I don't think I'm meant to be employed. It really cuts into my goofy silly haha time. and it makes it nearly impossible to have any wow life is beautiful let me take it in time.
CW: Mentions of smut but no actual smut, lots of fluff hehe <3
Steve gets embarrassed after he cums too fast when you crawl on top.
You were breathless, slightly sweaty as you rolled over to where your boyfriend had one hand over his face, his cheeks still flushed as he shook his head back and forth. You were biting back your laughter, a little amazed at how sheepish he had become.
"Don't look at me." He mumbled as he pressed his other hand over his face, hiding away the way his face had burned red. You shifted up onto your knees, letting the sheets fall away from your body as a little laugh left your lips again.
"Steve, it's alright." You promised as you wrapped your fingers around his wrists, noting how much larger his hands were than yours. He grumbled as he wiggled his face into the pillows this time.
"Don't touch me." He whined pathetically, tugging the sheet in his direction so he could try and hide his face underneath it. You laughed as you moved it back, leaning forward to kiss his flushed cheek.
"You're fine, really." You promised him as you played with his brown strands. You got a peep at as forehead before he buried his face into the pillows.
"No, it's embarrassing." He corrected, voice muffled as he hid himself away. You shook your head, leaning forward to trace your lips across his shoulder blades.
You thought he was being dramatic, just a little bit. Sure, you had only sunk on top of him for maybe two minutes before he burst into his condom, humiliation taking over the pleasure on his features a moment later.
You weren't at all offended, you were actually flattered. But there was no convincing him as he hid away, mumbling about being worse than a teenager. But it made you giggle.
"Stevie," you grinned as you traced your lips over his moles, wondering how long it would take to kiss every single one that decorated his skin, "it's fine. I promise." You hummed as you lightly nipped at his back muscles. He yelped, sitting up that time.
"I think you like seeing me suffer." He replied as he glanced towards you, eyes all hazy and soft. You cupped his face, smiling as you leaned forward to peck his lips.
"Me?" you questioned, grinning at the way he hummed against your lips in response, "I would never." You scoffed playfully, knowing that you quite enjoyed getting him flustered. But you would never admit to it.
And this incident hadn't been on purpose, not at all. You'd climbed on top of him various different times and never had him fall apart so easily. You couldn't deny that you loved it.
"Mhm," he smiled as he rested his cheek against the pillow, his long fingers dancing across your jawline, "I'm going to remember this." He threatened jokingly, making you laugh. His threats were never very serious.
"Trust me, I will too." You giggled as he groaned again, pulling away so he could cover his face with his palms. You grinned at the banner, glad that you could play with him.
personal assistant rules: donât crush on bucky barnes. definitely donât misinterpret a flower purchase and spiral into silent heartbreak, and absolutely never ever get stuck alone with him in an elevator.
Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, oral (f receiving), public (ish) sex?, wall sex (?), okay they fuck in an elevator guys, kissing, angst, miscommunication (not badly), hurt/comfort, there's some plot if you squint, insecure/self-conscious reader undertones, reader is an overthinker, reader is horny lol, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything
Word Count: 9.1k
A/N: hi, hopefully this will keep you all fed while i work on part five to lessons in lovemaking. finally getting around to some of these requests in my inbox. this one is based off this request, but i changed it up so the reader is a PA instead of an avenger. lmk your thoughts thanx for reading <3 sorry for any typos - not proof read.
main masterlist
Youâd never pegged Natasha as the type who enjoyed flowers.
No, she struck you more as the encrypted-flash-drive-on-a-park-bench type, the kind of woman who appreciated mysteries with teeth. A custom leather jacket, stitched with the same precision she used to dismantle a glock. One of those sleek, low motorcycles. Not daisies. Not peonies. And definitely not whatever soft, pastel nonsense Bucky was currently handing over cash for.
You stood a few feet away, halfway hidden behind a sidewalk sign advertising oat milk lattes and gluten-free muffins, clutching a cardboard drink tray and a bag full of vegan pastries in a death grip. The barista had spelt âBruceâ as âBrooseâ again, and under any other circumstance, that would've made you laugh, but now it felt like the most irrelevant thing in the world.
You liked Natasha. You respected her. You just didnât think she had it in her to giggle over roses like the girls in those sappy rom-coms Clint insisted he hated (right before he would watch three in a row, a beer in each hand). But there Bucky was, brushing pollen off a bouquet of pale pink ranunculus, face soft in a way youâd never seen during mission briefings or sparring sessions.
And suddenly, you were building a list in your head of all the things you were sure Natasha Romanoff would rather receive as a romantic gesture: a knife, balanced perfectly for throwing, an expensive bottle of vodka, a vintage chess set with hand-carved pieces, a bottle of expensive ink and a fountain pen with a sharp nib, cookiesâmessy onesâoverloaded with chocolate chips, or simply just black coffee, straight from the pot, no sugar, no cream. Yet, as Bucky handed it over to the redhead, she smiled. Smiled. And suddenly you felt like you were witnessing a scene you were not welcome to.Â
Truthfully, it stung. Maybe it stung a little more than what was appropriate. Youâd been harbouring a quiet crush on the dark-haired, sullen supersoldier from the moment he joined the team. Fresh out of Wakanda, new vibranium arm in tow, and god, he was handsome. Not in the polished, television commercial way Steve was, but in a way that made your pulse skip and your thoughts stall mid-sentence. He had the kind of face you didnât know how to look at for too long, sharpened jaw, stormy-blue eyes, and a mouth that always looked on the verge of saying something heâd regret.
There was something electric about his stillness. Like if you leaned in close enough, youâd hear the hum of danger beneath his skin. He walked like a man who never quite trusted, drifting through the tower like he expected a fight around every corner. He barely spoke, but when he did, his voice was low and gravel-worn, something that settled right in your gut and made its home there.
He never smiled. Not really. But sometimesâsometimesâyouâd catch a flicker of it when Sam teased him, or when Steve nudged him just right, and it was devastating.
And yeah, maybe you had a soft spot for broken things trying to heal.
As the Avengersâ personal assistant, it was your job to keep everyone comfortable, informed, and running like clockwork. You were a one-person organisational machine, constantly juggling the chaos that came with managing a tower full of enhanced individuals with the emotional range of a brick wall to a nuclear reactor. Your days were a blur of colour-coded schedules, back-to-back briefings, and the never-ending group chats.
You coordinated mission debriefs, booked international flights with military clearance, and handled press requests that would make most people cry. You endured complaints when Thor overloaded the power grid again, trying to make toast, and even replaced the mugs he shattered before anyone noticed. You wrangled Clintâs kids when they came to visit, sourced obscure snacks from remote parts of the world because Sam liked those protein bars, not the other ones, and Steve wouldnât touch anything processed. You replaced a record number of coffee machines, hunted down whatever special detergent could get oil out of Tonyâs designer shirts. You knew which brand of muscle balm Banner preferred and how to order it without triggering a random Homeland Security check.
And then there was Bucky.
With him, it was always a little extra, whether he noticed or not. His schedule came first in your Monday morning rounds. You made sure the pantry was stocked with the Eastern European tea he liked but never asked for, and remembered the exact setting he preferred on the towerâs training room temperature controls. You adjusted group plans so heâd be paired with Steve or Sam, just in case the crowds and questions became overwhelming. When he disappeared for a few hours, you didnât ask questions, but you made sure no one came looking. You even swapped out the scratchy tags in his mission gear with soft ones, because he never complained, but you noticed the way he fidgeted with them.
