.
So you stand, pocket your spice, set down your teacup, brush yourself off, and look at him expectantly.
Poe takes your hand in his, stepping closer. He keeps enough of a distance that you donât feel the urge to run, only making contact with you where your palms touched and where his hand rested lightly on your back to guide you. The two of you barely sway, following the bass that pounds through the walls.
âIs this usually how you dance at these parties?â You whisper, already knowing the answer. Youâve seen the way he holds onto his partners, his dark gazes, his wandering hands. This is very, very different, almost proper, and you arenât sure what to make of it.
âNo. But itâs how I used to dance when I lived on Yavin. My mom taught me,â he says, turning you slowly. âThe music at these parties is always bad. But itâs not always so loud.â
âCelebrations usually are. Loud, I mean. Itâs⌠good. Iâm glad everyone has a chance to relax.â
Things on base had been tense, the silence uncomfortable and heavy, even for you. The Resistance had needed a victory. Even this little one was invigorating, like you actually had a chance against the army that had amassed in the shadow of the New Republicâs failure.
âYes. Itâs good.â He spins you again, and you settle into a rhythm.
Poe is a good dancer. Many of the people that seemed to yearn for him would have killed to be in your place, to be so close to the Untouchable War Hero Poe Dameron. He keeps to himself, sticking with Rey and Finn (and you, when you could stand to be around people) when he wasnât around his squad, and you saw how that angered some people on base.
Thankfully, they mostly left you alone. There were some perks to having two Jedi and the Resistanceâs best pilot as your only friends. Even if they were only friends with you because Poe kept sitting with you for meals.
But that didnât mean your ears turned off. It was safer to stay in your office or in the mech lab, where you didnât have to be around peopleâs judging glances and whispers. The techs you liked kept their conversations with you brief and solely focused on work-related matters. They didnât bring up Commander Dameronâs favouritism towards you, the extra projects he gave you so you could practice working on the Resistanceâs tech, or the way he trailed behind you on your rounds when he should have been training, or the nights he spent in your room.
They also didnât know that most of those nights ended with the two of your sprawled out on your floor, laying in the light cast by the moon through your window, with enough space between you that Rey and Finn could have fit. It wasnât nearly the scandalous affair they all made it out to be.
But still. Poe is there. Holding you, not some other mech he could romance and whisk away before the night is over.
âShouldnât you join the party?â you whisper.
âIâd rather be out here with you.â His voice is as soft as the hand that rests on your lower back, drawing you closer.
âYou know I wonât be going home with you,â you remind him.
He chuckles again. âCanât I dance with a friend?â
âI guess.â
âYou guess?â
âAre more of the people you dance with friends?â
âFriends of a sort.â
Your stomach rolls and you straighten up. âAnd what sort of friend am I?â
He doesnât seem to notice a change in you, but his voice softens, the darkness that had edged his words disappearing. âA good one. One of the best.â
âI canât beat Finn, I guess.â You untangle yourself from him and sit back down, taking a sip of your cold tea.
Poe stays standing, looking down at you like a lost puppy. âDid I say something wrong?â
âNo, Poe,â you whisper. âYouâre fine. Go enjoy your victory party.â
He shuffles his feet, looking between you and the open door.
âIâll come back for you,â he finally says. âIâll walk you home.â
âSure, Poe.â You nod, trying for a smile.
Youâre gone in the time it takes him to get a drink and come back to your spot against the wall.
*
âSo, you havenât hooked up with anyone since you got to DâQar.â
You stare at Poe, trying to figure out if youâve imagined him speaking.
âAm I wrong?â he says.
You watch his lips move.
Yeah, heâs definitely actually talking.
âHow would you know?â you finally reply.
âBecause you have the same routine every day and Iâd notice if you deviated from it. Hell, Holdo would notice if you deviated from it.â He stares down at his feet, swinging his legs off the edge of the boarding ramp. It had gotten stuck in place, five feet off the ground, and you and Poe had been sent to fix it. Though your tools were spread out in the belly of the shuttle and you had wanted to get to work, Poe had insisted you pause to watch the sun rise âproperlyâ over the base. Itâs still too early for you to be disturbed, which youâre equal parts grateful for and dreading. Though you had settled back into a normal rhythm after the Dancing Incident, you felt like you were still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
âMaybe I havenât. Whatâs it to you?â you say, not looking at him.
âMost people go through the base the moment they get shipped here.â
âIâm not most people.â
âClearly.â
His voice edges itâs way solidly into the flirty zone.
On instinct, you say, âIf this is you offering, Iâm not interested,â even though you know itâs a lie.
He snorts, âOh, I figured that one out. Donât worry.â
Your head whips around to stare at him. âWhat?â
He laughs, full-belly, his face tilting up towards the rising sun. âIâve been flirting with you for ages. If you had any interest, Iâm sure you would have made a move by now.â
âYou flirt with everyone.â
âI do not.â
âYes you do! You treat me the same as all the other people you take home.â
âNo. I donât.â Sudden softness. And it hurts, it aches somewhere deep in your chest because the pain in his voice is your fault, and you know it.
