Bucky Barnes x Reader Oneshots/Imagines - Unconditionally

Sweet Relief

Request by @Mocha_Gangsta :)

Summary: You've been struggling with a tension headache for the past few days when Bucky decides to pamper you and help you relieve some of the tension.

...

"Okay, if P and Q are conditional statements... then that means 'if P, then Q, right?' So this should be true," you whisper hunched over your keyboard as you press the 'submit' button. Wrong.

You throw your pencil and shout frustratedly, holding your face in your hands as pressure builds behind your forehead. Why can't I get this? This isn't even the hardest chapter? How am I supposed to be a good teacher when I can't even understand simple math?

Your eyes sting as you force them shut after hours of staring at the computer screen in front of you, seeming to become brighter by the second. You groan at the familiar band of pressure around your head and fumble around your desk for the small bottle of Advil you brought in a few days ago. You find a stray capsule and swallow it quickly, realizing you had forgotten to keep up with today's doses. On any other day, you would take a painkiller, grab a blanket, and curl up in bed for a long nap, but you simply don't have the time. Go back to school, they said... It'll be worth it, they said...

College is much more complicated than you remember it being. Sure, you were stressed, but nothing like being in your mid-twenties trying to balance four classes with a full-time job.

Right now, you're a 6th-grade English teacher at Midland Middle School but desperately want to teach high school. Middle school life just isn't for you anymore. The constant battles with the flu, kids who still can't read properly, and daily childish insults have taken a toll and you feel like you're babysitting more than you're teaching.

Teaching high school has always been your passion, but Midland wouldn't let you move up until you get your master's degree, so here you are, bunkered in your office in a dark corner with 3 hours of sleep. Your day starts at 6:00 AM and ends anywhere from midnight to three in the morning. You can't remember what day it is, let alone the last time you ate or the current time. All you know is that you've got 1 more final and only an hour to submit it.

You shake yourself off and wait for the Advil to kick in, turning off the room's remaining lights and hunching over your computer with only the light from your screen and whatever is left outside. You type, type, and type, fumbling with your calculator now and then, and drain the last of the coffee from one of your many mugs on your messy desk. You're so focused that you don't hear the soft knock on the office door, or even the creak as it squeaks open, letting in a sliver of light from the hallway.

"Y/N? You in here?" Bucky asks from the doorway.

"Over here," you mumble, eyes eyes aching as you look in his direction. His eyes scan the room before landing on you behind your desk.

He wanders over to you, dodging the corners of your desk before standing behind your worn desk chair. He gently places his hands on your shoulders as he leans down to see your computer.

"What're you working on?" he asks, squinting to look at the intricate math formulas and complicated questions on the document in front of you. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the bottle of Advil as you rub your fingers along your temples.

"A Statistics final that I'm totally failing," you groan, leaning your head on the back of your chair and looking up at Bucky. He breathes deeply and looks down at you from his taller position, moving his right hand to move a strand of hair out of your tired face.

"I'm sure you're not failing, doll. You're a genius at this stuff," he smiles softly. "Still got that headache?" he asks and you nod, holding his hands on your shoulders.