Every day, youâd beam at him like some hopelessly love-struck idiot when you handed over his usual coffeeâblack, two brown sugars, just the way he liked itâand in return, heâd offer little more than a grunt. A low, barely-there sound that most people wouldnât even register as a greeting. But you did. Somehow, that grunt became the highlight of your day.
So yeah, maybe seeing him hand over flowers to Natasha broke something in you. Not just a hairline fracture, but a quiet, splintering break that left your chest aching in places you didnât know could hurt. Still, you understood. Natasha belonged to his world, effortlessly cool, all smoke, shadows and secrets. Yet she was kind. Not cold or unapproachable, just⊠carved from something rarer than you. The kind of woman who didnât need to try to be extraordinary, she just was.
And you? You were the sweet, well-meaning assistant who made people laugh in the kitchen, who fetched dry cleaning and remembered everyoneâs birthdays. You were the one who labelled tupperware and chased down Clintâs kids with bandaids. You were an afterthought, the background noise in the buzzing hive which was the Avengers Tower.Â
So maybe you could justify feeling jealous, but angry? No. Not really. They didnât know. They couldnât know. And it wasnât their fault that youâd let yourself hope.
â
Two weeks later, and you timed it perfectly, like you always did.
Just as the door to Buckyâs apartment clicked open, you rounded the cornerâfolder in hand, clipboard tucked tight to your side. The hallway was quiet, save for the low hum of ventilation and the soft thud of your heels against the carpet. Bucky stepped out, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair tied back, and his hoodie sleeves shoved up just enough to show the gleam of vibranium. Predictable. It was routine, every morning just before six he would meet with Steve in the gym. On Mondays, youâd catch him just as he exited his apartment, unload the details for the week, a freshly printed schedule and all.Â
âMorning,â you said lightly, handing him the weekâs itinerary. His reply was his usual, a grunt. Not annoyed. Not grateful. Just Bucky. That gruff, barely-there sound that once felt like a small victory. The kind of grunt that used to warm your chest when he followed it with a question, even if you knew the answer was printed in the folder youâd triple-checked. You always answered anyway. You liked having his attention, even just for a few seconds.
You used to dress the folders up with care, multicoloured sticky notes marking key tasks (blue for meetings, yellow for reminders, red for anything urgent and green for personal events). Youâd highlight sections like traffic lights, add stickers you thought might make him smile, sometimes even scribble little crooked cartoons in the margins with cheesy encouragementsâseize the day!Â
The folder looked rather sad today, just a plain manila folder packed with stapled papers. No colours. No stickers. No effort. Just the essentials. You didnât let your fingers dawdle when he took it. Didnât smile like you used to. Just handed it over and kept your gaze somewhere past his shoulder.
Bucky took it slowly, eyes flicking down at the cover like he was trying to spot something that wasnât there. His brow pinched, barely, but enough for you to notice. His fingers lingered on the edge of the folder, like he thought maybe heâd missed a note tucked inside.
You nodded and turned to leave, forcing yourself to shift your mind to your next chore mentally, restocking med supplies in the Quinjet, cross-checking Clintâs revised travel forms, hunting down the coffee machine Tony had threatened to ârepurpose as target practiceâ. Youâd have to order a replacement before the morning debrief. Double-check everyoneâs dietary preferences. Update Steve on the tech room schedule. Get maintenance to repaint the lines in the training room because someone (probably Thor) had scuffed them again.
You stayed busy. It helped. Kind of.
But the guilt still trailed you like a shadow.
It was probably obvious how abruptly you changed. The way your voice had lost its warmth. The way your gaze dodged his like it might burn you. You wondered if he noticed, if he thought you'd simply grown tired of him. Maybe he had. That was better than the truth that you couldnât stand to be near him, not when every glance felt like pressing fingers to a bruise youâd caused yourself.Â
You had made your choice, professionalism. The kind of cool, curated detachment you admired in Natasha, only it felt all wrong on you, like an ill-fitting coat. You knew it was for the better, not mixing up work and matters of the heart. Youâd already let your little crush spiral too far, thinking maybeâjust maybeâif you tried hard enough, youâd earn more than a grunt. That he might see you as something more than the charming assistant with her clipboard and her stupid stickers. But he didnât. And he wouldnât. And that was fine. It had to be.
You couldnât afford to fall apart over a man who had no idea heâd broken your heart.
But it was Buckyâs voice, soft and unsure, that startled you from your thoughts. âHey.â
You paused mid-step and turned, forcing a tight smile that didnât quite meet your eyes as your fingers curled against the clipboard. âWhatâs up?â
He shifted his weight, clearly caught off guard by the fact that you stopped walking at all. He was rather devastating to look at when he grew all shy and unsure, fingers fidgeting against the edge of the folder like he didnât know what to do with them. He didnât quite meet your eye as his weight shifted nervously, like he hadnât thought before he called out.Â
âUh. Nothinâ. Justââ He raised the folder slightly, an awkward gesture. âYou usually give me the rundown. Yâknow⊠what everyoneâs doing. Whoâs where. Who Iâm stuck with.â
You swallowed. Of course, heâd noticed. Of course, heâd grown used to your chatter about meetings and mission rosters, about who was off-world and who was due back, like it was the weather. The casual, effortless way you used to tell him what movie was playing, who cheated at Monopoly the night before, or which team member had stolen the last protein bar. Youâd always done it to help, keep him grounded, and make him feel like part of the team, like he belonged.Â
But after what youâd seen two weeks ago, you were sure he didnât need that from you anymore. Natasha would look out for him now. Sheâd keep him balanced, keep him fed, keep him from slipping through the cracks.
âNothing interestingâs happening,â you shrugged. âJust the usual.â
He didnât move. âWell⊠thereâs that dinner. On Friday.â
You gave a curt nod, tone clipped. âYes.â
âWandaâs dinner,â he added, as if you hadnât already acknowledged it.
âCorrect.â
He hesitated again, brows drawing together in a faint crease of worry. You could see him floundering, stuck in some internal scramble. It made your chest ache because you knew that look. Youâd helped talk him down from that look more times than anyone else in the tower probably realised.
You sighed quietly through your nose, against your better judgment, against every wall youâd tried to build in the past week, you caved. He looked five seconds away from spiralling.
âItâs in there,â you offered gently, nodding toward the folder. âOn your schedule.â
âRight. Itâs just⊠for me, you usuallyâŠâ His voice trailed off, frustration and uncertainty knotting in his brow. âSorry. Youâre probably busyââ
That felt like a punch to the gut.Â
You shook your head and, before your pride could stop you, your feet were already moving back toward him. His eyes dropped as you reached into your pocket for a pen, scribbling âWandaâs Dinner â Fridayâ on a green sticky note. Green for personal events, always. You hesitated, then added a smiley face underneath. You peeled it off and stuck it neatly onto the folder in Buckyâs hands.Â
His eyes dropped to it, finger brushing over the paper like he didnât quite understand why it mattered so much. âThanks.â
You just nodded, already stepping back, spine straight, pretending your heart wasnât hammering in your throat.
âShe saidâŠâ Bucky cleared his throat, clearly not done with the conversation. âWanda said sheâs going to do curry.â
You paused, unsure what to do with the information. Why was he telling you that? Why was he still talking?
