Summary: Modern!Poe x (any gender) artist!reader. Poe sits as a nude life model for Reader’s art class, and they think he’s the most beautiful work of art they’ve ever seen.
Author’s note: 13/14 for my last follower celebration (getting there!), using the prompt “You have fanfiction eyes.”, provided by the lovely @wheresthewater. P.s. sorta headcanon the art tutor as Yoda don’t @ me.
Word count: 2.7k. And hey look I even did a moodboard! :D
Warnings: nudity, duh!
You can’t believe your eyes as he enters the room, entirely nude, his dick swinging. He is without doubt the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.
Sculpted and yet somehow soft, muscles ripple under his skin as he takes up his position on the podium, in the centre of the circle of easels. You look over him as he settles in his pose- the soft curve of his belly, wide hips with pleasantly rounded thighs and ass. His broad hands. The sweep of those raven curls and the set of his strong nose, his chiselled jaw.
You feel like you’re in the presence of true art, transported back in time to when the likeness of gods were sculpted from marble. Except, you think the gods must have been created, verily, in his vision. You have never understood the feelings a muse might inspire, until now. You feel he should have sculptures dedicated to him. Sonnets written about him. You feel like your loins are writing sonnets, the longer you look, the words filtering out like ribbons which gather as a knot in the pit of you.
It’s not only how he looks -although you can’t deny your attraction is instant, a gulp bobbing down your throat as your fingers clench tight around the brush you hold in your good hand. It’s the air of him, at ease and confident, eyes falling warm upon the artists convened in the room. No hint of self-consciousness, only... comfort. Comfort in his body. Comfort with himself. You feel like he could make you feel that way too, make you step into the warmth of him and shrug your clothes to the floor. Step into him like he’s a painting; a mood, a feeling, a texture, mingling with him like paint and charcoal dust and sweeping lines of pencil merging on a canvas, creating art with your bodies.
He’s only just stepped into the room, but he is far from a blank canvas. He is art. His body is storied and he is speaking to you with it. You’d never had a body speak so loudly to you.
The pose he adopts is assured and practically kingly. You swear his eyes meet yours, ever so briefly, as he arranges himself, reclined sideward on a folded elbow, one knee raised to the sky, his top arm draped casually over the point of it. A white sheet is draped over part of his midsection, the fluid folds of it only highlighting the sturdiness of him, the hue of his smooth and tawny-bronze skin.
You swear he catches your eye as he settles there, a gulp bobbing down your throat as it does his. Your eyes fall across his face in return, stubble texturing his jaw like the rake of a pencil over roughened paper, veins in relief against his corded neck. His eyes are lit like undried umber, light pooling in them like drops of gleaming, watered paint. His curls are like sweeps of charcoal, as if created by someone running their fingers over canvas like one might run their fingers through his hair.
You don’t know where to look, at first, and yet, despite the beauty of him, of all of him, once you look into his eyes you can scarce look away.
You are grateful for the cool breeze drifting into the studio through the cracked, hatched window, and you shrug your cardigan away so the air can ground you. With all your thoughts of gods you are practically lifted from your feet.
For the next moments, you are oblivious to everything else, except his warm eyes and the cool air. Oblivious to the tutor’s instructions, to the ticking of the clock in the quiet room as your fellow artists studiously select their tools, oblivious to the blank canvas in front of you. It is only when you hear the brush of pastels, the whisk of brushes in jars of water, the crisp sound of mark-making on paper, that you realise you have... nothing. You look over your tools and you’re not sure how you could possibly rise to this challenge. How you could ever capture the sight before you.
It doesn’t help that you imagine he’s studying you too. Perhaps because you’re directly in front of him. Perhaps because you’re the only one in the room still staring at a blank piece of paper, yet to do anything. Never before have you felt so overwhelmed by inspiration that you feel thoroughly paralysed by it. You let out a huff of air in frustration, the sound a lot louder and more abrupt than you would have liked in the hushed studio.
You bristle like a misused brush, the fibres of you splayed out in all directions when the tutor softly pads over to you, whispering in his serene day-spa voice. “You don’t appear to have started. Are you having trouble?” Are you? You’ll say. How in the hell are you supposed to paint this man?
Even the whisper cuts through you like a knife through a citrus fruit, bitterness bleeding out from you as the tutor continues to single you out with precision.
“I’m... thinking.”, you defend, and you swear that amusement glints over the model’s burnt coffee eyes.
“You know, you’re always in your head. I’ve noticed this about you. You do great work, but you need to just... feel it.” The tutor is waving his arms now, in the way that one might express a mother penguin regurgitating food to its chicklets. “Let go. It’s an art class, not a thinking class.”
You deliver an undeserved death stare to the tutor as a titter snakes around the class, but his calm response only provokes you further. “Good. Feeling something? Even frustration? Use it. Get it down on paper.”
As irate as it made you, the advice worked. You stopped looking at the man in front of you. You started feeling him. You allowed yourself to get lost in it. It started to feel like a... a Force of some kind. Something coursing through you as you worked the paper, felt the textures beneath your fingers. Worked the shapes and light and divinity of him through your fingers. This didn’t call for brushes and pencil and careful marks. It called for touch. It called for art beneath your finger tips, the paint and charcoal dust and roughened paper smooth and harsh like him.
His eyes become increasingly intense as you work in a frenzy. Lost in the moment in a way the other artists in the room are not. In a way that you haven’t been in a long while.
You barely notice time passing, until the tutor stalks back over to you, curious to know what you’ve produced in your haze. He regards your canvas with a tilt of his head, looking earnestly between your creation and the model. You nibble on your lip and await the verdict, tension gathering in your shoulders.