Itâs your turn to stare down at your feet, hanging off the platform. You wonder what heâd do if you jumped off and went inside. Would he come after you? Would he give you space, find you later and apologize?
How many more times can you run from him, reject him, leave him behind, before he started to leave you?
You reach across the gap between you and take his hand. Your grip is sure, more like youâre holding a soldering iron than a human. When he moves to hold you back, you donât flinch, even with your heart hammering against your ribs and the little voice in your head screaming at you to run.
Progress.
âI know,â you whisper. Because you do. If youâre anything at all, itâs perceptive.
Something in you aches to say more, but your tongue turns to sandpaper and you can barely swallow around it, never mind speak.
Poe squeezes your hand lightly.
The sun rises.
Finally, he whispers, âShould we get back to work?â
You nod. You stand.
Youâre the first to let go.
*
Poe sits across from your work bench, dutifully holding your wrench with two hands. He hasnât said a word since he sat down, fully becoming part of your workstation as you move around the engine mod youâve been working on for weeks.
Heâd taken to randomly showing up. It was a recent development, and you guessed it had something to do with how few missions heâd been assigned. Everyone else had been busy, taking the intel from the new scouting team and turning it into results. Which meant you had more stuff to fix.
But Poe had been kept on DâQar, training the recent batch of recruits. And when he was off, he delivered the damage gear that got shipped back to base from wherever-the-fuck the Resistance spies had broken it so you could fix it.
He watches carefully as you replace the paneling on a blaster he had brought over from Gold squadron. Another mech steps into the workspace, takes one look at Poe, and runs out.
Your face burning, you turn on him. âDo you keep showing up here because you have something to say?â
Poe shakes his head.
âHave you taken a vow of silence?â
âNo.â
âGood.â
âGood?â
âI like your voice.â You still sound grumpy (and embarrassed), but you mean it.
He just blinks at you, his lips turning up in a sheepish smile. Itâs sweet, how he still gets nervous around you. Before, youâd thought that it was just the circumstances of your meetings, the high-stakes nature of smuggling weapons for the Resistance. But he still gets quiet, still blushes whenever you catch him off guard.
Before you can think too hard about it, you lean across the table and kiss him.
Itâs light, just a press of your lips against his, but it sends your head hammering against your ribs anyhow.
Heâs too stunned to speak for a long moment. Finally, he whispers, âWhat was that for?â
Your stomach drops like stone. âDid you not like it?â
The corner of his mouth quirks up. âI dunno. You ran away before I could decide.â Slowly, he rounds the table, coming to stand between your knees.
You roll your eyes but lean in again anyways. His hand gently cups the back of your head as he brings his lips to yours.
Itâs nothing you were afraid of and everything you want. Heâs soft, oh-so-soft, but never yielding to the way you push against him. Winding your hands in his hair, you tug him closer and swallow the little surprised sound he makes.
In an instant, heâs everywhere: his hands on your waist pulling you out of your seat, his chest pressing to yours, his arms encircling you to keep you close.
When you finally pull away, flushed and gasping for air, you ask, âHow about now? Was that okay?â
Poe nods slowly, his gaze focused on your mouth. âIt was perfect.â
*
After that day, Poe hardly leaves your side, to the point that Leia had to order him to return to his normal duties.
As much as you loathe the stares from everyone else, you bask in the attention from Poe. Heâs so sweet to you, stealing little kisses and touches whenever he can. Though you still tense sometimes when his hands on your back or hips catch you by surprise, youâre more than comfortable the rest of the time. Itâs new. Different. You hadnât thought this would ever be possible again.
You still hadnât talked about it. What you were to each other. What this meant. But he walked you home every night, and he brought you lunch on days he was on-world, and you were okay with the not-knowing.
Weeks later, after he had walked you home, you invite him inside.
It should be normal, him being in your room. It had happened before. Youâd spent long days working in there and nights sleeping side by side, the few inches between you feeling like an entire planetary system and nothing at all.
But somehow, this feels different.
He keeps a hand on your back as you enter the room. You sit on your bed as he talks through his next mission, but you arenât really paying attention.
The air is heavier somehow. Every shaky inhale takes more out of you.
Youâre not sure how it happens. One moment, heâs talking about the caves on Jedha. The next, heâs above you. His hands tight on your waist. Yours under his shirt (just barely). His breath hot on your neck.
Everything is warm. Too warm. And heâs above you, and it should feel good, and it does, when you arenât thinking about it. But you are thinking about it. And the walls start to close in. And you canât get a full breath.
âP-PoeâŚâ you whisper.
He hums into your skin, hips grinding more firmly into yours as he kisses along your jaw. It hurts, somehow exquisite and excruciating all at once.