âThatâs nice,â you said carefully, not sure what to do with this strange, lingering version of him.
âAre you going?â he asked suddenly, and you frowned.
âI wasnât invitedââ You began, already covering from the invasive thoughts, already working to mask the sting. You didnât want to imagine them next to each other over curry, leaning close, whispering in the way people did when they thought no one else was watching. It would only make the crack in your chest worse.
âYou should go,â Bucky said quickly, cutting across your thoughts. âIâll tell Wanda youâre coming.â
âThatâs not necessary. Iâll be busy that night anywayâŠâ You lied through your teeth, heart thumping hard against your breastbone as Buckyâs face crumpled a bit. You cut in before he could argue any further. âYouâre going to be late. For the gym. Itâs nearly six.â
âRight, shit, yeah. Sorry, I justâŠâ He trailed off again, rubbing the back of his neck. âThanks. Iâll⊠Iâll see you around.â
You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if you were more confused or stunned by his sudden jitters.
â
Before the whole flowers incident, you made it your unofficial mission to âaccidentallyâ bump into Bucky as many times as humanly possible in a day. Now? It was the opposite. Every hallway was a trap to avoid, every room a potential ambush. Navigating the Tower had turned into something between a tactical stealth op and a personal game of hide-and-seek.
Unfortunately, your strategy for quiet withdrawal hadnât gone unnoticed.
In fact, Bucky had picked up on your sudden cold shoulder almost immediately. The folder debacle had only been the first of many increasingly awkward run-ins.
There was the time youâd practically sprinted away from the elevator when the doors slid open to reveal him standing inside, a brow raised and coffee in hand. Or when you turned a corner too fast and walked straight into him, muttering a rushed apology before disappearing again like you were being hunted. Then there was the silent, painful breakfast youâd shared at the communal kitchen counter, where you busied yourself with peeling an orange for ten minutes straight while he sat beside you, occasionally glancing over like he wanted to say something but didnât know how to begin.
Youâd even pretended to be asleep on the common room couch when he walked in one evening, piles of paperwork scattered, laptop still open, only for him to drape a throw blanket over you before quietly leaving again.
And yet, instead of giving you space like youâd expected and hoped for, he seemed to find any excuse to be around you. He trailed after you like some misplaced puppy whenever he wasnât buried in a mission or holed up in a meeting.
Youâd assumed that the moment you stepped back, heâd naturally gravitate toward spending more time with Natasha. It made sense. Why wouldnât he want to be around her? They were obviously dating, even if they hadnât made it official yet. Maybe it was one of those quiet, close things kept just between friends, like Steve and Sam. Who were you to come barreling in and expose their secret entanglement? You expected Bucky to be relieved to no longer be on the receiving end of your babbling, your perfectly-timed coffee deliveries, or the not-so-subtle gifts you littered around.Â
But if anything, Bucky seemed determined to figure you out. Like your sudden shift had become his new pet project, and he was personally committed to cracking the case.
Youâd taken the back hallway, the long, winding route that steered well clear of the gym on your way to the shared office. High-traffic areas were too risky nowâtoo many chances to run into him. But clearly, Bucky had caught onto your little detours, because as you turned the corner, there he was, headed straight toward you.
You froze for half a second, pulse quickening. Turning around would be too obvious. Suspicious. Heâd know exactly what you were doing, and then your carefully-constructed avoidance strategy would unravel entirely. If he suspected anything now, you were one panicked backpedal away from confirming it.
It was a nightmare. And a daydream.
A part of you, some soft, hopelessly romantic piece, ached at the sight of him, at the quiet way he seemed to look for you, worry always etched into his brow like you were some puzzle he couldnât quite solve. But the rational part of your mind, the part that had dragged you into this self-imposed emotional lockdown, screamed that letting him get closer again would only undo all the fragile healing youâd managed to piece together.
So you steeled yourself.
Shoulders squared. Laptop and paperwork clutched like a lifeline. Eyes locked on an imaginary point just past his shoulder. If you kept walking and moved quickly, calmly, maybe heâd let you go. Perhaps heâd pretend not to notice how your pace picked up and your gaze carefully avoided his.
You nearly made it.
But of course, he noticed.
âHey, waitââ
His voice was hesitant, just enough pressure to pull you to a stop. Your footsteps faded into the hush of the corridor, your spine straightening instinctively as you turned. Bucky stood a few paces behind, one hand lifted halfway between reaching and retreating, like heâd almost grabbed your arm but lost the nerve.Â
He looked sheepish. Timid, even. It killed you.
You swallowed. âYeah?â
He scratched the back of his neck, boots scuffing lightly against the floor. âDid I⊠forget to grab my coffee this morning? Or⊠did you not bring it?â
A pause. Too long. You could feel the beat of your pulse behind your sternum as you forced a casual shake of your head.
âNo, sorry. Thatâs on me. Slipped my mind.â
The lie didnât sit well in your mouth.
It hadnât slipped your mind, in fact, it was still sitting on the corner of your desk, cooling beside a stack of unfinished paperwork. Youâd brewed it, as always. Even used the brown sugar he liked. But then youâd walked away from it, deliberately, like some idiotic breadcrumb trail you hoped he might follow.
God, you were pathetic.
Your stupid fucking brain couldnât even decide what it wanted anymore. One half of you was charting escape routes through the tower to avoid him, the other was fantasising about him pinning you to the nearest wall. From the way your thighs pressed together now, breath catching as his voice brushed over you, maybe the answer wasnât distance at all. Perhaps you just wanted to taste himâ
He didnât move. Just stood there, one brow lifted, faint worry creasing the edge of his expression.
âYouâre usually down by the gym by nine,â he said, his voice low. âItâs eleven.â
âIâm running a bit behind today.â
âYou usually text me if youâre running behind.â
âWell,â you said, shrugging like it didnât matter, âI didnât this time.â
He paused, the silence between you laced with something dangerously close to concern. âIs everything alright?â
You forced a small laugh, trying to shake off how his low, worried voice made heat pool in your gut. âYeah. Why?â
âYou seem off.â
There it was. Soft, plain and far too knowing. He said it in that maddeningly sincere way that only he could manage. Like he actually gave a damn. Like this wasnât unravelling you by the day.
Your shoulders tensed. âOff?â
âYeah,â he said gently. âJust⊠I dunno. Youâve been quiet lately.â
He didnât know. He couldnât know about the hours you spent spinning in your head like a lunatic, trying to compartmentalise this crush until it shrank into something survivable. About the way youâd stared blankly at Tinder profiles, your phone clutched in your hand, wondering why no one else ever came close, why none of them were him.
Why you couldnât stop thinking that if youâd just told himâconfessed that stupid crush before Natasha didâmaybe you wouldnât be standing here now like some stray mutt, sniffing around for scraps of attention.
Maybe then heâd be yours.
Maybe then you wouldnât be fantasising about quitting just to put yourself out of your own misery like some lame racehorse.
His brows furrowed further. âThatâs not good.â
âIâll survive.â
Would you, though?
Would you survive the heat that flared low in your stomach every time he got too close? Would you survive the ache that gnawed behind your ribs every time he glanced over at Natasha like you didnât exist? Would you survive the constant, desperate craving to be touched by him? To be looked at like she was looked at?