“This is good. This is good. It’s very different to your other work, but...it’s inspired. I want to see more like this from you.”
You swell with pride, and the model pumps his eyebrows at you, as if in congratulations. You smile shyly back at him as the tutor declares the end of the session, swiftly handing your muse a robe to redress in before ushering him out towards the changing room.
You are the last one left in the studio as you take time to clean off the paint and mess on your arms, humming softly to yourself as you leisurely begin to stack paints away and drop scattered brushes into jars of turps. You smile softly to yourself as you realise that you finally feel... unblocked... You feel like you’ve shifted a dark part of you away, a light side filtering through, finally, like sunshine through a part in the clouds. You hadn’t painted like that since...
“Oh, I’m sorry”, your train of thought is glady interupted, as a voice as rich as burnt sienna sounds behind you. You turn, finding the model standing in the doorway. He is dressed now, of course, but he still appears to you like a god in modern-day clothing. His voice is so beautiful too that you wonder if you could paint the sound of it. “I left my wallet. Occupational hazard of taking my pants off in strange places.” You see him visibly cringe. “That came out weird. I can wait outside for half a mo, if ya wanna clear-up first.”
“No, you’re fine. Come in.”, you smile, unashamedly fluttering your eyelashes at him.
He bashfully nods a thank you to you and passes through the studio to seek his wallet out, returning with it in hand. “Got it!”, he announces.
“Good.”, you state, still floored every time you look at him, quite honestly.
“I’m Poe, by the way. Poe Dameron.”
You smile sweetly at him, and state your name, surprised you can manage to get words out at all. You’re usually so shy, but something about him makes you feel at ease. Maybe it’s because you’ve seen his junk. Don’t they say to imagine someone naked when you feel nervous?
Poe, as you now know him, points towards your still-standing easel. “I hope this isn’t a weird thing to ask. Do you mind if I see what you painted?”, he enquires softly, running a hand through his lustrous curls. “Please say if you’re not comfortable.”
You consider it for a moment, nibbling on your lip again, regarding him. There’s no judgment, only curiousity and warmth in his eyes, so you nod towards the easel. “Go for it.”
He smiles softly at you in gratitude and slots his hands into his pockets, sidling over towards you. He releases one hand to bristle over his stubble as his eyes pore over the canvas. Without thinking, his fingers dip towards the ridges of paint he finds there, and you grab his warm, broad hand with yours before he can do any damage. “Don’t touch it!”, you exclaim. “It’s still wet!”
He apologises for his momentary lapse in good sense and you look down at your hand wrapped around his, the veins and knuckles and callouses of him beneath your fingertips. He’s like sun on rough paper beneath your fingers. Like summer.
He makes no move to pull away. In fact, he turns in to you, his molten eyes on yours. There’s that gulp bobbing in your throat again. “What do you think?” you blurt, and you wonder why you’re suddenly so skilled at talking when you only wish he’d press those full, shapely lips on yours and shut you up.
He draws his brows together as you drop his hand and looks over the canvas again. “You’ve got talent, that’s for sure. I can barely draw a circle. It’s just...”, he shrugs a little. “Should I be offended that you only painted this part of me? Was the rest of my body not particularly inspiring?”
You look back over your work. You suppose it is strange, in a way, since he was sat in front of you in the nude. Strange that you have only painted his eyes. His intense, umber eyes are glowing there on your canvas, the shadows and the planes of his brows alongside the dancing of the light, and the soft brush of his lashes.
You press the back of your hands to your cheeks in an effort to cool the rising flush. “Oh. No, I mean, your body was plenty inspiring...”, you state, trying to keep your language somewhat objective. “It’s... hard to explain. It’s just. I mean, objectively speaking, you have such beautiful eyes. And..”, you continue nervously, sure you’ve already veered into highly subjective territory. “...I looked, and I couldn’t look away. When you looked back at me? The light was on you and there was just...”, When did your voice become so breathy? You can hardly keep speaking as you feel you need to pause for air.
“Just what?”, he encourages softly, his eyes appearing rapt with you.
“The way you looked at me... it was... something that I wanted to keep.”
His eyes study yours with vigour, as if he’s suddenly keenly aware of the effect they might have on you. “Objectively speakin’?” he probes, with a soft yet amused drawl.
“Of course.”, you state emphatically, even as you become lost again in the way he’s looking at you. You swear he’s... leaning in. Or maybe, yeah actually, that’s just you. How long have you been talking now? Twenty seconds?
“You have fanfiction eyes.”, you blurt, speaking the realisation freely and without filter the moment it wings its way into your head. Perhaps sent from the gods. You find yourself wishing that he could have just shut you up before you went and said that.
“I have what now?”, he asks in confusion, clearly trying to suppress a grin. “Fanfiction eyes?”
“Uh-huh. You know... dreamy eyes.” Wait, are you still talking? “The kinda eyes that you could write a 100,000 word long-read about? Or...”, you shuffle your boot nervously over the boards of the floor, sweeping them through charcoal dust. “...the kinda eyes someone might wanna look into over a drink, or dinner, for example? Maybe at Gino’s? Which is still open for one more hour before last orders?”. You don’t know where your uncustomary boldness has come from. But you dearly hope it pays off.
To your delight, Poe grins broadly. “You’re kind of a dork, aren’t you?” You might read it as teasing, but his tone is kind, his eyes sweeping over you with interest. You simply shrug and he lifts a thumb towards your cheek. “Adorable as it is, if we’re gonna go for dinner, can I get this paint off your face first? I dunno how you managed to use so much red but you might scare the other diners.”
You nod permission, and the pad of his thumb sweeps over you, the rest of his hand cupping your face. “Did you get it?”, you ask hopefully, voice quaking slightly. Legs quaking slightly.
