I like Marvel @httpscomorg - Tumblr Blog

Just came across your give me inspiration post and I’ve come to deliver 🫡

How about Bucky or Logan x naive reader? Well not really naive but sort of? Reader keeps making excuses for him and keeps brushing of the concerning things he does. Ex he keeps tabs on her he has to know where she is at all times or else he starts to FREAK out. He sabotages readers work or projects so that she will come to him for help. He even intrudes on her time with friends when reader says she’s going out he starts pouting and saying “I wish I had something to do. You should let me go with you. It will be fun they won’t mind”. Even their work place co workers mention it to reader but she just brushes it off saying “ oh he’s just a friend” or “he’s just lonely sometimes”. Basically he’s obsessed with reader and wants to be the only thing she thinks about and he will go to extreme measures to have her no MATTER what.

Hopefully that was good 🤷‍♀️ if it’s not feel free to ignore it lol it’s feels good to be back. I missed you 🫶

-love , S 💋

Barnes & Noble

Summary: Nothing goes right in your shitty life. Work, school, everything. It’s all shit. Until a worried friend finally looks out for you, and you have the best day you’ve had in probably years.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Professor!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Language, suicide, drugs, wounds, drinking, underage drinking, anxiety, panic, shit boss, shit mom, all that good stuff, (Individual warnings per chapter)

Word Count: 3408 (Find all parts here) Pt.2

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

AN: This is almost completely different from what you asked for, but to be fair, I don't plan what I write, I just let my brain and my fingers move however they feel like and if I process that something is bad, I delete it and refresh for a minute. But I think I'm back. And this will probably have three parts.

Lolly: Guess who’s throwing a party this weekend!

You: I’m assuming Trent?

Lolly: Ew no, I would not be excited.

You: You?

Lolly: Yea! And you’re invited!

You smile at the rectangle of light in your hands, the only source of light in the room as a matter of fact. Your eyes are tired, you had been studying all day and just when you were about to sleep, your phone buzzed. Of course, considering your addiction to the device, you immediately picked it up, losing every second of progress you had made earlier trying to actually fall asleep. Fucking insomnia. You either went to sleep quickly and woke up every hour, or you didn’t sleep until an hour before you needed to be up for class. If your higher dosage didn’t start to work on sleeping pills, you seriously considered chloroform as a personal prescription.

You weren’t exactly a party person, apart from the drinks. The thought of being in a house full of three hundred people dancing and drinking, sweating all night while fucking whereever because their drunken mind couldn’t think straight was seriously making your stomach fold in disgust. What was even the point in parties anyways? To lose your virginity and figure out who the dad is for the next 5 years and you can’t afford a test because now you have to take care of a baby? Sounded like prison, just being held in a cell for 18 years or until you decide to kick the bucket yourself, deciding debt was more depressing than your lifestyle.

To be fair, you weren’t raised in the best household. Your mom tried to kick you out at 16, which you instead ran away, thinking she hated you but really she just didn’t want you to walk in on her hanging halfway off the bed with an empty bottle of pills hanging loose from her hand. And your dad? Sometimes you think you’re a lab experiment. Mom never brought him up,and when you brought him up, you’d be sent to your room like it was a cage and you failed your test. You honestly got lucky with the amount of maturity your harder teenage life gave you. Now you’re either working, studying, going to class, or getting the five hours, and what feels like thirty minutes of sleep, of course, only every other day. Some days, you don't get to sleep at all.

So of course you didn’t want to go to your best friend Lolly’s party. Whenever you said you were busy she’d just tell you to take a sick day off, but obviously, that wasn’t a thing that would ever be able to happen. You think your mom is the worst? Wait until you hear about your boss…