He didnât speak for a second, and for a moment, you were sure he could smell the reek of desperation on you.
âThe oranges in the fridge are gone.â
You blinked. âWhat?â
âAnd the tea. The fancy one,â he added. âThe one with the dried raspberries in it. Youâre the one who always restocks them, arenât you?â
You looked down, fingers clenching around your folder. âIâll add it to the list.â
âI didnât mean it like that,â he said quickly, stepping forward a half-inch, enough to make your breath hitch. âI just⊠I didnât realise it was you. Doing all of that.â
Of course, he hadnât because youâd made it invisible. Seamless. That was the kind of care you practisedâsilent, anticipatory, never asked for, never returned. You had cared for him with a thousand tiny efforts, but he never noticed until you stopped.
You looked up, and the hallway felt suddenly too narrow. His face was open in a way you hadnât seen in a long time. Gentle, confused, like he was trying to work you out and couldnât quite bear not knowing.
You dropped your gaze. âI said Iâll do it.â
He paused. You could feel him thinking again.
Then, to your disappointment, he slowly nodded. âOkay.â
But he didnât move. Not right away. He lingered like someone who hadnât yet decided if leaving was the right call, like he was caught between concern and curiosity.Â
âIâll leave you to it, I guess.â
You didnât answer. Couldnât. You just nodded and turned, walking away quickly before he could see your face fall, before he could catch the naked want in your expression, the way your heart was clawing against your ribs, screaming for you to turn around and ruin everything.
â
If time travel were an option, you'd gladly launch yourself into a wormhole and strangle your past self for being stupidâno, lovesickâenough to organise this little errand. You deserve it, really. A swift kick to the gut from future-you for being this hopeless.
Youâd spent weeks wrangling Avengers into fitting appointments, helping them choose fabrics and cuts, managing last-minute alterations and tracking shipments. It was exhausting but under controlâŠuntil the catch. The aggravating, absurdly attractive, brooding catch currently sitting across from you in the tailorâs waiting room, his knee bounced like it was transmitting a detailed morse code manifesto on every possible way he planned to ruin your day.
The plan had been simple: grab an Uber, pick up the garments, pressed, stitched, and boxed to perfection and head back to the tower. But then you got the call. The one that told you Bucky Barnes had missed his final fitting, and that his suit needed some last-minute adjustments...
Of course he did.
Of all your perfectly laid plans, it only took one missed appointment to bring it all crashing down. Now here you were, stuck waiting beside the man who occupied far too much of your brain lately, silently praying the tailor would finish quickly so you could escape before your sanity, or your dignity, completely unravelled.
âI really am sorry,â Bucky said for what felt like the fiftieth time.
Between the brooding and the nervous leg tapping, heâd spent the last five minutes watching the side of your face with an expression so guilty it was practically carved into him.
âLike I said, itâs fine.â You replied, though it came out a little too tight, a little too forced, like you were speaking through clenched teeth. Which, maybe you were. Not that it mattered. Not when you could smell his cologne from how damn close he was sitting. God, you wanted to lean over and bury your face in his chest and just inhaleâ
You straightened abruptly, shoulders stiffening as the tailor entered the room, and mentally reacquainted yourself with the concept of boundaries.
It had been an hourâsixty minutes of waiting while Buckyâs suit got its final adjustments. An hour of you trying to distract yourself with work emails and unanswered texts, pretending the man beside you wasnât single-handedly causing your emotional stability to nosedive. At least when heâd stepped away to get re-measured, you could breathe without risking spontaneous emotional combustion.
âWould you like to try it on before we package it up for travel?â the tailor asked, her voice gentle. A measuring tape hung loosely around her neck, her pinned bun fraying slightly at the edges.
Bucky looked at you again, eyes flicking toward yours like he needed permission. You swallowed what was left of your pride and gave him a slight, strained nod.
âItâs okay,â you said quietly. âGo on.â
âIâm sorryâagainâthis is probably eating into your whole afternoon, I know how busy you areââ
âItâs fine. Really. Just go.â
He offered a sheepish smile before disappearing behind the velvet curtain, tugging it closed with a rustle. You pressed your fingers to your temples, let your head drop into your hands, and exhaled through your nose like it might stop your heart from trying to break out of your chest.
Across the counter, the tailor glanced up at you with a sympathetic look as she readied the boxes for the other garments. âLong day?â she asked gently.
You lifted your head, managing a tight smile that didnât quite reach your eyes.
âOnly going to get longer.â
You were still nursing the tail end of your sigh when the velvet curtain swished open again.
And then your brain stopped working.
Bucky stepped out in full formal attire, sharp navy suit, tailored within an inch of its life. The cut of it hugged his frame perfectly. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, long legs. A deep navy waistcoat peeked out beneath the jacket, the subtle sheen of the fabric catching the light just enough to look expensive without being flashy. His tie was already perfectly knotted, like heâd done this a hundred times, and the sleeves of his shirt revealed just enough of the polished metal edge of his vibranium arm to make your mouth dry.
He cleared his throat softly, tugging at one cuff. âHowâs it look?â
You blinked. Opened your mouth. Closed it again.
Words? No. Words were gone. Your vocabulary had packed up and left the building.
Bucky shifted his weight, clearly mistaking your slack-jawed silence for disapproval. âItâs weird, right? The waistcoat maybe doesnât work, I told her I wasnât sure about itââ
âNo,â you said quicklyâtoo quickly. âNo, itâs⊠Itâs perfect. You look⊠great. Seriously.â
His brows lifted slightly, a flicker of something you couldnât quite place crossing his face. Relief, maybe?Â
âYeah?â he said, glancing down at himself, tugging slightly at the jacket hem. âI feel better about it now. The sleeves fit properly this time. Thanks for waiting.â
The tailor beamed from behind the counter, clearly proud of her work. âWonderful. Iâll box it up immediately once youâre out of it.â
Bucky nodded, but the tailor turned to you with a friendly smile before he could disappear again.
âAnd for you, would you like to try your gown on as well before I pack it away?â
You blinked, suddenly snapped out of your holy-shit-Bucky-hot-hot-hot haze. âMy what?â
She gestured toward the row of garment bags. âMr. Stark sent over your measurements earlier this month. Thereâs a gown here for you.â
You frowned. âThat must be a mistake. Iâm just the assistant. None of those are for me.â
The tailor hesitated. âI donât think so⊠He was very clear. Your name was attached to the order.â
Before you could argue, Bucky cut in smoothly, like heâd seen this train coming and stepped in to redirect it.
âTony probably just wanted you to look the part, too,â he said, voice low and casual. âYouâve done all the work, he probably figured you deserved to enjoy the night a little. Might as well try it on, just in case.â
You glanced at him, but he didnât look smug or teasing. Just⊠earnest. Calm. Like he meant it. Which made it all the harder to protest.
âFine.â You sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face. âJust to check it fits.â
The tailor clapped her hands together. âWonderful. Itâs a beautiful gown, I promise.â
You gave Bucky one last side-eye before following her toward the changing rooms, the fabric bag already in her hands.
From behind, you could hear him chuckle under his breath.
âJust wait 'til you see her,â the tailor murmured to herself, and you werenât sure whether to be flattered or deeply, deeply nervous.
The gown was heavier than you expected. Luxurious fabric slipped off the hanger like water, pooling in your arms as she handed it over with the kind of reverence usually reserved for wedding dresses.