How long have you been talking with him? A minute? You’d thought he was a god. Perhaps he is. The immortality might explain why you already feel you’ve known him forever. But at the same time, there’s something so aproachable, so vulnerable and entirely human about him.
“Honestly? I made it much worse.”, he admits, shaking his head softly in apology. “I wasn’t gonna tell you, but I don’t know yet if that’s the kinda prank you’d find funny.”
An easy laugh lilts out of you and you promise to be back with him momentarily, once you’ve cleaned-up in the washroom.
When you return, Poe is breathtaking all over again, perched on the artist’s stool in the waning light. He grips his phone in those warm hands of his, the light filtering from below and illuminating the planes of his face in an entirely new way. He smiles up at you in greeting when you re-enter, and you approach him wordlessly as you stoop to gather your cardigan and bag from the floor.
His eyes fall on you and he mouths a soft “wow” as you glide towards him, the moonlight over the planes of your face too. Poe is looking at you as if you’re art. You’re not ready for it, quite honestly. You are used to being the beholder, not the object of beauty. He smiles softly at you and it’s completely disarming, his smile feeling far more familiar than should be possible after such a short length of time.
“So,”, he starts giddily. “I Googled some stuff about fanfiction while you were in the washroom, and now I have a question for you.”
“Go on.”, you encourage the beautiful man.
“Are we gonna be a slow burn or porn without plot, do you think?” He knows he’s charming enough to get away with a question as cheeky as that. At least, he’s charming enough to take the gamble that he will.
You purse your lips and bat your eyes at him. “Right now? Clearly a one-shot with an ambiguous ending. Prospect of continuation will depend entirely on how you do at dinner.”. There’s flirtation in your tone, and Poe looks at you hungrily then.
There’s something in his eyes, yet again; something in the way he’s looking at you that you want to keep. But you don’t want to paint it. You want to create art with touch. You want to feel the textures and explore with your fingers. “But...”, you concede, returning Poe’s hungry stare. “We do have time to make-out before we head to the restaurant.”
With an eager flicker of a smile he leans in, and when he puts his hands and lips on you it is like merging. Like creating art on a blank canvas. Your bodies storied and speaking to one another, you paint intention with your fingertips and the brush of your lips.
Summary: Weekly movie nights had become tradition for you, Rey, and Poe. But after Rey cancels one night, you and Poe are left alone, with at least one of you unsure how to act around the other.
A/N: So, this idea was an ask left to @fandom-writes and it just called out to me. I mean, how cute?
Word count: 1,100+
You swung open the door to your apartment, instantly being met with Poe's grinning face.
"Pizza's here!"
You only stared at him, a dramatic pout forming on your lips.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, making his way past you and into the kitchen.
"Rey cancelled on us."
"What?!" Poe's voice squeaked. "She's never missed a movie night. I've skipped out -"
You glared at him playfully, eyebrows raised.
"I mean, missed. I've missed a few, but Rey? She must be sick."
You hummed. "She is. She wanted to make it, but she didn't want to get us sick, too."
Poe began plating the dinner, a grin forming at the corners of his mouth. "Guess it's just the two of us tonight, then?"
You sighed. "Yeah. I guess so."
He turned around to face you, handing you your plate. "Cheer up, buttercup. It'll be fun."
You stood frozen, butterflies in your stomach. You were pretty sure Poe had just winked at you.
The first twenty minutes of the movie were anything but fun. First, there was the seating dilemma. You chose to sit on the opposite side of the sofa. You didn't want to sit next to Poe, claiming, out of respect to tradition, that Rey's spot in the middle should stay vacant.
"Come on, Y/N. She's sick, not dead."
"Yeah, but -"
"Fine," Poe huffed. "I'll sit in her spot. She can fight me about it next week," he said, plopping down on the cushion next to you.
You rolled your eyes, hoping he couldn't see in the darkness, as you tried to ignore the heartbeat in your ears.
You found yourself breathing deeply, trying to calm your nerves, only making it worse when you began to smell his sweet cologne in such close proximity.
You had known Poe for years; he was one of your best friends. Which is why it took you so long to realize how much you really liked him. Having only recognized him as a friend, his good looks and charm were just part of who he was. Until one day, the way he smiled at you and said your name just lifted some sort of shroud that had blinded you. And that was it. You had fallen hard.
"Y/N?"
You jumped. "Hm?"
"You alright?"
Realizing you had been staring off into the living room instead of at the TV, you nodded. "I - uh, yeah. I'm fine."
Poe looked at you, unconvinced. You could see the concern in his eyes.
"I'm just tired, I think? Hope I'm not getting sick, too."
His face told you he didn't buy the lie. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"
Your heart swelled. He was so genuine and kind. There wasn't a more pure soul around. Even if he was never anything more than a friend, you'd be content with that.
You tried to contain your smile. "I know. But I'm fine. Thanks."
He faced forward, giving his attention to the movie again. He watched you out of the corner of his eye, though, still not pleased with your answer.
You tried to pay attention, but you were so distracted. Typically this wasn't a problem. Rey would sit between the two of you, making conversation and jokes, keeping your mind off of Poe. But this was torture, sitting next to him in the dark with no one else around.
It was impossible for you to get comfortable. You were leaning awkwardly against the arm of the sofa, trying to maintain some space between the two of you. But it was as if the more you fidgeted away, the closer Poe seemed to get.
Getting increasingly uncomfortable, you moved to adjust a leg underneath you to sit on your foot. Your knee bumped Poe's thigh, and the contact made your cheeks redden.
"Sorry," you whispered, moving your leg away quickly.