Morning

“Keep it going! It’s just a scratch!” She shouted basically in your face, her spit from her smoke corroded teeth would probably be on the tip of your nose if you had turned your head just barely to the right. The ‘scratch’ on your arm bleeding, leaking down between the now goosebumps on your skin and a few drops dripping down onto the broken glass on the greasy tile floor. Some asshole wasn’t happy about how few chocolate chips were in their cookie, you wish you weren’t joking. But of course, the customer is always right, even if it means they get to throw a broken piece of glass at you, cutting your bicep. “I don’t even know why I bothered hiring you, you ain’t even a pretty face.” She scoffs as she walks away, half her ass sticking out from her way to small pants. You half expected her button to fly out and land in someone's drink. She’d probably broken about 80 different codes by now with the way she talked to you. But of course, you’re way too patient with people, unlike Lolly, who quit the job as soon as she saw the morning shift manager, literally set her hat and apron down on the counter and walked out. You wish you had walked out with her, as she now works at a pet store, grooming dogs while you bleed all over the floor. It was five in the damned morning, you didn’t need this shit. But here you were, scrubbing the floor of glass, spilt Fanta, and blood, which was dripping onto the floor still, creating more of a mess.

Afternoon

From five to twelve. That’s how long you had to work. Every. Single. Day. Then you have thirty minutes to get to your first class. You have to switch clothes in the bathroom at work, shove it in your bag, run out onto the streets of New York, jog down Grey Street, cross Midway Drive, cut through the park at the centre of the city, hoping to fuck there isnt some event happening that keeps you from going around, then you have to go down into the subway, walk through the crowd of people talking loudly on their phones, all sweating and holding briefcases, so you try your hardest to avoid their bodies, reminded of the gash on your bicep when a musty street performer covered in silver paint rubs against you, coating your skin in a not so shiny and sort of disgustingly sticky paint. You hold back the gag you wanted to release onto about 15 people, and you push through the rest, almost twisting your ankle halfway up the stairs, but you of course power through it, and look at your watch. You didn’t have time to go to your dorm and clean up, but fuck. You look at your reflection in the window of a Starbucks, you didn’t even realise you had started crying, but your mascara running down your cheeks just like the blood had run down your arm, which stopped at some point and dried up with the streak of paint, made you look an absolute mess. Like you just walked in on your husband cheating on you with your sister. You just gag at your reflection, then the walking symbol shows up, and you cross the street, it was rush hour, so you had two choices. Go to your room, and clean up, be about ten minutes late, or go to class and look like shit in front of everyone. It was a split-second decision. But you didn’t want to look like shit. Honestly, you didn’t even want to go to class, so missing a few minutes wouldn’t kill you. Even if it did, you wouldn’t mind.

So instead of taking a right and going to the class you so desperately needed to pass, you go left on Harper Road, and you run up some steps to your apartment, shoving the keys in the door and swinging it open before rushing to the bathroom, pulling off your white blouse - now stained red and brown from blood - and tossing it on the floor, quickly turning on your shower, and you didn’t give a flying fuck about the water bill, you were about to take your damned time under the water.

You step in once your fully unclothed, the warm running water stinging your cut but the damned shower was the only good thing going on in your life right now, so there were no complaints apart from the hiss that leaves your lips as it does hit the now inflamed wound.

About thirty minutes later

About twenty eyes land on you as soon as you walk into the classroom, which was actually just the library. Literary class for your want to be a writer, and your teacher - Professor Barnes - pauses for a moment. He looks you up and down, gives you a disappointed look, then you find an open seat, pulling out a notebook with only a few minutes left of the class, but you were about to spend the next hour or so in the library with your friends anyways. While you wrote, and studied, they had a project to work on. One that you’ve already failed twice. Once for turning it into the wrong class, and once for accidentally lighting it on fire at work when a co-worker dropped a flaming pan on it, which, of course, you were blamed for. Then just as class ends, and everyone packs to leave while you continue to write notes into your book, you feel a presence behind you. Before you can even apologise to him, you feel his large hand on your shoulder, and his voice in your ear.

“You were late again.” No shit Sherlock. “What happened this time?” He asks, moving to sit on the corner of your desk, and you put down your pencil. He asked the question as if he didn’t believe you every other time you told him your situation. You wait for the library to completely empty out before you could yell at him for being a dick, and as soon as the last student leaves, the second the door closes and leaves a whoosh of air from its weight, you don’t scream. Some unknown squeak of every emotion mixed together except for happiness and joy leaves your throat, and your newly applied mascara runs down your face, exposing your clear tears to be mixed with the black makeup, streaks of it running down your cheeks, causing you to lean forward, face in your hands as you start to sob. The sound of a heavy sigh is the only thing in the room apart from your absolutely embarrassing breakdown. “I gave you a hundred on the assignment for the day.” What? That makes you look up, once again looking like a wife just cheated on, only this time your false husband cheated with your own mother.