âIâll give you a minute,â she smiled, disappearing to finish boxing up the suits.
Left alone in the changing room, you peeled out of your clothes, letting the gown slide on over your hips, your waist, up past your ribs. It clung like it had been sewn directly onto your body, the bodice snug, the neckline just daring enough to make you blush.Â
You twisted to try to reach the zipper at the back, fingers fumbling and straining, but the angle was impossible. You spent the better part of five minutes twisting in the mirror like a lunatic, trying to reach the zipper that refused to budge. Your arms ached. The corset bodice was half-fastened. You were flushed, annoyed, and far too aware of the sliver of bare spine still exposed.
You were about to peek your head out and ask the tailor for help when a low voice cut in behind the curtain.
âNeed a hand?â
You flinched, fabric clutched to your chest. âJesus, Bucky! Donât sneak up on me like that!â
âDidnât mean to scare you.â His voice was rougher than usual, like heâd just cleared his throat. âHeard you cursing. Tailor said sheâd be a minute out back.â
You hesitated, and your voice came out thin. âYeah. IâI canât get it up.â
âOkay,â he replied, oddly determined. âTurn around.â
You cracked the curtain open a pinch. He ducked inside, too broad for the narrow space, his frame practically filling it. He was careful not to look at you directly, at least at first.
You turned slowly, presenting your back. âJust the zipper,â you murmured, barely trusting your own voice.
âSure,â
A single fingertip, cold metal, dragged up from the base of your spine to the dip between your shoulder blades. It barely touched the skin, but you shuddered from the sensation. Bucky wasnât even fastening yet, just tracing the line the zipper would follow. The sound you made was too soft to catch.Â
The zipper came up slowly. Agonisingly. His knuckles brushed your skin every inch of the way, not by accident. No, this was too slow, too precise, to be innocent.
He was savouring it.
His other hand steadied you, palm ghosting just over your hip. His breath fanned warm against your shoulder.
âYouâre trembling,â he commented.
You swallowed hard, unable to muster a response.Â
When he reached the top, his hand didnât fall away. Instead, he swept your hair off your shoulder completely, fingertips grazing the line of your throat as he let it fall over one side.
He leaned in. Not touching, but close. Mouth just behind your ear. The heat of his breath against your neck.Â
âShouldâve let me help sooner,â he whispered, voice like a purr. âWouldâve had you dressed in seconds.â
You didnât answer. You couldnât. Your lips parted slightly, breath caught somewhere halfway as your lungs deflated in shock. And maybe it was the gown. Or the silence. Or the way your thighs pressed together of their own accord, but you didnât move. You didnât step away.
You leaned in.
Only a fraction. Just enough.
He noticed.
You could feel it in the slight shift of his stance. The faint sound of him exhaling a chuckle through his nose. The way his hand brushed ever-so-slightly along the small of your back before falling away.
And then he was gone.
He stepped back like nothing had happened. Like the tension wasnât choking the air between you. You turned toward the mirror in a daze.
The dress shimmered in the soft light. Deep, elegant, form-fitting. The neckline exposed the curve of your breasts, the slit at your thigh scandalous enough to make you self-conscious.
You caught his reflection in the mirror. He was watching you, but not with the restrained professionalism you were used to. It was only the sudden reentrance of the tailor that made him hesitate in whatever words were forming on his tongue. He stepped aside, finally giving you space to exit. And you didâlegs shaky, palms sweatingâlike a deer walking straight back into the forest fire, pretending it wasnât about to burn.
You'd been so laser-focused on your tasks that you'd almost managed not to think about Bucky in that goddamn changing room. His fingers ghosting up your bare spine like a spark setting fire to dry kindling. Youâd folded instantly. Your body betrayed you instantly while your brain screamed to keep it together. Pathetic.
The moral implications of whatever that moment had been were filed away for another day. Were you the other woman? Was Natasha going to slit your throat in your sleep? What was Bucky doing, touching you like thatâin a public changing room, no lessâwhen he had a bombshell redhead waiting for him back at the Tower?
You pressed the elevator button with your elbow and exhaled as the doors slid open.
Drop off the food. Grab a free drink. Drown your Bucky-related sorrows. Maybe, just maybe, keep the beast between your legs from waking at the mere sight of him.
The doors began to close. You shifted your weight, careful with the boxes balanced in your armsâ
Then someone slipped through at the last second.
Him.
Bucky fucking Barnes.
Tall and devastating as usual in his dark navy suit, his tie loosened just enough to suggest mischief, or maybe carelessness. You werenât sure which one made you feel worse.
Your breath hitched. Instinctively, your gaze dropped to the floor, feigning sudden, all-consuming interest in the stability of your precarious tower of hors d'oeuvres. But teetering stacks of overpriced finger food or not, Bucky didnât seem inclined to play along with your avoidance act. Not now. Not when the elevator doors had sealed you in together, finally, and you were without escape.
You winced at the sound of his sharp inhale, the question already pressing past his lips before the elevator even jolted into motion.
âDid I do something to piss you off?â
You didnât look up. Eyes fixed firmly on the floor, you muttered, âWhat?â
âI justâŠâ His voice was rough. Tired. âIt feels like youâve been avoiding me.â
Shit.
He stepped forward slightly. Not enough to be invasive. Just enough to make your stomach flip.
âYou hardly talk to me anymore,â he continued. âWonât even look at me unless itâs about work. And even then, itâs like youâre somewhere else. Did I do something to offend you? Hurt you? Just tell me what I did so I can fix it.â
The elevator hummed to life beneath your feet, gliding upward smoothly. You shifted your weight, bracing against the cool metal rail, eyes stubbornly fixed on the buttons, anywhere but his maddeningly perfect face.
âYou havenât done anything,â you said quietly, the words tasting sour the second they left your mouth.
âThen why are you doing it now?â he asked, eyes searching yours. âWhy wonât you even look at me?â
âBuckyâŠâ
âPlease. Just tell me.â
You hesitated. His hand twitched like he meant to reach for your arm, then faltered, falling back to his side. Your grip tightened on the containers, your fingers slick with sweat. âItâs not you,â you murmured. âItâs me⊠I justâŠâ
He didnât move. Didnât even blink.
âPlease,â he said again, quieter now. âTell me the truth.â
âOkay,â you said, breath hitching as a nervous laugh bubbled out, half-bitter, half-resigned. âYou want the truth? Fine. Youâre going to think Iâve completely lost it.â
He stayed quiet, letting you spiral.
âThis is so stupid,â you muttered. âI like you, Bucky. There. I said it. I like you. And it was fineâmanageableâuntil it wasnât. Until I started imagining things. Thinking maybe⊠maybe you liked me too.â
His eyebrows lifted, surprised but unreadable.
âIâve had this massive, embarrassing crush on you since the moment I met you. And I know itâs weird, and probably unprofessional because youâre kinda my boss, but not. Technically, Tonyâs my boss, but I basically manage everything around here, andâugh, Iâm rambling.â You squeezed your eyes shut. âI like you. And Iâve been avoiding you because it was getting out of hand. I couldnât stop thinking about you. And it felt wrong. Especially since youâre dating Natasha, which just made everything worseââ
âWhat?â he interrupted, voice sharp. âIâm not dating Natasha.â
Your eyes snapped open. âThatâs what you took from all of that?â
âNo, Iâwait. You think Iâm dating Natasha?â
âYes!â you burst out, cheeks flaming. âI saw you! At the Sunday market about a month ago with the flowersââ
His brow furrowed. âWhat flowers?â
âThe bouquet you gave her.â
âI didnât give Natasha flowers.â
You let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. âI saw you. It was that dumb little market Tony makes me go to for those overpriced vegan pastries Pepper lovesââ
Bucky stared at you, confused. And then, slowly, understanding clicked into place. His face contorted like heâd just remembered heâd left his stove on.
