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Tattoos and Naps

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“Hey.” You mumbled half-grouchily, opening the door to Poe’s sympathetic face. You had been helping prep for the next mission, but when Leia noticed you getting too antsy and far too defensive when discussing different plans of attack, she’d told you to go and take a few hours of rest then come back.

You did so begrudgingly, as always, but if the General told you to do something you would (unlike your problems-with-authority boyfriend, Poe). That was of course with the exception of her making you get some rest, then he whole-heartedly agreed with her.

“You could do with some rest, we’ve had a horrible few days.” He pouted, standing across from you as he crossed into your quarters. He carried a flask of herbal tea, just like he always brought when you both wanted to have a few relaxing hours, away from all the commotion.

“Don’t you start.” You almost laughed, rolling your eyes at his wide eyes and pitiful face. He knew you could handle yourself, 100%, but he didn’t often have a chance to dote on you and he liked to tone it up when he did. Jerk.

You stood back in protest when he swanned his way over to your bed, pushing away the pens and paper you’d been scribbling on to de-stress to make room for himself. Holding a gentle arm out to you, you sighed before moving to sit next to him. His arms were much longer than yours, so his forearm sat perfectly across your abdomen as your head settled itself on his chest. You stared up at the ceiling, letting the blank white canvas begin to calm your thoughts (though it was most probably the calming voice of your boyfriend that helped with that).

“You know how quick word travels across base that the General made you leave because you almost hit one of the other guys?” You snorted at that, knowing full well how much they liked to gossip in the resistance- there wasn’t much else going on anyway. You never actually had hit someone, you probably never would, but everyone knew how good you were in hand-to-hand combat so they didn’t like to test their chances.

“In my defence he was being a dick. If we moved in the groups he suggested we’d all be dead in 10 minutes, too heavy.” Poe chuckled this time, you were always right when it came to that stuff, he didn’t know why they bothered arguing with you. After all that’s why Leia insisted on you working in mission-planning despite how good you were in the field (occasionally you’d make it out into the field anyway, much to Poe’s dismay).

Relationships were few and far between in the resistance, with lives on the line so often they tried not to go in too deep. It didn’t work out anyway, since friendships across base and in squadrons ended up running just as deep as any relationship would. Plus you and Poe were pretty damn good together, everyone knew that.

“I know.” He spoke into you, hugging you tighter to him as you relaxed. “You’re always right.”

“Damn right I am, Dameron.” You said with a bit more gust, feeling better with his presence. Sitting in your quarters alone when you got stressed and anxious was something you were so used to, so it was nice having Poe there now.

You ran your hand across Poe’s arm as you laid, both to calm yourself and out of a new-found boredom. Your eyes drifted down to the tattoos that covered your boyfriend’s arm, an odd mix of professional looking pieces and others that looked as if he’d done them himself- he probably had, you thought.

“Hey, Poe? Can I have my scribbling stuff back?” You queried to him, leaning your head back more so you could see his face a bit better. He mumbled a quick ‘yes’, before giving you a light kiss on the cheek and sitting up so he could reach the things strewn across the bottom of your bed.

You sat up too, next to him but still with most of your body leant against his. He threw most of the stuff at you, letting you do what you pleased. You sorted through the array of pens and scraps of paper quickly, throwing most of it onto the floor- leaving you with just a red and blue marker. Leaning back on the headrest of your bed, Poe placed a hand just on the inside of your thigh.

You looked up at him with a new, cheeky grin.

“What?” He replied with an unsurity, wondering what on earth was going through your mind. Then he noticed you lightly running one of the markers across his arms. With a very insistent looking face.

“You wanna give me a new tattoo, baby?” He questioned with a teasing smile. His hand then moved to the other side of your leg, further away, and pulling gently so you were pressed closer against him- and so his arm laid right across your lap.

“Perfect.” You smiled up at him, bringing his eyes away from his own arm and up to you. He still looked ready to tease at you, but you reached up and gave him a quick kiss anyway. He was your perfect boyfriend.

You rested again, half leaning against his upper arm with your head gently on his shoulder. He watched in bemusement and love as you scribbled your name (scribbled maybe wasn’t the right word, your handwriting was flawless) in a gap near his wrist, of course with a small red love heart beside it.

You proceeded to spend the next little while colouring in some of his tattoos, from the small resistance symbol to the bigger things you weren’t really sure the meaning of. Either way he watched happily as you coloured, chatting lightly about anything else he was thinking about. And yes, you reassured him it would wash off easily, since you couldn’t afford very expensive pens (plus you promised to join him in the shower afterwards, so he wasn’t really thinking about the longevity of the ink).