A hand grabbed your knee. "Nothing to apologize for. Here, you can put it back. It's fine, really. Get comfortable."
You reluctantly settled into place, your leg resting against his. His hand never left your knee. Once you got over the initial shock, it was almost calming. Almost.
Minutes later, the movie paused suddenly, and you looked over at Poe to see why.
He was looking at you, that damn grin of his plastered on his face. "Nervous, are we?"
Your heart sank. "Um, not at all," you lied. "Why would you - ?"
He pointed at your other leg, your vigorous toe tapping causing it to bounce wildly.
"Just relax," Poe said, his voice certain and calming. “This movie isn’t that scary, is it?”
You sighed. "It - it’s not the movie."
"Y/N, what's wrong?"
"This." You flailed your arms wildly. "This shouldn't be hard for me to do, to watch a movie with my friend. But it's so difficult. And I don't know why. I just can't remember what it's like to just look at you as a friend, okay?" You paused. "I like you, Poe."
He smiled coyly, raising one eyebrow like he always does. "I know you do."
Within seconds you didn't know what hit you. Poe's hands were on either side of your face. His lips met yours just as you gasped, causing you to be short of breath. Despite needing air, you kissed him back, the feeling of his tongue between your lips sending chills down your spine.
You pulled away shortly, reluctant but breathless. "Poe Dameron!"
He chuckled, his devious smile only inches away from your face. "What?"
"What do you mean 'I know?'"
You felt one of his hands moving to the back of your neck as his fingers slowly twisted into your hair. "It's pretty obvious, sweetheart. Especially now."
You stared into his dark eyes, suddenly intimidated by the gorgeous man in front of you. His confidence was brash, yet incredibly attractive. You realized that was what had always drawn you to him. You’d secretly wished he would take you at any moment, and it was finally happening.
You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, his thick curls weaving in and out of your fingertips, something you had dreamt about doing. He bit his bottom lip as you began to lean in.
"Oh!" he said, before you were able to reach his lips. "And Rey may have told me, too."
You gasped again as Poe leaned in to distract you from what he'd just said, his lips crashing against yours more fervently now. He began to lean into you, pushing you back into the sofa. A moan left your throat as you felt his toned body press up against yours.
One last time, you reluctantly pulled away again. "Traitor!" you whispered to yourself.
Poe chuckled. "That she may be, but we'll deal with that later."
He placed a long, wet kiss on your smiling lips before tracing your jaw line with his mouth, ending near your ear. His stubble tickled your face on the way down.
He lowered his voice, nearly growling. "We have other business to take care of first."
What is this? 6 of 14 prompt requests for my follower celebration! See OP + prompt list credits here.
What is the prompt? “Painting the house which ends in a paint fight and giggles.” with Modern!Poe and Pregnant!Reader. Thanks anon for the request!
Author’s note: I’ve never written Modern!Poe before and I’m not sure I would’ve without the request. So here goes. Thanks for the chance to try something new, anon! I think it turned out pretty cute? Let me know what YOU think!
Word count: A mere 2634, OOPS.
Warnings: pregnancy. Other than that it’s pure fluff and typos. Enjoy!
GIF credit: here
You hear your husband enter the room with a contented sigh, bare feet padding softly across the exposed floorboards. The patter of Beebs’ paws shortly follows. Your heart melts as he greets the dog with a sleepy “Morning, buddy.”, evidently stooping down to pet him as you hear Beebs’ soft pants and the happy beat of his tail against something or other in the room. “Happy beats, huh?” Poe says softly.
Then, he grants you his full attention.
“Oh oh, it’s happened again. I love you. Even more than I did yesterday.” he announces, sliding gently up behind you, pressing his warm chest into your back and wrapping his arms delicately around the pronounced curve of your belly, splaying his fingers to caress more of your bump. His head settles into the crook of your neck, his wild, bedhead curls tickling against the apple of your cheek as his arrival draws a wide, easy smile from you. He unconsciously begins swaying his hips in time with the easy-listening playlist you have muted in the background, his gorgeous voice a soft rumble against your ear as he starts to sing along.
The warmth -the sturdiness of him- is effortlessly reassuring, the shape and contours of him familiar even as he slots himself around your changing body. You don’t return his affections immediately though. Instead, you furrow your brow and stick your tongue out as you concentrate on some particularly intricate brush strokes on the wall ahead of you.
“I love you too, Poe, but if you knock me while I’m painting, I’m gonna have to kill you.”
You can tell that the goofball freezes then, as if he’s taking you completely literally. If you could see his expression as he perched his head on your shoulder you just know he would be emphatically statuesque.
“When you commit, you commit.” you smile.
“I’m sure you’re thankful that your husband has that quality, no?” he teases.
You’ll give him that one.
You chuckle at the thought of him, frozen there, trying to keep your brush steady as you do so. But then he’s still frozen and the wobble of your shoulders becomes more pronounced as you shake with gentle laughter. You hear him scoff by your ear, in return.
“Stop it, Poe!” You scold good-naturedly as your giggles intensify, the sound chiming musically around the empty-ish, in-progress room.
“I’m not doing a thing, sweetheart, it’s you who’s moving!” His voice has that wonderful playful edge, and you can hear the smile in it, can imagine that slight crinkle in his nose.
You get a handle on yourself for just about long enough to finish off the detail of the mural section you’d been working on. You have added incentive to get it done now, as you are desperate to turn around and get yourself a good look at that handsome face for the first time today. You down your tools and twirl towards Poe, his broad, gentle hands never breaking contact with your belly. His body navigates your bump to lean in for a sweet and loving kiss to your lips.
“Hmm. Morning, handsome.” You purr, blissed out from that kiss as your hand winds into his thick, dishevelled curls, his Sunday stubble grazing your skin.