âOh my god,â he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. âThe flowers. Those werenât for Natasha. They were for Wanda.â
Your heart stuttered. âWhat?â
âVision,â Bucky groaned. âIt was their anniversary. He was stuck on the phone trying to get a fancy reservation and begged me to pick them up. Natasha tagged along because she was hunting for jewellery for Mariaâs birthday. Thatâs all it was.â
You blinked at him. âYouâre joking.â
âIâm not,â Bucky replied earnestly. âI didnât know you thought that. I swear, Iâm not with Natasha. I never was.â
Your stomach dropped. âOh god.â
âHeyââ
âNo. No-no-no.â You squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to sink straight through the floor. âThis is mortifying. I literally thought you were in a secret relationship. Iâve been avoiding you like the plague. Iâve been thinking about moving cities. I googled how hard it is to change your name legally.â
He snorted. âYouâre not serious.â
You opened your eyes, and the horror must have been plain on your face because Buckyâs expression melted into something far too amused. âOh, you are.â
âI might never recover from this,â you mumbled.Â
âHey, câmon. Itâs not that bad.â
âI confessed my undying crush and accused you of being in love with someone else in the span of like, sixty seconds.â
His mouth twitched, lips threatening a smile. âYouâre kind of adorable when youâre spiralling.â
âIâm going to chuck these hors d'oeuvres at your head.â
As if mocking your attempt at dignity, the elevator gave a slight mechanical whirr, nearly at the top floor. The distant hum of the party pulsed just beyond those sleek doors.
You straightened suddenly, panic creeping into your chest. âOkay, Iâm going to deliver these and then Iâm leaving. Possibly forever. Please never speak to me again.â
But Bucky, ever faster than you, stepped in.
And before you could react, he pressed the emergency stop button.
The elevator jolted to a halt. The tower of overpriced hors d'oeuvres wobbled dangerously in your arms. âOh my god,â you gasped, teetering.
Bucky was already moving, steady hands catching the top box before it could topple, plucking the rest from your shaking grasp. He crouched to stack them on the floor carefully, then rose slowly, smirking as you stood frozen, mouth agape in pure horrified disbelief.
âBucky, what the hell are you doing?â
âNo more running,â he said simply, as if that explained everything.
You could barely breathe. âYou stopped the elevator?â
âDidnât want to risk the doors opening and you disappearing into the night,â he said, a little too pleased with himself.
âI hate you,â you whispered, eyes wide.
He leaned in, just close enough for you to feel his breath. âNo, you donât.â
You were going to die right here in a metal box. With your dignity in ruins and the man of your dumb, desperate daydreams giving you that look.
And somehow, somehow, you didnât even want to stop him.
âIâm serious,â he said, stepping closer. âDonât shut down. Please.â
You glanced up at him, finally meeting his eyes and immediately wished you hadnât. They were dark. Hungry. That gaze alone could melt you to the floor.
He stepped closer again. And again. Until his frame caged in you, his arms braced on either side of your head, the heat of his body swallowing you whole.
âI like you too,â he said, low, rough, like it was pulled from deep inside. âChrist, I was so blind. I didnât see it. It didnât click until that day at the tailor, until I saw you in this damn dress.â
Your breath hitched.
âI canât stop thinking about you,â he murmured. âIâve been looking for excuses just to be near you. I keep the notes you leave me with the stupid little drawings. I like looking at them. Thinking about you.â
Your heart felt like it might crack your ribs.
âI smelled every shampoo at the store one day,â he confessed, almost sheepish, almost proud. âHoped Iâd find the one you use. Because you smell so fucking good. Itâs been driving me crazy.â
âBuckyâŠâ
âI donât know. You make me feel special. Seen. Like Iâm not some monster, like Iâm normal. And then one day you were just⊠gone. I didnât realise all the little things you did for me that I never noticed.â He groaned, somehow pressing closer. âI missed the sound of your voice⊠and it made it hurt even more⊠I lie awake at night, every night, thinking about you and how much I want to kiss youââ
âBucky.â You interrupted, and he looked back at you with a barely contained hunger. âAre you going to kiss me or not?â
And then his mouth was on yours.
Hot. Messy. Desperate.
You gasped into it, and he swallowed it whole, groaning as he pressed harder, deeper, hands sliding down to your thighs as he grabbed one and hitched it up around his waist. You clung to his shoulders, lips parted as he slotted himself between your legs, guiding you up until your ass was perched on the elevatorâs handrail bar.
âFuck,â he breathed against your mouth. âTell me that you want this, tell me that you want me.â
Your head fell back against the wall, lips swollen, breath shaking. His mouth travelled to your jaw, your throat, hands digging into your hips.
It was dizzying. Chaotic. Perfect.Â
âI want you, Bucky.â You panted.
âFuck,â Bucky muttered again, but this time it was different, lower. Hungrier.
His hand slid along your thigh, fingertips brushing beneath the hem of your dress. You panted as he kissed across your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. His hands settled on your knees, then slowly, deliberately, he spread them apart.
âBuckyââ your voice was barely more than a whisper, a tremble of anticipation and disbelief.
But he didnât answer. He dropped to his knees.
Right there. In the goddamn elevator.
You almost came on the spot at the sight, lips swollen and slick with saliva, pupils blown, the slight smudge of your lipstick on his chin. His hands slid up the back of your calves, kneading into the flesh like he was savouring the shape of you. Your dress inched upwards, his mouth suddenly pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.
Your breath hitched. Your hands shot to the railing behind you, clutching tight.
âYou have no idea,â he said, voice wrecked with want, âhow long Iâve thought about this.â
His eyes flicked up to yours, dark with something dangerous. Devotion, desire, something molten and drowning. Then his mouth moved higher.
Another kiss. Inner thigh this time. Then another, and another, slow, lingering, like he was memorising you. He disappeared until the fabric of your skirt, only the back of his head, dark locks messy peaking out from between the slit.Â
You moaned, soft and involuntary, your hips twitching at the heat of his breath through the thin fabric of your panties. He nuzzled in close, his nose brushing against you, and his hands pressed firmly to your thighs to keep you spread.
âIâve thought about how youâd taste,â he muttered, lips grazing the soaked lace. âHow youâd sound.â
You whimpered.
And then, he peeled your panties to the side.
The groan that tore from him was obscene.
âJesus,â he hissed, voice muffled. âYouâre fucking perfect.â
And then, his mouth was on you.
Hot. Wet. Relentless. You cried out, one hand flying to his hair, tangling in it as his tongue licked into you with precision, with hunger, with something close to worship. He devoured you like he was starving. Slow circles, then quick flicks, his mouth dragging across your clit with maddening rhythm. You writhed against the rail, your leg still wrapped around his shoulder, the other trembling against the elevator wall.
