hear me out: avenger!reader who ADORES cooking & baking. every morning, if she’s making something for herself she will make something for everyone. every lunch time, there’s something for everyone in the fridge. every night, she always makes dinner and occasionally Wanda or Steve help out with cutting etc. there is ALWAYS some sort of sweet treat on the counter and freshly made bread. she is a very maternal, kind and loving person (completely juxtaposing her rough and brave avenger self) and is always offering to babysit for her friends, meal prep for expecting families and she’s always willing to jump for people at super short notice. even Sam’s sisters entire neighbourhood know that you’re the lady to go to for last minute anything. anyways, BASICALLY i’m asking for loads of domestic fluff, bucky already being used to you getting calls at 2am and leaving to go and help this person etc but that reader feels really bad that she kinda abandons bucky at some points to help every one else and she feels like she’s not doing enough for him? i hope this makes sense 😭
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The compound wakes up to you before it wakes up to alarms.
It’s the smell first—yeast and sugar and something warm, something safe. By the time the sun starts bleeding through the high windows, there’s already a loaf cooling on the counter, something sweet tucked under a dish towel, coffee brewing stronger than necessary. There’s always more than you need. There’s always enough for everyone.
You move through the kitchen barefoot and steady, hair half-tied, apron already dusted with flour. If you’re making eggs, you make extra. If you’re packing your own lunch, you pack three more containers without thinking—labeled, stacked neatly in the fridge like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Someone always wanders in. Wanda pads through, sleepy-eyed, and you wordlessly hand her a spoon to taste whatever’s simmering. Steve shows up later, sleeves rolled, offering to chop because you’ll do it all yourself if someone doesn’t stop you. Sam steals something off the counter and gets smacked with a towel for it, but you laugh while you do it.
There is always bread. There is always something sweet. There is always you.
On missions, you’re ruthless. Precise. Brave in ways that make people forget you ever cry or knead dough with your hands or hum while you work. But at home, you soften into something else entirely—something warm and maternal and endlessly giving. You remember birthdays. You meal-prep for those in need. You volunteer to babysit. You show up.
You always show up.
Bucky watches all of this from the doorway more often than not.
At first, it startled him—how easily you gave pieces of yourself away. How often your phone buzzed and you were already pulling on shoes, already apologizing as you leaned in to kiss his cheek. He learned the pattern quickly, though. The late-night calls. The quiet urgency in your voice.
“I’ll be back soon,” you’d promise.
And you always were. Eventually.
He got used to falling asleep alone, the other side of the bed still warm from you. Got used to reheated dinners and notes stuck to the counter—made your favorite, sorry I missed you. Got used to you coming home exhausted, smelling like someone else’s house, someone else’s problem.
He never complained.
That almost made it worse.
The guilt creeps in quietly. It hits you when you’re washing dishes at midnight, when you realize you didn’t ask about his day. When you crawl into bed and he pulls you close without a word, like he’s just grateful you’re there at all. You start to wonder when the last time was that you did something just for him.
So you try to make up for it in pieces.
You pack his lunch a little more carefully. You cut the crusts off his sandwich without being asked. You leave extra treats by his side of the bed—things you know he likes but never asks for. You kiss him slower in the mornings, linger a little longer when you can.
Still, the feeling sticks.
The night it finally spills out of you is quiet. No emergency. No phone call. Just you and Bucky in the kitchen long after everyone else has gone to bed, the hum of the fridge the only sound between you.
You’re kneading dough out of habit more than necessity when he comes up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. He’s warm. Solid. Real.
“You don’t have to,” he murmurs.
You freeze. “Don’t have to what?”
“Be everything for everyone,” he says gently.
Your hands still. The silence stretches. When you finally speak, your voice is small in a way it rarely is. “I feel like I’m never enough for you.”
He pulls back just enough to turn you around, flour dusting his shirt, his hands settling at your hips like they belong there—because they do.
“You show up for everyone,” he says. “You think I don’t see that?”
“I just—” You swallow. “I leave. All the time. And you never say anything, and I start thinking maybe you need more than I give you.”
His brow creases, not in anger—something softer. Something wounded that you’d ever think that.
“I don’t need more,” he says quietly. “I need you. And I have you.”
You shake your head, tears pricking. “It doesn’t feel fair.”
He presses his forehead to yours. “You coming home to me at two in the morning? You crawling into bed and tucking your cold feet under my legs? You making sure I eat, even when I forget? That’s not nothing.”
His thumbs brush your cheeks, catching the tears before they fall.
“You don’t abandon me,” he continues. “You come back. Every time.”
Something in your chest finally gives.
He kisses you then—slow, grounding, like he’s anchoring you to the moment. When he pulls back, his voice is softer still. “But if you’re worried… stay tomorrow morning. Don’t make breakfast for everyone. Make it for us.”
You nod, breath hitching. “I can do that.”
He smiles—small, fond, utterly sure of you. “That’s all I need.”
And in the morning, the compound wakes up a little quieter.
The kitchen stays empty a little longer.
And for once, the warmth you give stays right where it belongs.
After losing her mother at a young age, she had discovered a gift. A blue light that would shine in the air, lifting her up.
