stolen moments- Bucky x Reader
Written for the lovely @softbiker for her #25thingschallenge. Inspired by coming fresh out of my birthday month, and needing some warmth right now in theses dark times.
pairing: bucky x reader
word count: 898 words
warnings: none
Bucky was fully ready to let this day pass like another, he’s already had 102 birthdays, more than the average human. What’s one more?
Not if y/n had a say in it.
She had been planning this for months, ever since she stumbles across his birthdate on his personnel file. March 10th, 1917. She drilled the date into her mind, trying to keep her plans as low key as possible. As much as she wanted to surprise Bucky with with the whole nine yards, a giant cake and maybe even some fireworks, she decided not to push it just yet.
Then came putting the plan into action. Cornering Steve in the compound’s kitchen two weeks before Bucky’s birthday she grilled the captain on his plans.
“Oh well…” he mumbled sheepishly, running his hands through his hair. “You know how Buck is with birthdays. I’ll probably just give him the night off- you know how he likes his alone time.”
“Not good enough. Come on Steve! When’s the last time Bucky got a cake on his birthday? Scratch that- when’s the last time someone even wished him happy birthday?”
“Alright, you got me there,” He says with a smile, and raises him arms in mock defeat. But noting big, Tony just redid the rec room and we don’t Bucky taking down a wall because he got spooked.”
She turns away with a smile; “All you have to do-“
“Is keep him busy. Got it. Oh and y/n?”
“Yeah?”
“He really likes his strawberries.”
***
She takes full advantage of Bucky being away on a mission, with Thor and Bruce stocking the fridge with the Avengers’ favourite beers, and enlists Wanda and Vision on cooking duty. She has Tony dig up a record player and borrows some era-appropriate records from Steve. She sets Nat and Clint to putting the room together for the night’s most important ingredient.
Bucky’s cake.
She recalls a no-nonsense vanilla cake recipe from her childhood, a dessert that always tasted like home. Perhaps, on some level, she wanted him to feel just as at home as she did on the compound. She wanted to tell him what she never felt was her place to say. You’re home now Bucky- let the guilt fall away from you.
Four cups of flour, a spoonful of sugar, multicolour sprinkles hidden in the batter. Silent reminders that he was loved and cared for.
Lowering the cake in the oven, she pulled out her phone and shot a text to Bucky.
'Dinner tonight? I’ve got too much Chinese food on the way.'
‘Perfect, sounds like a plan’
The team sets to work in the common area, under the strict instructions of y/n- No Decorations! Tucking the food away in cabinets and doing away with the messes in the counters and the sink.
Heavy footfalls climb the stairs to the living room, the sound of tac vest being unbuckled, a long private sigh of relief.
‘Hey y/n- you there? Smells great in here? Steve making bread again?”
‘Hey! Welcome back.’ She calls around the corner. ’Sit down, I’m reheating the noodles.’
’Need any help?’
’No I’m good! Put your feet up’ She ducks behind the kitchen island and gestures to Steve, hiding (as best as he could) in the corridor. He straightens, and whistles nonchalantly to the fridge.
‘Hey Buck.’
Bucky grunts in acknowledgement, waving a hand from the couch where he lies reclined, eyes closed.
‘Beer?’ Steve calls, head buried in the fridge.
Another eloquent grunt, and Steve withdraws from the fridge with an optimistic thumbs up.
’Say Buck- what day is it today? Might need to tape the game for later.’
A single eye opens, with a raise of the eyebrow. ‘It’s Tuesday, no game today.’
‘Funny you say that, distinctly thought there was something special today.’
‘Oh for- Steve, come on man!’ Bucky shoots up from the couch just as the team pops up from their hiding places, unearthing the not so well hidden snacks.
‘Happy birthday old man,’ Sam calls from across the room, clapping a hand on y/n’s shoulder.
She pulls the cake, unfrosted but still steaming from the oven. Sticks a single candle into it, and presents it proudly.
‘What? They didn’t have enough candles.’
They gather for strictly one song and that’s it- under Bucky’s stern warning, and they light the candles. He still shuffles awkwardly in his seat, and she swears his hands brace against the table.
She stares too long at the way the light of the candle makes shadows under his jaw, when she works her way back up to his eyes, he’s staring right back at her. He mouths a silent thank you, a sincere, stolen moment that your heart aches to freeze.
You’re forced to acknowledge how your body tenses but your heart races when he pulls you into a hug later that night in the kitchen, just the two of you. The way his hand rises to trap your chin between his thumb and forefinger, the lingering glance, the agonising wait as he hesitates, expecting you to push him away. He leans in to kiss you and all the blood in your body rushes to your ears and you burn bright red. You cling onto to him, grounding him to the earth.
As he pulls away, you whisper the word you’ve longed to say.
‘Happy Birthday Buck, you’re home.’