FLYBOY_ POE DAMERON IMAGINES

imagine #40 //

I AM BLOWN AWAY BY YOUR SUPPORT. IN LOVE WITH EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU. here's an imagine as a quick thank you.

You let out a heavy sigh, trudging through the halls of the Resistance base as you struggle to remain upright. Your body aches and your mind is reeling with exhaustion and thoughts from your failed mission.

Nearly half of your Squadron had wiped out, and the other half (not excluding you) were believed to be dead until you all managed to return to the base individually or in small pairs. You had all sustained minor injuries, some bad bruises, cuts and burns, but nothing life threatening. Now, the only thing on your mind is taking a hot shower and curling up in bed.

You punch in the code to your quarters, leaning against the wall as you wait for the door to open. As soon as it does, you nearly fall into the room, your feet dragging as you stumble inside. You toss your blaster onto your small desk, wincing as the thud makes your head feel like it's about to explode.

"What the hell?" A deep voice grumbles from your bed. Your eyes flicker over to where a man is now sitting up, rubbing his eyes and brushing his dark curls out of his face. You know him.

"Poe!" You call out in a weak voice that breaks off into the cold air of your room. He drops his hands into his lap and shoots out of the bed. His sweatpants hang low on his hips and he is shirtless; you can't tear your eyes away from his perfect physique.

He stumbles back from you, mouth falling open as he hears your voice. He clears his throat and runs a hand over his face before taking a deep breath. He takes tentative steps towards you until his chest is nearly against yours. Poe wraps his arms around your torso and pulls you against him, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You let out a small hiss of pain and recoil slightly from his strong grip. You feel his arms loosen around your body and you lift your own arms up and wrap them around his bare middle instead.

"How bad is it?" He quietly mumbles after a moment, his words muffled by the material of your flying attire.

"Half the squadron is gone, absolutely no intel was recovered —"

"No, how bad are you?" He interrupts, pulling back so that he can cup your cheeks in his rough hands and look into your eyes. Despite the darkness that surrounds you, the light from the devices in your room allow you to see his worried face and the concerned look in his eyes.

"Nothing broken, just a few burns on my back from a hit that my ship took," you reply honestly. "I've got some bruised ribs and a bit of a concussion —"

"What the hell were you thinking?" He breathes out in a low voice, his hands dropping from your face as he steps back. He turns to the side, facing the wall as he pinches the bridge of his nose. His chest is heaving as he attempts to calm his erratic breathing.

"Poe, what's wrong?"

"You don't get to ask me that right now," he snaps, facing you with a frustrated look. "I thought you were dead!"

"Well, I'm not."

"That makes me feel so much better," he comments sarcastically.

"Good," you bite back, beginning to take off your flying suit as you head to the bathroom. Poe follows closely behind you, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "Maybe I could be a counselor or something. I could write the General some speeches for the Resistance about how it's all going to be okay, maybe even write you some."

"Wow, that sounds like a great idea! Maybe you can start by writing one about how to not make your boyfriend feel bad after thinking you were dead!"