“W-What? I-I don’t even k-know what the assignment was…” You hear him scoff, but it wasn’t a hateful scoff, it was more of a ‘do I look like I give a fuck,’ sort of scoff.

“Look. Lolly spoke to me about how you’re doing. So I figured I’d give you a break.” That was… Weird… Why would he do that?

“But what about the assignments that go with it-?”

“Congrats, your grade just went from a D to a B. How about you go home and relax for the rest of the day instead of studying.” You’re silent for a moment. Relax? You haven’t done that since freshman year, and even then, you weren’t sure your lunch period was exactly meant for a thirty minute nap.

“Mr. Barnes- I-” You jump a little, his hand closing your textbook and he hops off the table.

“Come on, class is over, go home.” He sighs, and goes back to his desk with your textbook, scanning it and setting it on the shelf so you wouldn’t even need to bother turning it back in and most likely paying the late fee. You stand up awkwardly, grabbing your bag and only just realising you definitely twisted your ankle as you limp a little before barely catching yourself on your desk. You honestly looked pathetic, you weren’t exactly sure why he wasn’t laughing. “Are you alright there?” You hear his voice close again, and you turn to look up at him, his hand moving to the middle of your back. But momma didn’t raise any wimp.

“It hurts-” You whimper. What. The fuck. Momma would be disappointed - If she wasn’t dead - she’d probably choke you to death. That pathetic ass noise would’ve been enough to consider you a puppy ready for adoption. “I mean uh- I’m fine.” He chuckles a little dryly, his eyes widening at your horrible attempt to convince him that you were truly fine.

“Are you sure? You’re crying even more now.” Honestly, if he hadn’t pointed it out, you wouldn’t have noticed. You were so sleep deprived. So tired. Exhausted. You were genuinely ready to snap at the next person who even breathed wrong. “Are you gonna be able to walk back to your dorm?” He grabs your bag, swinging it over his shoulder before you can even answer.

“I-I’ll be alright…” You hold out your hand for your bag, but instead, his hand on your back gently pushes you forward, making you limp in pain before his arm snakes around your waist, which should’ve made you jump, but he was helping you walk.

“Well, Imma give you a ride home if that’s alright.” He pushes the button to open the automatic door, helping you walk out into the cold air which hits you in the face worse than it should with tear stained cheeks.

“I mean I can walk-”

“Doesn’t look like it.” He shrugs, walking into the teachers parking lot, dragging you towards his truck, the one you knew was his because he was the only teacher you could actually stand, so you’ve waved bye to him at the end of the day a few times before.

“Yea- I can’t.” You admit, limping along next to him.

He opens the passenger door to the truck, and he even helps you in, setting your bag on the floorboard before closing the door and rounding the vehicle, getting into the driver seat and the warm air from the vents feels amazing, everywhere except for your sleeve covered arm, which was still warm and inflamed.

“Go ahead and give me directions hun.” He asks, pulling out of his parking space. You turn on your phone, a few missed texts from Lolly that you could look at and deal with later swiped away by your thumb as you go to the maps app to get directions until you remember you live just across the street from the dorms.

“I uh… I’m in the apartment- the one with the red roof across the street from the dorms…” you mumble, but he does hear you, nodding as you set your phone down on the centre console and reach down, rubbing your shin with your palm and it hurts like shit - it's definitely more than sprained - and you were way too poor to go to the hospital to get it checked out. So a self diagnosis would be enough for now.

“So what happened? Did you fall or something?”

“I uh- twisted it going up the subway steps.” You sit back up and look out the window.

“Subway? What are you doing in the subway if you live so close to the school?”

“I have work in the mornings…”

“Sounds stressful.”

“You have… no idea…” You mumble again, looking out the windshield now, and you can practically feel his head turn to look at you, so you look back, you were of course, correct. “Sorry- I just- today has been really bad. Not as bad as like- other days, just like- the worst this month.” You shrug, trying not to just be some complaining idiot.

