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cinebration · 1 year

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A Good Team (Poe Dameron x Reader) [Request]

Hi! I am wondering if you could write a Poe Dameron x poc!reader, where the reader is an infiltrator of sorts who happens to get paired up with him for a mission? Shenanigans occur, and they have to fight their way out, because the mission went south quick. Sorry, if this isn't enough details, I just don't want to put too much. Thank you!—Requested by anon

Warnings: blaster deaths

Gif Source: oscarverse

Poe Dameron was known throughout the Rebel Alliance as a hotshot, hotheaded pilot with a murky background. That described quite a few rebel members, you had to admit—the murky background, certainly, along with hotheaded—but the fiasco with Vice Admiral Holdo had left everyone shaken and Dameron in the dung heap.

The last thing you wanted was to be stuck with him on an infiltration mission.

“He’s a damn pilot,” you hissed, slapping your hand on the table with enough force to feel your elbow protest. “He’s loud and prefers to shoot first and asks questions later. I need a spy or I go alone, no and’s, if’s, or but’s.”

General Organa arched one eyebrow at you, her lips twisting into the faint smirk of a contrarian. “He’s going with you.”

Frustration bubbled deep within you, threatening to spill over. Swallowing it back, you growled, “General, he—”

“Needs to get off this base and keep busy with something while we reestablish morale,” the woman supplied. “I know you’re more than capable of getting him and yourself through this assignment.”

You recognized a dismissal when you heard one. Biting off a sigh, you nodded curtly and stormed away from the control center, hands clenching and unclenching as you struggled to rein in your anger.

Veering away from your original course, you crossed the makeshift airfield and scanned the ragtag assemble of worn, dilapidated X-wings, shuttles, and skimmers. Dameron’s black X-wing had been grounded at the far end, but a figure moved around it.

You strode the long expanse of airstrip to the X-wing, didn’t bother waiting for the pilot to look up at you. “Pack up your shit. We’ve got a job to do.”

He straightened, frowning. “Who’re you?”

“Your boss according to General Organa. You can play with your plane later.”

Wiping his hands on an oil-stained rag, he quipped, “Who shit in your rations this morning?”

“You did,” you snapped, “and you can bet your ass I’m gonna make you eat every last bit of it.”

“These aren’t your traditional Coruscanti big wigs—”

“Look, lady, this isn’t my first time running an infil,” Dameron interrupted, shaking his head. “You don’t have to drill me on the basics.”

Stepping up to him, you tugged sharply on his tunic, cinching the collar tight around his throat. Eyes widening in surprise, he shot you a glare as you pulled on the belt, practically manhandling him as you repositioned it perfectly center.

“When people mess up, it’s because their basics aren’t solid. As I was saying, these aren’t your traditional Coruscanti big wigs. These people are sharks who get physically excited when they smell blood. So keep your trap shut and let me do the talking.”

Dameron scoffed, stoking your irritation. You tightened the belt a fraction too far, pinching his waist. He glared at you again, the amusement in his eyes dying.

“I know you have a tendency to run your mouth,” you added, “but try to keep it under control tonight. You’ll get us both killed otherwise.”

Dameron pulled a face as you stepped away. Shaking your head at his childishness, you smoothed the front of your dress and adjusted its high arching collar. It brushed the bottom of your earlobes, forcing you to forego earrings and opt for a glittering necklace instead. The ensemble was pricey enough for the party but not so extravagant that everyone would pay attention. The key was to be average, unremarkable and indistinguishable from the common denominator of the room.

The elevator doors slid open, the silence of the car filling with the sounds of the gala. Laughter brayed and tinkled underneath the exclamations of surprise and defeat at the gaming tables placed around the expansive room.

“If they’re sharks, what are we?” Dameron whispered into your ear.

Ignoring the shock of his lips brushing against the soft skin, you hissed through a fake smile, “You’re dead meat if you screw this up.”

“If I screw this up, we’re both dead meat.”

You snorted. “Not likely.”

Without waiting for another retort, you weaved through the crowd, lingering at tables here and there to survey the games. Irritation resurged as you moved around the room, searching for the target while trying to keep track of Dameron’s location. You didn’t like your attention split. It facilitated unnecessary mistakes.

Like almost missing the target entirely.

Glimpsing him in the corner of your eye, you wandered over to the bar he leaned against and flagged the bartender’s attention. “A glass of Ardees,” you instructed him.