His eyes glow as he looks back at you. “Morning, sweetheart.” As is tradition, he dips to plant a sweet kiss to your midsection. “Morning, Kiddo.”
He gives you the once-over with his eyes, checking for any sign of new symptoms or discomfort. “You couldn’t lie-in, huh? You should have woken me.”
“I’m fine, Poe.” You dismiss -he does tend to fuss, for which you are thankful- and you nod back towards your progress with the mural, excitement flashing in your eyes. “What do you think of my progress?”
You both turn to regard it, and he resumes his original position, warm and sturdy at your back once again.
“Don’t tell me. It’s an... elephant?”
You’d been bouncing around ideas for the mural for weeks now. Since you’d officially stopped working, it had become a rather consuming passion project of yours. You’d suggested cute little airplanes and clouds to reflect Poe and his career as a pilot. But he’d said he hadn’t wanted to push his dreams on to the kid, and had proceeded to go down rabbit hole about how he just wanted them to be happy. You’d fallen even more in love with him, and then asked him to pick something that made him happy. Predictably, he’d said you. Of course. And Beebs. Then, out of nowhere, he’d gone straight to: “Monkeys. Monkeys make me happy. The one I saw on my last humanitarian mission - did I tell you about that one yet?”. So, here you were, with a beautiful jungle scene beginning to snake its way across the wall.
With a soft smile at the corners of your lips, you glance back at what is quite evidently a tiger. It’s a good job you’re secure in your abilities, and therefore confident that he’s teasing. “An elephant, you say? Poe, you’ll have to get much better at deciphering paintings before Kiddo learns how to hold crayons.” You lean your head back against him, resting your hands over his atop the globe of your belly. “Also, please don’t offend Sir Growlington; he’s a very sensitive tiger.”, you pout.
Poe peppers a few loving kisses on to your cheek and hairline and really, wherever his mouth can reach. “It’s amazing, sweetie, you’re so fucking talented.” He says genuinely. “But… don’t think I’m just going to brush past this... You named the tiger?”
“I did name the tiger.” you intone, hinting that maybe that’s not all.
He twirls you back to him so he can look you in the face again.
“Wait. Did you name all the animals?”
“No. Of course not. Would I be so silly?” you singsong sarcastically as you lean yourself up against the edge of the painting table.
“Oh ok.” he says plainly with a nod of his head, a brush of his hand over his stubbled jaw. You love when he pretends to be serious and when he’s just so damn bad at pretending. “So you won’t mind if I call this bird... Sandra then?”
You suck in air through your teeth. “Sorry, that’s Porg. But that’s the only other one I named, honest.”
He folds his arms and raises his eyebrows to you, an easy smirk on his lips as he mirrors your position and leans against the pair of wooden ladders behind him. “Come on, let me have them all; monkey, giraffe, sloth - hit me.”
He makes a “bring it on” gesture with his fingers, and you blurt them out. “Peanut, Jungle Gump, and Mademoiselle Sleepyhead.”
He smiles in amusement and pads towards you, settling himself into your side, his eyes soft as they wander over the familiar details of your face. His voice is low in his throat. “Goddamn, you’re adorable.” You shrug and flutter your eyelashes in casual agreement. “Unless... Honey, should I be concerned?” He juts his hip and you can’t wait to hear what he’s going to come out with next. “Is this a subtle way of telling me you want to name our baby Jungle Gump?”
“No!” You burst into laughter and bat him playfully on the chest. “But… now that you mention it? Jungle Dameron does sound kinda cool.” You’re actually only half-joking.
He sighs in mock defeat, waving his hand around in the air. “Fine, Jungle if they’re a girl, Sir Growlington if they’re a boy, and Peanut as a gender-neutral option.”
“Shake on it. Deal done.”
You place your hands on his chest, nodding back towards the wall again. “Did you see I left a space? I think you should paint something, Poe.”
“Honey, you know I can’t paint.” he argues, massaging little circles into your shoulder, your hip, your elbows. Anywhere you’ve complained of being sore. You love this man.
“You can paint. Everyone can paint.”
“Why would you want me to ruin your great work?”
You throw your arms around his shoulders, twining your fingers together at the back of his neck. “Because it’s our mural for our baby, and it’s about making something happy, yes? Well, I’m having fun creating this but you’re not in the room with me. And that’s the fun memory I want us to think about when we put our baby-”
“Jungle” he interjects.
“-Jungle,“ you nod, “to sleep. So, stay with me. Paint a crappy, fantastical animal of your choosing.” You gesture towards the paint selection on the table behind you with a sweep of your arm.
“You sure?” he asks, even though he’s already started to rifle through the supplies.
“I’m sure. I can’t wait to see how it turns out!”
A perfect, broad smile works its way across his face. His pretty, dark eyes flick over to yours, his voice deepening and becoming even richer and more robust as it infuses with meaning. “You’re incredible. I can’t wait to do this with you.”
You know he’s talking about far more than the mural. And you couldn’t agree more.
“First though...” he begins, that playfulness immediately back again. “Paint fight!” He picks up the nearest brush and dips it in your paint pot, before swiping a black streak across your cheek.
You squeal in shock and he adopts a fighting stance, primed for your reaction. Before you can do a thing he manages to paint another stripe to your forearm with a quick, targeted swipe of his brush. You think he’s probably trying to make you look like Lady Growlington.
He torments you like this until you grab for your own brush, which you load, preparing to coat him. You assess the status of his sleep shirt. It’s old, you decide, and you land a splash of sky blue down his neck with a dramatic “A-ha”, a sound not unlike a swashbuckling pirate.