âPoe?â
He freezes, hands leaving your waist and finding yours. âAre you okay?â
You tip your chin up to the ceiling, gasping. âI⌠I canât breathe.â
Poe backs off, keeping a hold on one of your hands. âAre you sick? Can I get you something?â
You shake your head and fold in on yourself, somehow sitting up on your bed. Bent over your knees, you focus on breathing slowly. Evenly.
Poe sits on the floor at your feet, still holding your hand, rubbing small circles over your knuckles with his thumb. He kisses the back of your hand, murmuring against your skin. âItâs okay. Iâm sorry. Youâre okay. Iâm so sorry. Youâre safe.â
Slowly, you start to come down. Your eyes open enough to focus on him in the dim glow of your room.
âYou didnât do anything wrong,â you say slowly, your whole body shaking. âItâs not your fault.â
He nods, seeming to understand.
âItâs not your fault,â you say again, tears pricking your eyes.
âItâs not yours either,â he whispers, and you find heâs right.
*
Poe starts to stay the night.
It isnât often, only when you both can afford to lose some sleep getting âdistractedâ. More and more, your bed feels empty without him in it. You begin to miss his kisses, rather than worry about when the next one might happen.
And Poe notices.
Heâs more careful, after the night you had to stop him. But never timid with you. He doesnât walk on eggshells like the others used to. Heâs wrong, sometimes, but he tries. And youâre safe no matter what. And that means more than any sweet words he could whisper to you in the dark, after he thinks youâre asleep.
Because he does that. Often.
It doesnât matter how you fall asleep, whether heâs laying on your chest or youâre tucked under his arm; he eventually starts to talk to you. Sometimes itâs stories, the ugly parts of his recent mission that he couldnât bare to tell in the daylight or a memory from his childhood. Sometimes itâs dreams: taking you back to Yavin IV, introducing you to his dad, meeting his childhood friends, vacations on Chandrila, what your first babyâs room will look like (heâs sure to clarify: âIf you want kids. We can talk about it.â), where the kids should attend flight school, how he wants to be buried beside you someday.
Itâs that night that you wake as heâs saying, âIâll die first. I have to. I donât want to be alone.â He pauses to sniffle and cuddle into your shoulder before continuing, âI donât want to leave you by yourself but I canât be without you. And you wonât really be alone. Youâll have Finn and Rey. And your people in mech. Youâll be okay.â
âI wonât be,â you whisper before youâve decided to speak.
âW-what?â He props himself up on an elbow, staring down at you in the dark.
âYou were my first friend. Youâre my love. I donât want to be without you either.â You reach up, tracing over his cheek with a feather-light touch.
At once, he shudders and slots himself over you, his arms cradling you to his chest as he presses his forehead to yours.
âYou have the more dangerous job,â you say, though you know it wonât help. âI could lose you any day. Any time you walk out the doorâŚâ
He presses his lips to yours, insistent. And you give in. Because he knows. And you know he knows. As much as you never talk about it, this war is more likely to steal you from each other than to spit you out the other side, hand in hand. The clock ticks, and ticks, but as long as it doesnât stop, you have time.
And itâs time you spend, that night, wrapped in each others arms, shedding clothes, as close as two souls can be while trapped in human forms.
When you cry â and you do cry â itâs from relief. Release. Never pain.
In the aftermath, he holds you tight, and he presses kisses over your cheeks, and you realize just how much you love him.
When you tell him, he cries too. And itâs your turn to hold him.
*
Poe seems to stand taller as you walk through the base and people notice your linked pinkies.
âItâs so sweaty,â youâd said whenever he asked if he could hold your hand.
So youâd found a happy medium. He could still be physically linked to you, claim you as his for everyone to see, and you could avoid the sensory overload that accompanied having damp palms.
A few people look, more to pay respect to The Poe Dameron than to give you any attention, but even so, the stares are like pins in your neck. You flinch at a cupboard slamming in a room adjacent to the hall. Poe drops your hand to wrap an arm lightly around your waist, like he can shield you from the sudden onslaught of sights and sounds.
âAlmost there,â he whispers into your hair.
You nod just enough to signal that youâve heard him.
Poe steers you out of the base, keeping a hold on you until the two of you are on the path towards the cantina the Resistance frequented. He helps you into a booth at the back, his hands staying safe places while people could see you. Once youâre settled in, his hand finds itâs way between your thighs, squeezing gently.
He kisses your forehead and joins the conversation happening around you.
Eventually, Rose, Rey, and Finn join you, squishing you all onto the small bench. Poe checks in, making sure youâre alright, and you find that you are. Without realizing it, youâd gotten used to the casual affection thatâs typical of Resistance members. Where Finnâs thigh is pressed to yours, you just feel warmth.
He and Rey talk about their daily training. You and Rose bond over your mech work, and she agrees to teach you everything she knows about the bombers. Before you know it, the night begins to wind down.
Poe helps you out of the booth, your hand securely in his. He kisses over your hair and whispers, âThank you for coming out with me.â
âThank you for asking.â