âOh my godâBuckyâfuckââ
Your words slurred together, breath coming in ragged gasps as he groaned into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. One of his arms snaked around your thigh, pinning you in place, as if he thought you might try to escape. As if heâd let you.
His tongue slid down, dipping into you, then back up, his mouth latching onto your clit with a filthy, wet sound that made your spine arch. You were unravelling, fast, dizzy, overwhelmed.
He pulled back just enough to pant. âI could stay here all night.â
His mouth was merciless. His grip was unrelenting on your thighs, mouth working you over like a man possessedâ
Bzzzzt.
A shrill, sudden buzz sounded from the elevatorâs emergency panel, followed by a crackling voice.
âHello? This is Tower Maintenance. Weâre registering an emergency stop on lift three. Is there an issue?â
You froze. Every muscle in your body went rigid, as if someone had cracked open your spine and poured ice water down it. Dread spread like frost through your veins. Your heart thudded painfully in your throat, threatening to climb up and out entirely.
You could barely breathe. Could barely think.
This was it. This was how you diedâlegs spread, Bucky between them, and Tower Maintenance on the fucking line.
Bucky, in sharp contrast, did not freeze.
He groaned softly with wicked glee, his mouth still very much between your legs. The sound vibrated against the most sinful part of you, and then he doubled down. Mouth and hands working with infuriating, diabolical precision, like heâd just taken the intercom as a challenge.
You clamped a hand over your mouth, the other shaking as you reached blindly for the emergency call button, trying not to sound like you were seconds away from being ruined.
Your voice came out like a panicked squeak. âHi! Uhâh-hi, yes, sorry! Mustâve been aâa small electrical fault. Iâm fine! Everythingâs⊠fine!â
Bucky nipped at your thigh in response.
There was a pause. You could feel the suspicion through the line.
âMaâam, weâre not showing any electrical inconsistencies in that shaft. Did you press the stop button?â
You shot a wide-eyed glare down at the man currently devouring you.
Another wave of pleasure threatened to knock the air from your lungs. You were barely holding it together, every nerve ending aflame, skin flushed, thighs shaking. The cool metal of the elevator wall against your spine did little to ground you.
You cleared your throat, struggling to piece together somethingâanythingâresembling human speech. âOh. Oh, thatâum, I mustâve bumped it. With my elbow. While holding a tray. Itâs, uhâcrowded. In here.â
Bucky chose that exact moment to suck hard, and you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the helpless sound that nearly escaped.
A longer pause. You could practically hear them frowning.
ââŠRight. Well, weâre releasing the stop now. Please remain calm.â
The line disconnected.
The elevator jolted slightly as it roared back to life.
Bucky gave a dark chuckle. âCrowded, huh?â Thenâwith zero mercyâhe sped up.
âBucky,â you gasped, head falling back against the wall, âIâmâIâm gonnaââ
You shattered.
It hit hard, hot and blinding. You cried out, thighs clamping tight around his head as he groaned against you, mouth not stopping for a second, drawing it out, milking every twitch, every whimper. You barely had time to breathe, let alone moan, your hands flying to steady yourself just as the elevator dinged cheerily and the doors slid open.
Right into the penthouse. Packed full of people, who by some miracle, were utterly oblivious to your predicament.Â
âEvening,â he greeted a passing staff member, utterly unbothered.
You were glowing crimson, pupils blown, lips parted, trying hard to fix your face. Bucky guided you forward, his hand warm on your back, keeping you between him and the crowd as your legs trembled. You barely managed to set the tray on the nearest table before someone whistled.
âWell, damn,â came Samâs voice from the drinks bar. He gave you both a once-over, a wicked grin spreading. âBuck, next time youâre gonna eat face in the elevator, maybe wipe the lipstick off your chin first.â
Bucky only smirked and licked his bottom lip slow, on purpose, you were sure of it.
You nearly combusted on the spot.
âBathroom?â he murmured into your ear, low and gravelly.
You nodded quickly and wordlessly.
He guided you with all the smugness of a man who had no regrets, his hand just a little too low on your back to be innocent.
---
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You may have heard about whatâs happening in Gaza right now.
The occupation is bombing towers and homes endlessly, forcing families to flee.
The sound of explosions never stops, and fear surrounds us everywhere.
There is no safe place left, and we donât know where to turn.
We are told to move south, but the cost of displacement is far beyond what we can afford.
All I want is to protect my family, but I donât have the means.
Please, try to feel what we are living through â this reality is harsher than you can imagine.
Your donation could be the reason my family survives and finds safety. Please donât turn away; we truly need your support.
I stand where fate has left me, take a deep breath, and imagine every possible loss, with the sharpest pain imaginable. I train myself not to panic as I bleed my last drops of blood, after witnessing everyone I love die in the most horrific ways.
From this pointâhere, in a city taking its final breathsâI see that even the harshest end is more merciful than dying while running along the roads chosen by those who burned our souls.
This is neither resilience nor resistance. It is complete surrender to fate: to take me where it wishes, to take from me what it wishes, and whom it wishes. I will not curse, nor despair. And this too is not patience, nor steadfastnessâ
Summary: Obi-wan x jedi master reader / oho wan joins your class of Force projection / no warnings this is just pure fluff and teacher appreciation <3
Words: 1k
Writerâs note: Billieâs verse in guess makes me go feral so i wrote this lols<3
âGood morning, young apprenticesâ you started as soon as you walked through the classroom. âCan someone please remind the rest of us what we learned last time?â
The eight year olds looked at each other in silence until one raised a hand. âTo find our Force signatureâ
âYesâ you smiled fondly, âand how have you been doing? Have you mastered it?â
âYes!â They answered in unison.
âWell then⊠today we will work in bins so, grab a friend.â
The kidsâ faces brightened as they turned to their chosen partner, all the while you saw a familiar face walking into the room.
âWe seem to have a visitor todayâ you said with a smirk.
The students turned to the door and bowed, as he made his way into the class. You did as well.
âGeneral Kenobi, what brings you around?â
His eyes lightened and a mischievous grin appeared on his lips. âSame as this padawans, master: learning.â
You faced down to hide your smile, âPlease join me, General.â You signaled at the spot next to you in front of the class.
Obi-wan obliged with a nod.
âNow that we have mastered our Force Signatures, we can start projecting on other people, but most importantly, to other Force users.â You started walking around the room, explaining.
Obi-wanâs eyes trailed you as you do.
âEvery one of you will write their name and a color next to itâ you placed your data pad on one of the kidâs hands. âIâll explain later.â
âYou can reach another personâs mind through the Force. You can have thoughts as if they were your own, see through their eyes, feel through their skin and so on.â
âLike at all times?â One kid asked.
âPowerful Force users can, but Jedi only do it with the otherâs consent.â Your voice was firmer, ânow, make sure the person you will work this exercise consents to you being in their mind.â Grabbing the data pad again, you examined the list of names and colors.
âDo I have your consent General Kenobi?â You asked him quietly, a step away from him. Your eyes still fixed on the data pad.
âOf course, my dear.â His warm voice wrapped in your ears.
âGoodâ you turned to your students, beginning to walk between them âPlease stand in front of each other. Feel the Force flow through you. Identify your signature and let it take you over; your arms, your legs, your head and chest. Let it flow freely through you. When you are ready, let it reach the person in front of you. Let your signature curl around them, nuzzle them. Do it kindly, do not crash into them. You are a guest, behave like one. And likewise, allow your partner to enter your mind. Now, focus on what they are looking at. Look at yourselves through their eyes; make yourselves comfortable through the bond and then, find their color.â You finished with a smirk, returning to the front with Obi-wan.