Her father had sold her to the upper class, they turned her gift into a curse. They used her gift for their own greed.
Until she found a way out. She found a way down into the Pitt.
There, she meets Enjin and many other people like her, who convince her that her curse is a gift.
Full Chapter on Ao3 <3
A/N: Some of you may be getting De Javu. My old account (Toomanyfandoms04) got removed. All of my full fics are on AO3, and I will only be posting previews on my Tumblr.
"You really caused a mess, little boy." Enjin hums behind you, his hand rustling around in his bag for something.
"Who are you? What are those things? Why did they try to kill me? Please don't kill me." The boy yells as Enjin growls, "Shut up and be quiet or you'll wake up more trash beasts!"
You ignore both of the men as you focus on yourself. At this point, you've lost enough blood to elevate your heart rate and increase your air consumption. There is not enough oxygen rich blood getting to your whole body.
If your hands and feet start to get cold, then you'll really start to worry.
You distantly hear footsteps approaching you, the crunch of boots on the coarse sand registers in your brain before you feel Enjin behind you.
Another face masks is pulled over your face gently, Enjin's tattooed fingers trace the seal of the mask to your face, silently adjusting it to fit your face. He is kneeling on the ground behind you, watching your hands for any signs of trouble.
He knows something isn't right about you, but Enjin is not the type of man to go around, fixing other peoples problems.
Rudo continues to yell at the both of you while you notice the groaning of metal against metal right behind you. The ground starts to shake again as a hot wave of stank filled air hits your body.
"Enjin?"
"Yes, sweets?" He stays crouched behind your back, his body heat radiating onto yours.
"The beast is back, isn't it?" You quietly ask, not wanting to turn around to face your timely demise.
"I'll take care of it, princess." He stands up, and you look over your shoulder to see an enormous trash beast looming over the three of you. The metal and plastic parts of the beast make up the resemblance of a face. It has two eyes placed closely together, a snarling mouth, and ears.
Chills run down your spine as two more beasts appear behind the one looking directly at you.
It has binocular vision, all top predators do. The beasts eyes were locked onto you.
Enjin starts to curse under his breath, slowly standing up, using his umbrella for support.
"This is why you shut your mouth when I tell you to, brat." Enjin's face-mask is illumined with a brilliant yellow as he looks over his shoulder. Your eyes widen in shock as it seems his own are looking at you.
It can't be.
"Now I have to do my job." He snarks, holding his umbrella out to the side with one hand.
The brilliant yellow surrounds the raggedy old umbrella and it turns into an armored umbrella. The cloth scraps are now perfectly white with black and yellow blades. The tip of the umbrella has a matching dual colored spile.
The trash beast yells as it charges, starting the fight.
You both move at the same time, you crawling to Rudo as Enjin jumps at the trash beast.
A glimpse into the morning with YN and her little boy.
🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕
Masterlist
YN awoke to the feeling of tiny arms wrapping tightly around her torso. Raising her arms to let out a loud stretch, before bringing her hand down to run her fingers through her son’s messy hair.
Mylo had latched himself to her pretty quickly ever since she had taken him in two months ago. YN knew that he was dealing with trauma from losing both his parents at such a young age, causing him to attach himself to a maternal figure quickly.
“Mylo? Baby it’s time to wake up.” YN whispered to the small boy who tightened his grip on her in protest. “No love, you have to wake up.”
“Mama.. I wanna sleep in..”
YN smiled at his sleepy whining, cradling his head close as she went to sit up. He still clung close as she fully rose upright. With a kiss placed on his frowny forehead, YN began to pat his back to awake her little boy.
“No sleeping in Mylo. We have to clean today. Come on, up up.” YN gave one final pat before she went to stand; one arm under his behind, another across his back. Carrying him to her one bathroom. Hopefully today there’d be enough hot water for her to wash his face and hair.
Sitting his small body on her sink, YN went to grab a small towel as he began to clean his teeth. Mylo’s small smile scrunched up as his mother began wiping his face with the wet towel. Clearly protesting the action to clean him. His frown was met with a kind, tired smile as YN removed the dirt from his face.
“No more frowning love. Let’s start the day with a clean happy face. Okay?” Her smile broke his own toothy, big, smile out from his frowned face.
As he put down his toothbrush, Mylo didn’t notice YN slightly frown at the pathetic stream of cold water coming from the faucet. Soaking the towel more, YN wiped down her own body hastily before she set her boy on the ground. Barely acknowledging him run to the kitchen, YN began to clean her teeth as she calculated how to manage the water for today, before she went down to her supplier and “convincing” him to pump the water consistently. She didn’t need it to be hot, just flowing. So if she needed to threaten to poison a pathetic hoarder, so be it.
“Mama! Hurry up! I wanna make breakfast!” Mylo yelled from the other room.
Her smile stretched across her brown cheeks once again as she made her way to her boy. Mylo jumped into her arms, giggling as he sat on her hip.
“I see we got happy again.” YN teased. “Let’s make something sweet, my baby.”
It was a hard life in the undercity. But a morning with her baby was a well spent one.