“Oh, you’re in for it now.” he warns with a grin, planting his whole palm in a pot of green and -gently, ever so gently, and avoiding your belly- chasing you around the room until he has covered your face and arms in his handprints. Then, when he’s had his fun he pulls you in for a giggly, breathless kiss.
“Are you trying to ruin my clothes, Poe Dameron?”
“Honestly? I’m trying to get you in the shower, gorgeous.” He pumps his eyebrows suggestively. “What do you say, wanna make love to me?”
He smiles, grabbing you hand with his own, paint-smeared one and giving you a light tug.
“If you think we can both still fit in the cubicle!”
“We’ll just have to get super close; that doesn’t sound like the worst thing, honey”
All morning should start this way, you think. How could anything be better?
***
Months later, you are settling your precious baby for sleep. Poe is already passed out and lightly snoring on the couch, an array of blankets and bottles strewn around him. You allow yourself a moment to take him in. He looks so Goddamn beautiful when he’s sleeping. You feel so much love for him, for your new baby. More than you could have ever thought possible. It’s hard and it’s scary, but you are so happy you are doing this with him. Already, he is the most wonderful husband and father you could have dreamed of.
Careful not to wake either him or the tiny sleeping bundle in your arms, you tread softly upstairs, Beebs -who rarely ever leaves your side since the new arrival- padding quietly along with you. When you get to the nursery you rock your baby in your arms a few moments more, humming lullabies softly into the cool night air.
Your eyes sweeping the room, the wonderful, perfect mural on the wall catches your attention. The mural with one animal that doesn’t look quite like the rest. Honestly, it doesn’t really look like any existing animal, so Poe has named it a “blurrg” instead. It makes you chuckle every single time, without fail. You wouldn’t change it for a thing. You wouldn’t change any of this.
You set your baby down in their basket before your laughter wakes them. Then, of course, you linger a moment longer to just stare at that adorable little face before clasping the door shut behind you.
Returning downstairs you smile at Poe. “You’re awake!”
“Yeah, I am.” You move to meet him on the couch and he drags you down into his lap. “And I heard you on the baby monitor, laughing at my blurrg! Again!”
You caress his curls, even though you know he’s not genuinely offended.
You smile so broadly your cheeks hurt. “I love it Poe. It makes me so happy every time. I’m so glad we created it together.”
His eyes meet yours, soft and warm, like the rest of him. “I sure as hell know that feeling.”
Oh boy. How does he make happiness swell in your chest like this? How is it possible to be this happy?
“Let’s... keep creating together, ok?”
He looks up at you in shock as he catches the full meaning of your words. “Are you... are you asking me to have another baby with you? Already?”
“Jungle’s gonna need a sibling.” you bite your lip, slightly nervous of how he might react. “Also, we really need to stop calling her that and settle on an actual name.”, you deflect.
“Baby,” he says gently, taking your hand in his. “I’d like Jungle to have siblings. I’m not sure she needs one just yet...” his tone switches, and it’s subtle but you know him too well to miss it. “...but as soon as you feel ready I’m very willing to start practising again.”
“You know, I think… I think I’m ready to start… practising.”
He swallows thickly, and you can see he’s holding himself back a little, for your benefit. He even backtracks a little. “You know I would never want to rush you, baby.”
“I know, Poe. So, what do you say, wanna make love?”
With unfortunate timing, the baby monitor crackles, transmitting a light cry from your daughter’s room.
“I’ll go check her.” Poe offers, patting your thighs for you to stand up and let him out from under you.
“You just want to smell her head again.”
“It’s the best smell, can you blame me?”
You smile to yourself. You love how soft and goofy and wonderful this man is. Every night should be like this, you think. How could anything be better?
***
When Poe does come back down to the living room you are already fast asleep, an open sketching pad nestled on to your chest. He thinks his heart might burst as he lifts it up for safe-keeping and notices you’ve drawn an adorable blurrg in there.
He casts his eyes over your sleeping form with nothing but love. He thinks you look so beautiful when you’re sleeping. He knows he couldn’t paint a prettier picture if he tried. No really, not with his skills. You’d agree; you’ve seen that blurrg, after all.
He stoops, planting a gentle kiss to your forehead. He could swear that, impossibly, that he loves you even more than he did yesterday.
He stoops to pet Beebs as the corgi presses up against his ankles, giving him some well-deserved belly scritches. “Come on then big bro,” he whispers. “Let’s clear this mess up for Mama.”
Before he scoots around to collect up all the bottles and paraphernalia, he sets your sketchpad safely down on the coffee table. He can’t help but smile again. He knows what makes him happy. Happier than he ever thought he could be.
God knows why he said “monkeys”.
THE END
Like this? Please consider reblogging, and/or sending feedback in an ask or comment. I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU AND STORIES ARE NOTHING WITHOUT A READER. YOU ARE EVERYTHING AND ILY.
Want more? PART TWO IS HERE.
You can also check out my Masterlist to read more of my works! FYI: It’s always kept updated in my bio.
Want even more? Just ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent tag-list or any series tag-lists <3
What is this? 7 of 14 prompt requests for my follower celebration!
What is the prompt? “For your drabbles I got an idea from a video I saw where a dad shaved his beard and him and his wife do a face reveal for their toddler and the kid doesn’t recognize him and starts crying, it was the cutest thing. What if Poe and reader do something similar with their kid/s?” This was hella specific (which is all good, ILY) but I reinterpreted it a little- hope you enjoy and thanks for the request, Anon!
Author’s note: This can be read as a sequel of sorts to Arrivals but can totally be read as a stand-alone.
Warnings: pregnancy, fluff, wifey x hubby flirting and light sexual innuendos, and typos.