His eyes shone with pride and enthusiasm.
One by one, the children in your class said their partner's color as you checked your notes. They all got it right.
âAnd can you see everything?â One of them asked.
You exhaled before answering, âIf the person whose mind you are looking into does not have barriers, then yes. But us, as Force users, should always have them.â
âA more powerful jedi can look into my mind without my permission?â A little girl asked.
âAhâ you smile, âbold of you to assume Jedi are the only Force users in the galaxy. But answering your question, yes. Other Force users can and will fish through your minds to look for the information they want. Thatâs why you must prepare, to protect yourselves from more powerful users.â
âSo, General Kenobi can look into your mind?â Another kid questioned you.
You were about to answer when Obi-wan started. âMake no mistake, young ones, a teacher is much more powerful than a soldier.â
âHe can try,â you teased. âBut I can try as well.â You walked back to the front of the room. âWould you like us to?â You asked the group with a grin.
The children erupted in excited cheers.
âWhat would you like to know about General Kenobi?â You asked your students.
âHis favorite color!â
âFavorite drink!â
You stood in front of Obi-wan rolling our shoulders to relax as your signature brushed his. He didnât even try to pull a barrier, he let you in without any opposition.
âBlue and Jawa Juiceâ you declared as fact.
He merely nods. âNow, what would you like to know about your teacher?â Obi-wan asked the crowd with a grin.
âFavorite student!â
âIf she has a boyfriend!â
A scoff left Obi-wanâs mouth. âShe does not have a favorite studentâ He took a step closer to you, âand Jedi do not have boyfriends.â
The groan was general.
âThank you, General Kenobi. Do we have any other questions?â
A child raised her hand, âSo if any other Force user can look into our heads, does that mean they can see anything?â
You nodded, âyes, thatâs why we must protect ourselves.â
âEven the embarassing stuff?â
âyesâ
âSo if I remember I got dressed in the morning, can they see that too?â She asked, horrified. âLike even your underwear?â
You laughed, âwell we should have it on our mind then but yeah, I guess so.â
âCan General Kenobi tell us if he can do it?â
You turned to him, eyebrows raised in a challenge. The corners of his lips quivered upwards, but before he could answer you started. âGeneral Kenobi will do no such thing because one: he is too much of a gentleman to do so. And two: we as Jedi do not intrude into other minds and look for information that does not belong to us. Remember that and see you tomorrow.â
The kids walked out giggling, excited with their new knowledge.
âBlue lace?â Obi-wan whispered in your ear.
With a flick of your wrist you closed the door of the classroom, granting you privacy.
âThatâs not fair, now is it?â You turned to him with a blush growing on your cheeks.
His eyes are embedded into yours, his pupils blown and wide looking at you. âHow so?â
âBecause you saw me get dressed this morning, General.â You murmured against his lips before finally locking the kiss and wrapping your arms around his neck.
Summary: obi wan x freader / both padawans / you are sparring with padawan!obi-wan and he takes something from you. Inspired in the wonderful stories @passionwillow has for this guy.
Word count: 700
Warnings: Qui-Gon making fun of obiđŹ
You had been sparring with Obi-wan for what felt like hours. Qui-Gon and your master were sitting on a bench near the balcony discussing some mission, and to forget about you two, asked you to sparr. Obi-wan was a decent opponent; unlike other padawans, he was too fast for his size. You usually had the upper hand in that area, but not with him.
He was fast and strong, so you understood why your master was constantly asking you to spar him, he was probably the only one you could learn from.
Sweat was already coming down your neck. Your hair, stuck on your robes was wet and heavy, tickling your skin.
Obi-wan, on the other side, seemed at ease.
As you covered another blow, and with the color of your lightsaber illuminating your features, you looked up at him trying to come up with a new strategy.
You kicked his stomach, sending him back to the mat. Using the time to freshen yourself up, you took off your robe, leaving you only an undershirt, your hair flying freely around your shoulders.
âTie it or somethingâ Obi-wan mutters.
Your head leaned to the side with a grimace, âWHY WOULD I?â Your tone sharp, probably unnecessarily so.
âitsââ he cleared his throat but his tone shrinked, âdistractingâ
Moving your head sideways, your long hair flew around your body, now reaching past your waist. You knew it was not the Jedi way, but in your nineteenth years of life it was the only thing you took pride in. Especially when it helped to distract your opponent on the mat. âGoodâ you smirked as you ignited your lightsaber again, standing in front of him in a defensive position.
Chewing on your lower lip, you tried to use the Force to kick him off his feet, but with a sidestep he made you fall forward.
Twirling on your feet, you moved to attack him but before your lightsaber crashed against his, his blue light slashed horizontally towards your neck.
You blocked it near your jaw as a smell reached your nostrils.
You sniffed once. Twice. Still holding your lightsaber vertically.
Your eyes widened in realization.
âKENOBI!â You whined, force pushing him away, kneeling on the spot.
The masters turned your way, both gasping loudly.
Your fingers moved across the floor, trying to gather the hairs as if you could put them back on.
Your hands then flew to the locks still on your head, realizing it was now shoulder length.
Tears were falling off your eyes before you could stop them, rage filling your chest.
Obi-wan walked to you with furrowed brows and regret in his eyes.
âI WILL KILL YOUâ you launched at him, throwing him on the mat as you slapped his chest.
He stopped you circling your wrists. âI am sorryâ his grey eyes were truthful. âI never meant toâ
Two bigger hands scooped you up from your shoulders, Master Jinnâs, you realized as he dropped you off his padawan.
âI think we should call it a dayâ He solemnly said.
With a deep breath, you bowed at him before hurrying out of the room. Your master quickly behind you, sending an apologetic nod to both men.
âAre you alright?â Qui-Gon asked, the corners of his lips bending uncharacteristically upward.
âYeah, whatever, sheâs just a girlâ Obi-wan shrugged.
âA pretty girlâ his master corrected.
Obi-wan turned to him, a bewildered look in his eyes.
âDonât you think?â
The padawan swallowed anxiously, âI have never noticed, honestlyâ
âreally?â Qui-gon began his walk out, Obi-wan following behind. âHow odd, considering you have two very apt eyesâ
âDo youââ Obi-wan cleared his throat, âdo you think sheâs pretty?â
Qui-gon scoffed, âShe isâ
âDo youâuhâlike her orââ
A deep laughter left Qui-Gonâs mouth. âSheâs a bit too young for me, donât you think?â
Obi-wanâs face was crimson, âfor me as wellâ
âShe is a year younger than you, padawan.â He stated, matter-of-factly.
Against his better judgment, Obi-wan asked, âMaster, where are you going with this?â
Qui-Gon scoffed again, looking down on his padawan with a smirk. âIf you got your ass kicked by a smaller and younger girl, you are in trouble. But if you got your ass kicked by a girl you find pretty, then I respect that. Whatâs it going to be, padawan?â
Obi-wan closed his eyes in frustration, âthe later, master.â
When we got back we slept in our make, I woke up at 10pm dehydrated & with a very uncomfortable eye caused by wearing lashes & mascara all day. (+ I sipped on the monster drink next to me cause there was no water⊠dw I got water after)