Dangerous Affection | Kylo Ren

𝐕 About Trust

"Another lecture?" You antagonize, rolling your eyes. "Come on. You know this wasn't my fault..."

Poe scowls in disappointment, pinching the bridge of his nose, exhaling harshly. "Yes, another. Stop intertwining yourself with these outrageous problems, and maybe you wouldn't be lectured so often."

You flagrantly prop your legs on his polished desk. "I didn't plan for any of this to happen." You inform blandly, sucking on your coffee-stained teeth.

"I raised you smarter than this," he breathes your name poignantly, a chagrin look plastered to his face as he eyes you in earnest. "Now that Ren knows who you are, it's best to assume he is everywhere. All the time. And he may very well be."

You weigh the concern in his expression, tilting your head in consideration before responding. "I know that, now. I fucked up, is that what you want to hear? I learned my lesson when I was nearly murdered."

He nods solemnly. "You were doing well before last night. Now, I can assure you, you've earned yourself a hit-order. You do understand what you've done by killing Ren's right-hand man?"

Your heart drums erratically at the reminder.
You gulp down your trepidation; a faint, burning twinge of regret dwindling within your chest. "Yes," you rasp dejectedly. The somberness you're feeling isn't remorse for the life you took; it's a sad, muted fear, that Ren will take someone just as important to you in return.

Poe slouches back in his chair, cracking his knuckles, releasing a strained sigh. He eyes you up and down carefully. "There's a target on your back. That's all I'm insinuating. It... scares me." He admits ruefully.

"It scares you?" Your voice raises precariously, as you slowly rise out of your chair, bracing yourself on his desk, leaning in close to inspect the sincerity in his face. "I'm doing this mission, forfeiting my life for you. If anyone should be scared, Dameron, it's me."

"Are you?" He asks smoothly, cocking a brow.

"No." You reply cooly, reflexively.

He drawls your name softly, leveling that maternal, neck-prickling look on you. "Did something else happen that night?"

Your resolve wavers momentarily. You reluctantly plop back down into your seat. "Nothing that matters," you say simply.

Poe scrutinizes you longer, examining every twitch of your face, flutter of your lashes, every deliberately controlled breath. Then he ascends from his seat, cocking his head at you to do the same.

"Come here," he directs.

You sigh dramatically, indulging him, prying yourself off your seat and skulking over to him. He spreads his arms wide, and you ease into them, slamming your face into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him.

He envelops you instinctively, rubbing soothing, fatherly circles into your back. He held you like this when you were a little girl. After your parents were murdered, he took you in and raised you himself; he trained you brutally, ruthlessly, so strenuously there was a period of time where you resented him.

Once, when you were fifteen, you snuck out of the apartment to suck face with a sleezy boy you'd met limping down 5th avenue after one of your missions, which at the time strictly involved seducing older, powerful men and effortlessly extracting useful information out of them.

He was the first boy you'd ever caught genuine feelings for; there was a charm to his disheveledness, a philosophy to the way he thought.

He'd convinced you to meet him behind a gas station, where you smoked half a pack of the Marlboro's he thieved from his mom and boasted about your shared interests.