“No, no. It’s okay. You don’t have to apologise. If I were you, I wouldn’t even be going to class after that.” He shrugs in return, and turns back to the road, which you do too as he steps on the gas and continues.

“I just uh, I guess I’m clumsy.” You look down a little.

“I just assumed you got caught up in the rush hour crowds. You wouldn’t be the first person to be pushed around by assholes in the swarms of humans.” You chuckle a little. Swarms of humans is definitely the best way to describe it. “Lolly told me about your work, your boss sounds like a dick.” You laugh this time, throwing your head back onto the headrest behind you and you look at him, a little smile on his lips.

“Oh no, she’s the most loveable person ever-” He starts to laugh at your horribly acquainted sarcasm. “She’s the best part of my day.” You roll your eyes, looking back out the window.

“Well I heard that someone has some very mixed emotions about her. One being hatred, the other being pure infuriating anger.” You start to laugh, it honestly hurts a bit to laugh. You were so sore. It made you want to cry… again.

“Does Lolly just tell you everything about me?”

“Well I asked. You two hang out a lot, so I figured she’d be best to ask.” He shrugs, again. And he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment, finding the only empty space. Your space. “And she told me, and I quote.” He picks up his phone, opening a texting screen. “She needs a break. She has been working under this yellow bag of walrus shit for the last two years without a single break for her own health and I am worried about her. Maybe you could convince her to take a break. I would probably kiss you if you could.” He sets the phone back down. “But we're going to disregard that last part because she’s my student, and I’m positive she was drunk.” You grit your teeth. It was definitely Lolly. Because you do unfortunately remember calling your boss a yellow bag of walrus shit.

“Yep. But I unfortunately cannot take a break.”

“Well, I’m not exactly a doctor, but I’d say your ankle is pretty messed up.”

“Well-”

“And I looked into it- You will get paid in your time off. She cannot fire you if you’re injured with a doctor or nurse note.”

“Well-”

“And I occasionally take over for the school nurse, so guess who wrote you a doctor note for your fucked up ankle?” You don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say. “So. Grab your bag and head up to your room, and promise me you’ll relax and take care of yourself for a day?” Why was he even doing this? He didn’t pay attention to you before. You were always just another student and now he’s basically forging a document to give you a break? It just didn’t seem real.

“Okay…” You whisper, grabbing your back and opening the door as you step out back into the cold, and head straight to your room, which was in clear view from the spot he was in, so he sits in his truck, waiting for you to get inside before pulling away as he stays parked. But just as you set your hand on the doorknob…

“There you are!” Your neighbour. Of course, your fucking neighbour has to add to your most wonderful day. “Your dog won’t stop barking! She’s been yip yap and yip yap all day! I’m going to call animal control!” You don’t even own a fucking dog.

“Ma’am I-”

“You forgot your phone.” His voice makes you want to writhe out of your fucking skin. You turn around to see you professor holding your phone out, which you take slowly as he turns towards the lady. “Is everything alright ma’am?” You want to laugh. You and your exhaustion work together their absolute fucking hardest as you try so hard not to laugh at her words.

“Oh of course darlin, everything is fine. Just talkin to my lovely neighbour.” From the mean, stern, gritty yelling voice that you’ve grown used to, to a suddenly sweet old lady that sounds as if she takes care of butterflies and builds them new homes. You cover your mouth, genuinely struggling not to laugh, and you see the corner of her eye twitch.

“I thought I heard some yelling.” Barnes gently wraps his arm around your shoulder, and you take a deep breath, some confusion now etched into your features.

“Just some harmless bickering, nothing too much.” She looks away from Barnes, and looks down at you. “Have a nice day darling.” You can almost feel how hard her fucking teeth are clenched, and you give her a little smile. Apparently, she wasn’t willing to embarrass herself in front of handsome young men- er- your professor.

“Your neighbour is a dick too. Maybe you should get your dog something to distract it.”

“I don’t own a dog.” You both stare at each other for a moment, and you see him biting his cheek before he takes a deep breath.

“Go get some rest. I’ll see you next week in class.” He chuckles a little and stands there, watching as you half-awkwardly open your door, closing it behind you before you heard him descending the stairs, and you hear his truck roar back to life. A little relieved that you finally had someone on your side.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

I like Marvel