GIF credit: here
“I’m not ready to say goodbye. You’re really going to shave it off?” you ask, with a pet lip, as you run your fingers through your husband’s glorious salt and pepper beard one more time. “It’s just so hot. You look distinguished, like a... hot Duke or something.”
Poe’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “But you like me without a beard too, right?”
“You’re hot all the time. It’s infuriating, actually. Just maybe I’m gonna miss the tickle of your beard on my skin.”
“Between your thighs, you mean?” he teases, his voice a low rumble. It’s not meant to turn you on -his tone is light-hearted- but it does anyway.
“Maybe.” you sing-song, nipping your lip between your teeth.
“You’ve forgotten how much you liked my stubble grazing you there. I’ll be happy to remind you, sweetheart.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” you promise, hopping up on the counter as Poe continues his application of shaving cream and takes his shaving blade in hand.
Ok, maybe you could get used to him without a beard again. There’s something disconcertingly hot about watching him shirtless, shearing the stubble from his chiselled jaw. Something about the smoothness and then the roughness which follows. The smell of those lotions on his skin.
You watch him fondly for a while, careful not to distract him as he moves the blade precisely over the more sensitive contours of his neck. He hums as he does so and, you realise, you’re glad to be reminded of this morning ritual. You tune-in to what he’s humming, and smile as you realise he’s unconsciously humming the theme from your little one’s current cartoon of choice. This man can go from sinful to adorable in the bat of an eye. He really has it all.
“Do you think Juno will like your new face?” you ask, and Poe’s eyes soften immediately from the mere mention of your daughter.
“She’s been strongly encouraging me to shave it off. In fact, she keeps trying to yank my beard right off. Yesterday, she hated it so much she mushed porridge into it and it was stuck in there for hours.”
“Gross, Poe.” you chide and he throws you a feigned angry look. “What if she doesn’t recognise you?”
“What?!” your heart grows several sizes upon hearing how concerned Poe sounds at the suggestion. “She’ll know me, I’m her Papa!” it’s more of a plea than a statement of certainty. He drops the blade down, seeming as if he might halt right there and remain half-bearded if there’s even a slight possibility Juno wouldn’t recognise him.
“I’m sure she will, Poe.” You say, hopping down to rub circles into his shoulder blades. “Just don’t be surprised if she gets a shock when she wakes up, ok?”
Well now he looks more than a little glum. “Maybe I shouldda kept it.” He keeps going, the other side of his beard disappearing stroke-by-stroke. The only patch which remains sits on his top lip. “Should I keep this bit?”
You smile warmly at him in the mirror. “It’s gotta go, Poe. I can’t take you seriously with a moustache.”
“Do you ever take me seriously?”
You respond by giving his ass a squeeze through his relaxed joggers. “You’re seriously sexy.”
He smiles and you think you might be distracting him a little too much now. “I’m gonna go start on the laundry. Come remind me what that handsome, cleanshaven face feels like when you’re ready, baby.”
You mosey out of the room, swaying your hips as you know he’ll be looking to catch a glimpse through the mirror.
***
You are pottering in the utility room downstairs when you hear Juno’s cries from the bedroom. You keep an ear out, but you know Poe is up there and likely rushing to her. Still, you wander into the kitchen so that you’re on hand if you’re needed, and so you can greet them when they make their way down to you.
The crying doesn’t subside and you get a little furrow in your brow. “Everything ok, honey?” you call up the stairs.
You look up at the mouth of the stairs with light concern, and you see Poe approaching across the landing, a bawling little poppet slung at his hip. Juno spots you and stretches her arms towards you with cries of “Mama! Mama!”.
Poe looks upset as he hands Juno over to you and you bundle her into your arms. You give her a gentle bounce on your hip. “Jungle ‘Juno’ Dameron. What’s got you so upset after your nap, huh?”
You look at Poe’s face and he is so distressed that it’s almost comical. You’re not sure who to comfort more - him or the child. “She doesn’t recognise me, honey.”
“Aww. Course she does. Don’t you Juno?” You rub you palm over Poe’s cheek, feeling the smooth skin and the sharp contours of his jaw. “Look Juno, it’s Daddy.” You give Poe a friendly kiss on the cheek. “We love Daddy, don’t we?”
Juno wrings her chubby little hands together, a tremble in her lip as she looks between the both of you, her cries having stopped but crystal ball tears still lingering on her cheeks.
He reaches out to Juno, brushing her tears away. “It’s me, baby.”
“Do the song she likes.” you nudge him, knowing she’ll respond to his familiar and soothing voice. He begins to sing to her and immediately, her face brightens. Although she still looks a little apprehensive, her cheeks apple with her gummy smile.
To your relief, Poe’s face brightens too and soon they are both smiling again.
Now that she’s settled, Juno wriggles against you and signals she wants to be put down. “Ok, baby girl. Shall we get some fresh air in the yard? Where’s Beebs?! Shall we go find Beebs?”
Juno claps her palms together and toddles in the direction of your yard. You follow closely behind her, momentarily confused as to why Poe isn’t following too.
“You coming hubster?”
“In a second. I just need to do something upstairs.”
You shrug and tootle outside, perching yourself on your back step and smiling softly to yourself as Juno plays in the grass with Beebs at the end of your garden. You pick up the stuffed animal strewn on the patio by your feet -a blurrg Poe had custom-made for Juno’s birthday- and your smile spreads further as you give the ridiculous creature a little snuggle.
Eventually, you hear the approach of Poe’s footsteps through the kitchen and you turn to look up at him as he plants a warm, broad hand on your shoulder. Now you might actually be able to appreciate that clean-shaven face of his.