“Mmm, I haven’t heard someone ask for Ardees in ages,” the target said, amusement dancing on his tongue. “Quite the taste you have, Miss…”

“Briche,” you lied, offering a hand for him to ghost a kiss over. “But you may call me Abriash.”

“Abriash Briche,” he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue. “Darvek Cade.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mister Cade.”

The bartender placed the sandy-colored drink in front of you. Tipping your head toward him, you sipped delicately, making eye contact with Cade over the rim of your glass. Dark eyes glittering like points of flint, he watched you rather lazily.

“Are you enjoying the affair?” he asked as you set the glass down, gesturing vaguely toward the rest of the room.

“Perhaps at the start, but the noise and bad luck is giving me a headache.”

Chuckling, he swept his gaze over you, lingering for a moment at the contours of your waist. “Yes, I have to agree. Gambling here is in poor taste.”

“You are against gambling?”

“Not at all. But there are better places suited to it than Coruscant. The gambles here are in politics, not with our money but the money of constituents.”

“Are you a senator?”

He chuckled again. “Never have I been so offended in my life.”

Heat rushing up the back of your neck, you laughed awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s quite alright. I suppose I should ask if you are a senator, no?”

You snorted out of reflex, schooled yourself to keep the feeling of horror from showing on your face.

“Exactly,” he countered, smirking. “You can understand my disgust.”

“Certainly.”

Applause thundered from the other side of the room, carried by shouts of triumph.

“Big winner,” you muttered, eyes narrowing a fraction as you searched for Dameron, a sneaking suspicion growing in the pit of your stomach that he had joined one of the tables.

“Tell me, then, what you do,” Cade said.

Sipping from your drink again, you smiled brilliantly at him and parried, “I could ask you the same.”

“Ladies first.”

Suppressing a snort, you answered, “I represent shipping interests.”

“A shipping magnate? Which one are you?”

“No, you misunderstand. I represent them.”

“A lawyer? Almost as bad as politicians.”

“And you? What lofty career do you have that sets you so above the rest of us?”

A rakish grin slashed his mouth. “I offer protection for certain interests of high-ranking politicians in the room.”

“A thug, then?”

An eyebrow twitched. “Does that offend you?”

“Not at all. I’m a lawyer, remember? Everyone I represent is a thug,” you quipped.

Lips pulling back into a wide smile, Cade cast a glance around the room, then turned back to you, inching a fraction closer. “The noise is wearing me down. Would you like to join me someplace quieter?”

“I’d love to.”

As you folded your arm through his, you scanned the tables again, searching desperately for Dameron.

His voice purred in your ear, nearly sending you out of your skin. The comm, buried deep in your ear, rendered his voice immediately present.

“Where’s he taking you?”

One shoulder twitched upward, a shrug only for Dameron to see as Cade led you out of the ballroom. You still couldn’t see Dameron, forcing you to give him a modicum of begrudging respect. He was stealthier than you gave him credit for.

“What kind of quiet place?” you asked, gently squeezing Cade’s bicep.

“Believe it or not, I have a temporary office in the building.”

“You do not!”

“I assure you, ma’am, I do. I set up temporary offices wherever I go. It saves the hassle of having to commute extensively.”

“Indeed, but I can’t imagine that the moving expense counteracts that.”

“I only need one or two essential things to establish my office.”

Entering an elevator, Cade proceeded down several floors—though still well above the lower levels. The thrum of anticipation buzzed through you as the car eased to a stop and the doors slid open onto a long hallway with beautiful wooden doors lining each side.

“I didn’t expect to see wood here,” you breathed, only partly faking your surprise. Placing a hand against the cool surface of the nearest door, you gently smoothed your hand over the grain, trying to feel the imperceptible lines.

“I indulge in luxury now and again,” Cade answered, waiting for you before easing you down the hall toward a door on the far end.

A shiver running down your spine, you stepped warily into the dark room, Cade following you inside.

The lights clicked on overhead, revealing an innocuous office. Despite the wooden door, the desk and chairs were standard—albeit more expensive—for a corpo, the metal bookcase beside it filled not with books but the various items people liked to display. The window behind the desk gave an oval view of the brightly illuminated city in the night.

“You have quite the view,” you said, drawing slowly toward it as you scanned the room. Your attention drew to the items on the bookcase. Framed photographs of a blonde woman with a red-haired man dominated the space, along with an award with a woman’s name engraved on it.

