Fairytale of New York - Professor Bucky x Reader

Eight

Y/N

The following weeks passed by quickly, and as the term approached it's end, you found that you and Bucky were busier than ever. Your term papers were due for each of your classes, meaning that you spent any free moment that you had on your laptop, working insistently. You tutored Liz at the coffee shop in the morning, helping her to raise her grades in Bucky's class, and in repayment she would always buy you a coffee to keep you going throughout the day. Bucky was just as busy, with papers to grade and one-on-one tutoring during his office hours taking up all of his time, meaning that it was rare that the two of you were able to spend any real time together during the day, outside of class.

But it was the nights that you really looked forward to. The key that Bucky had given you to his apartment had been a god-send, providing you a place when you could simply relax away from your bustling apartment where all of your roommates were frantically studying.

If you arrived home first you would curl up on the armchair, Alpine in your lap and one of the many books from Bucky's bookshelf in your hand. At this point you had practically worked your way through his entire collection. You would sit there, the lights off, with only the old lamp in the corner by the armchair shedding a golden glow around the apartment, until Bucky returned home, to shower you with kisses.

If Bucky arrived home first you would normally find him sat at his desk grading papers. When he would hear the door click he would spin in his chair, arms outstretched towards you. He would pull you into his lap, holding you close, as you showed him whatever little gift you had found for him that day. A new book that he had been wanting to read, a brand new fountain pen for his grading, a jar of expensive hot chocolate, his favourite winter drink.

This was a routine that suited you both perfectly. Despite both clearly wanting to be closer during the day, occasionally forgetting and reaching for the other's hand during group work, or extended eye contact mid-lecture, the nights made up for the secret keeping.

You were sure that at this point you'd had sex across his entire apartment, every surface holding a different intimate memory. Bent over the kitchen counter. Held up against the bookcase. Tangled together on the floor. Straddling him on the couch. However, since he had given you the key, it had become so much more. It wasn't just lust between you now, instead the want, the affection, that had been an unspoken connection in your relationship was now at the forefront. You looked after each other, cared for each other, in a way that you never had before.

Of course, that didn't mean that you didn't miss him during the day when he was at work and you were attending classes. You were able to find a small amount of satisfaction upon seeing him during his lectures, seeing him in his element, so passionate about what he was teaching, was something that would always make you squeeze your thighs together.

One late November morning, Bucky announced that he would be handing out the final term papers, leaving the room a buzz of anticipation. He began moving around the room, handing each student their paper. You heard cries of joy, and groans of disappointment from through the lecture hall, until he finally came to you. You looked up at him, and he threw you a reassuring smile as he handed you your paper.

A+

"You were only two marks away from full marks," he stated with a proud smile. "Next time, just make sure if you're paraphrasing a quote that you make that clear. Well done."

You couldn't help but beam, looking from the grade written in the top right corner in the dark ink of the fountain pen that you had bought him, back up to his proud smile. He threw you a wink, leaning forward ever-so-slightly, his hand resting on the back of your chair.

"You should go through and check the notes that I made," he said, voice low. "I think they could be really helpful."

And with that he was gone, moving onto the row behind. You frowned, flipping over the first page to find a yellow sticky note pressed to the top, Bucky's scrawl written across it.