You squeal as you turn towards him, however, and observe that he has something inexplicable and black and furry strapped across his chin.
“Woah.” You startle, pressing your palm over the shocked “o” of your lips before a hearty laugh filters through your fingers.
“I made a beard.” he offers by way of explanation. “I did not like upsetting Juno.” He perches himself by your side on the step. You think he’s smirking beneath the monstrosity strapped to his face, crow’s feet radiating from around his eyes. “Do you think she’ll buy it?”
You laugh. You laugh at this ludicrous man. Your fingertips coming up to tug at... whatever this is. You see he’s been quite creative, hair ties hooking it around his ears.
“What is it?”
“Ok, don’t tell Juno.” he leans in to you as if confessing a secret, his voice dropped low. “I maybe cut up a stuffed animal from that sack of stuff destined for goodwill.”
You feel overcome that he would do all of this, just so he didn’t upset her. Happy tears brim in your eyes at how loved your daughter is. You run a hand over his makeshift beard. “You are the sweetest man on earth, you know that?”
He gently presses a hand to your rounded, expanding belly. “Anything for my joint-favourite kiddo.” Your pending second child was about to be the joint-luckiest kiddo in the world, you could swear.
You look at him again in disbelief, so utterly wonderful and so utterly ridiculous. “Poe, you know you have a stuffed animal strapped to your face? This. This is one of the reasons people don’t take you seriously.”
“I thought I was seriously sexy.” he purrs, dipping his head towards you to steal a quick kiss from his wife while Juno is happily occupied.
The fibres of the fabric tickle at your nose.
“Just to be clear, honey. There’s no way you’re getting that beard between my thighs.”
You are joined in laughter until Poe’s attention is diverted by Juno making loud, nonsensical noises and tracking her way across the garden to you both. Her hands make a grabby motion as she toddles.
“I’ll take care of you later.” he promises, with a swift press of a kiss into your hair as he stands. “For now, let’s see if Juno recognises me again. I gotta be honest, it broke my kriffing heart when she didn’t know me.” you smile at his newly invented swear word to use around the little one.
You feel warm inside as he runs to Juno and lifts her in the air, joined in a happy moment as he aeroplanes his baby girl around in his arms, Beebs snapping joyously at his heels.
You reach for your camera phone. You must remember to take a video of him in that ludicrous beard. You don’t want to forget a single, silly, loving moment and you know it is impossible to capture them all. But this one? This one is far too good to let slide.
You stand and mosey down the garden, until you fold over with a jolt of discomfort in your belly. Poe catches it instantly and turns towards you. “Honey?”
“I wasn’t sure earlier. But now I’m pretty confident I’m having contractions. Pretty regular.”
His eyes scold you for not saying anything sooner but at the same time they are only full of love.
“It’s happening! Honey!” he looks like he might smile and cry and freak out all at once. He slings Juno on to his hip so he can wrap his other arm around you, his thoughts evidently going a mile a minute. “I’ll drop Juno next door with Finn until we can get hold of Grandma Leia and Grandpa Han. The bags are in the car. We can do this.”
You look at him in shock. “It’s happening. We’ve got to go. Meet our new baby.”
He presses a loving kiss to your lips, despite that infernal fake beard still adorning his jaw. “I love you so kriffing much,” he says, voice cracking with emotion, “and I’ll be right back. Call your mom, ok?”
He dashes through the yard and you call out to him. “Poe!”
He looks back at you over his shoulder.
“Take that thing off your face, or Finn and Rose will never let you hear the end of it.”
“There’s no time, sweetie! Plus, I wouldn’t want people to start taking me seriously.” He flashes you a grin before resuming his dash through the house.
You stand in the garden alone for a moment, saying softly to yourself. “I love you so much too, Poe Dameron.”
Then, you remember that you’re not quite alone as Beebs rubs up against your calf and yaps at you, as if to helpfully yank you from your slight panic and disbelief as the reality of the situation hits you. It does the job, and you remember suddenly that you need to call your mom, Leia.
When you look down at the phone in your hand, you’re delighted to see you never hit the button to end the video you were recording. You’ve captured that whole exchange.
Tears brim in your eyes, overwhelmed by the family you already have, and the family you’re about to have. You are so glad for every moment.
THE END
Like this? Please consider reblogging, and/or sending feedback in an ask or comment. I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU AND STORIES ARE NOTHING WITHOUT A READER. YOU ARE EVERYTHING AND ILY.
Want more? You can check out my Masterlist to read more of my works! FYI: It’s always kept updated in my bio.
Want even more? Just ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent tag-list or any series tag-lists <3
Talk to me about modern!Poe Dameron, please? Domestic fluff only today, lads.
Does he do the hoovering while blasting Queen / ABBA and singing along? Does he get crumbs in the bed bc he ate cookies and cried during a >insert cheesy tv show< marathon while you were out at work? Do you sometimes (often) catch him pretending mundane objects are planes as he moves them around the house (or hear him making whoosh noises from the next room)? Is it the cutest thing ever when you find him and corgi Beebs napping together in front of the fire? Is he sometimes cranky af before his morning coffee, but totally vulnerable to being tickled and called a grump to put a smile on his face? These are the kinda adorable details I need.
Modern Poe’s house is everyone’s house. You don’t wanna get a taxi home after a night out? His couch is there (or his bed bc he’s the type of guy you can comfortably share a bed with even as friends). You’ve had a crappy day? His door’s unlocked and the kettle’s on, come round and vent. You got broken up with? He has wine and shitty movies and cheesy music, come have a sleepover. You need a quiet place to work/study? His coffee table is right there and he’ll feed and water you while you work
He’s the BEST! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
And you’re the best too Nova for sharing these! 😁🙏🧡
