#kntting

 Day six in my December Writing Challenge.

Poe Dameron x pregnant!wife!reader. ( Kinda Modern AU)

General Audiences. Orangey rating.

A.N. and Warnings. Pregnancy, baby-making and things related to the aforementioned  subject, including being on the heavier side, which is mildly used in a comedic context. No shaming, because pregnancy is a beautiful state of being. No shaming in the comments either, please. Not comfortable with that, do not read, please for both our sakes. Poe is still a General at the Resistance Base, but this is not really Stars Wars universe based. You could read it as such if you wanna. Yes, the mudroom/bathroom/laundryroom is an actual room in my brother’s house and it’s awesome and I think more people should invest in that and it worked perfectly for this fic, so I included it. Sewing and knitting and homemaking in general. Don’t like don’t read. If you do like, please read! Soft-married couple banter. Fluff. Lots of napping. Reader ain’t really described, so almost free for all.

You're huffing and you're puffing and you swear the house wants to collapse right on top of you every single time you attempt to get up, only to dramatically fall back on your tushy and cause an earthquake.  By the sixth try, you simply gave up. Your husband should be returning from work sometime this year and frankly, you could use a nap, even if it is on the floor. Being 8 months pregnant tends to kick all the energy out of you. The easily-excited mini human growing in your womb definitely doesn't help with the amount of times he sends you rushing to the bathroom every time he decides to handstand on your bladder. At the moment though, thank you Lord, he (or she) appears to be calm, still moving around, but less like a hyper dolphin and more like a tranquil elephant for once.

You grab whatever pillows you can off the couch, throw 'em on the floor and fall asleep as soon as your head hits the sack.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

He' s so tired. Scratch that, he's exhausted! Poe's had to deal with a malfunctioning helicopter, one rookie pilot stealing a plane for a joy ride, another rookie crashing a jet into one of the hangars, two of his captains mysteriously disappearing at the same time and coming back hours later with very visible hickeys littering, well, everywhere and a visiting General came to ask for planes and  decided to harrass Poe's own secretary, treated Poe as an insubordinate lackey instead of an equal ranking General, whined about the size of the planes, drove two of Poe's best mechanics to tears, demanded planes and jets that Poe simply does not have and blamed his noisy indigestion on the base's coffee which he absolutely did not touched because he quote-unquote "never drinks the same stuff as peasants do."

Poe swears under his breath at the awful memory. " Fucking jerk."

He enters the house through the mudroom/bathroom/laundryroom backdoor, stripping and taking a quick shower to wash away the grime and grease and sweat of the day from his skin. He half-expected you to pop in and join him, but he also half-expects you to be napping in bed. At this point, it's a fifty/fifty chance. He's absolutely thrilled at becoming a father, but it tugs at his heartstings in a painful way whenever he sees you having trouble bending over to pick something up, or he hears you groan when the baby pushes on something he or she shouldn't have, or when he catches you napping, your body needing the time to heal from the stress of growing a healthy little human inside of you. He's in awe at your strength, but he helps when and where he can. Sometimes, that means he makes supper when he returns from work. Sometimes that means he comes home to you crying because ' I'm not sure I can do this Poe! Am I ready to be a mom? Oh Lord, what if I'm a terrible mother and our  baby ends up hating me!' and he holds you for hours on end until the panic has passed and your anxieties are soothed. And sometimes that means that he has to massage your whole body after a long, warm bath. Poe briskly dries off and slips on the pair of soft blue-grey linen pants that you'd sewn for him when you first got married. You always make sure to have a fresh pair of pants on the counter beside the shower ready for him to get home. Not because he asked you to, he didn't, but because you want to. Bonus points for you, because you adamantly refuse to give him a shirt too, leaving his chest in plain view for you to enjoy.

Poe heads to the kitchen, you're not there.

Poe looks in your master bedroom, no you on the bed, no you rifling in the closet.

You're not in the bathroom, the basement or the pantry.

He does not find you in the office room, pinging away at tax invoices and God-forsaken bills and other hellish things that no one ever wants to deal with. Thank God for that, he'd shoot himself if you ever got close to doing paperwork when you're 8 months pregnant.

He finally finds you, sprawled on the floor in the living room, sleeping. At first he thinks something is wrong and he freaks out for a few seconds. Then he hears the unmistakable sound of you snoring. His resulting smile could warm the dark side of the world. He decides to leave you alone for a few more minutes while he scrounges up some dinner. /////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

You awaken to your dearest husband lovingly caressing your cheek and calling out your name.

" Poe!" You sleepily exclaim. " You're home!"

He smirks back. " Yeah, and you're on the floor!"

You giggle. " My knitting needle fell down and rolled under the couch. I couldn't get back up! Your son is too heavy!"

Poe gets a little worried. "You could've called. I know you can reach the phone from the floor!"

" Ah, it's fine, I needed the nap anyways."

Your husband tugs you up and shoos you in the direction of the bathroom, freshly washed curls bouncing  in time with his nods. " Hurry up, then we'll have a movie night, complete with your favourite film, popcorn for supper and a mattress on the floor!"

I’ve been knitting for years, but never made @petervintonjr a sweater.