Frowning, the hair on the back of your neck tingling in warning, you turned toward Cade, noting, “You took someone else’s office?”

“Not at all,” he said, lifting up a hand and brandishing a blaster in it. “This just seemed a convenient place for our business.”

“Ex–excuse me?”

“Coruscant may be a den of cutthroats smiling behind wealth, but only poor cutthroats carry a weapon on their person.” He gestured with his eyes to the almost unnoticeable bulge on your hip. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say you were some Rebel scum.”

Your mind raced, seeking solutions. The desk and Cade blocked you from the door, and the window behind you wasn’t an option. Even if you could break the glass before getting shot, you had only a fall to look forward to if you tumbled out.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” you said. “For one, the Rebels existed thirty years ago.”

“Please don’t play coy with me. While I’ve enjoyed our little game, I’m growing impatient. To make this easier on everybody, tell me why you are here.”

“As I said before, I represent shipping interests—”

Dameron sprinted through the open doorway and smashed his fist into the back of Cade’s head, driving him to the floor. The blaster was in his hands before Cade fully hit the ground—unconscious.

“—and my oaf of a partner just screwed everything up,” you finished, your voice eking out a growl.

“That’s a funny way of saying thank you,” Dameron quipped.

“It’s the perfect way of saying, ‘We can’t get the information because you knocked out the target.’”

“What?” He glanced sharply around the room. “It isn’t in here?”

“This isn’t his office. He was onto me at the bar.”

“Well…that just sounds like it’s your fault. If you had let me do the talking—”

“Unbelievable.” Stepping over Cade’s prone body, you swept your hands over his frame and inventoried his pockets. Not even a keycard. Swearing, you kicked the man in the hip and shook your head. “This op is a bust.”

“No, all we have to do is find his office, right?” Dameron shrugged and headed for the door. “It’s not like there’s anyone down here.”

A blaster shot screamed past his head down the hallway. Yanking him back inside, you slammed the door shut as he raked his hands over his scalp, checking for damage.

“You were saying?”

“Okay, so maybe he called reinforcements,” Dameron admitted, “but if anything, that’s your fault.”

“For all we know, you led them here!”

“We can chicken-and-egg this later. Right now, we have to get out of here.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

Dameron scrambled to the window as voices approached from down the hall.

“Only way out is through the front door,” you muttered, yanking on the bookcase.

It was welded to the wall.

Another curse slipping past your lips, you grabbed one of the chairs and jammed it up against the door, the back wedged under the door handle.

“What you get for wooden doors,” you muttered.

“Fried, is what,” Dameron countered. “They can’t withstand blaster fire.”

“They don’t have to. What’s the likelihood they’ll shoot the door handle versus the hinges?”

“What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, flyboy.”

“I don’t know! Hinges, that way they’re standing away from the door in case we try to shoot at them.”

Snatching the blaster out of Dameron’s hands, you crouched on one knee directly across from the hinges and slightly to the right.

“Away from the door, right?” you confirmed.

“Yeah, probably as far as they can be.”

The voices stopped, footsteps quiet on the floor.

“Surrender and you won’t die,” a low voice said on the other side of the door.

“Pretty sure you’re lying,” Dameron quipped back.

The first blaster bolt tore through the top hinge at a forty-five degree angle.

You fired the blaster at the same angle. The bolt tore through the wood halfway down the door and scoured through the man standing on the other side. You fired twice more, once to the left and once to the right, before the bolt had reached the wall opposite.

A strangled cry sounded through the buzzing in your ears.

“Go low,” you whispered, yanking the chair away from the door.

You fired another shot just before Dameron pulled the door free and rolled through the opening, kicking the door open enough for you to see the other man trying to lever himself upright. You shot him through the chest.

He thudded to the floor.

“Not bad,” Dameron noted, rising from his crouch. “We make a good team.”

“Hardly,” you muttered. “A good team would have recovered the intel without letting anyone know. Now help me drag these bodies inside.”

For once, Dameron kept his mouth shut and assisted you. His words echoed in your ears as you surveyed the three bodies stacked inside. Yes, perhaps there was the making of a good team in your partnership, you thought as you put a blaster bolt in Cade. The question was, did you want to make that team?

You weren’t quite so sure anymore.

“Let’s get out of here,” you grumbled.

#Poe Dameron x Reader #Poe Dameron #Poe Dameron imagine #Oscar Issac x Reader #Oscar Issac #Oscar Isaac imagine #Star Wars #requests

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