#we hardly know anything about his childhood (other then that he called Wanda mom possibly meaning he didn’t have one) it’d be so easy

[fantasticgothicpeachsludge]

Do you think Tommy likes to scare people by staring at them a little too intensely so they think he’s debating/trying to explode them with his mind?

Do you think he uses it to win arguments?

Tommy: Sick argument bro but unfortunately I can explode you with my mind

[let-it-go-and-let-it-live]

Let Them In

Reader x Avengers (Mostly Platonic)

Summary: You like to keep people at a distance. It’s easier that way. Then Steve and Natasha sit you down. They’re worried. They want you to talk, but you outright deny them. Much to your dismay, this hurts them far worse than expected. So when Bucky shows up at your bedroom looking to comfort you, will you let him in? Will you let him talk you into letting them in?

Word Count: 1636

Warnings: Language, Angst (like extreme amounts of it)

A/N: Guys, I’m rarely apologetic about my stuff, but I’m sorry. It’s almost 4 am as I type this, and I’m having a minor existential crisis. That angst warning doubles a trigger warning so CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK. Again, I’m sorry. 

You’d been with the team for almost a year, and the list things they knew about you could fill the front side of a sheet of notebook paper double-spaced and still leave a bit of space at the bottom. Even after being brainwashed and ordered to kill dozens of people, including his best friend, Bucky was more open with them than you were. 

Here’s a few examples from the aforementioned list: (#insert your info here)

Name: __________________________________

Age: 22

Date of Birth: ____________

Place of Birth: _________________________ (Though there was still some argument on that.)

Hair Color: _____________

Eye Color: ____________

Height: ___________________

Skills (Superhuman or otherwise): Telekinesis, Telepathy, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Knife Throwing (Knife anything really), (insert other standard training bullshit here)

Habits: Minimal appetite, insomnia punctuated with 3am workouts and sleeping until 2 in the afternoon, Not following orders or at least reluctantly following them while simultaneously searching for loopholes, EXCESSIVE cursing (much to the Captain’s dismay), EXTREME road rage, and one other thing (but we’ll get to that a minute)

You knew the list read like a good resume for a bad influence, but you also didn’t care. The downside to not giving a shit, though, was that everyone had a habit of trying to save you from yourself. If they ordered out for dinner and you didn’t feel like eating, someone was always pushing their leftovers toward you. They tried to get you on a normal sleep schedule. Someone was always partnered with you on missions. You’d heard the word “language” and gotten the great “eyebrow raise/nostril flare of disappointment” from Mama Steve so often, it haunted you. The road rage could hardly be fixed; that one had been with you since your started driving.

Now, that last thing, the one we said we’d get to… It was the one thing that drove everyone crazy: promiscuity. 

Your promiscuity, to be exact.

Now that’s not to say you slept with everyone that asked. You had standards, but attraction was attraction and you usually just ran with it.

Most of the team stayed silent but gave their looks of disappointment. Natasha and Steve, on the other hand, were very vocal about the issue.

That’s how we find you here, sitting on the couch in the common room with them sitting on the coffee table across from you looking like concerned parents who just caught their daughter having sex in their bed.

“You two do know I’m an adult, right?”

“Are you sure? Because you sure don’t act like one.” Steve chides; there’s that fucking eyebrow.

“I don’t have to listen to this.”

You stand up but before you can take a step, Steve’s hand locks around your forearm.

“Sit down.” He says, his voice steady and firm, “Now.”

There is no denying the tinge of “captain’s orders” in that one little word. So you sat back down.

“It’s every week, Y/N.” Natasha states, trying to fight the tears in her voice. Was this really hurting her so much? “You bring home someone new while the one from the week before is still calling. We just want to know why.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You’re our friend so we’re making it our business.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk about it, and we can sit here all day. I won’t say a word.”

Natasha looks up to the ceiling, her eyes now blazing red. Steve puts a reassuring hand to her upper back, trying his best to comfort her as he lowered his own gaze to the floor. His other hand is fisted and resting on his knee.

It’s like you just broke their hearts.

You couldn’t understand why it mattered. Nothing you did had ever mattered before. Even the people who were biologically predisposed to care, never really paid much attention. They had their own problems to deal with, and you had put on a great enough façade that they never asked questions when you would go out and not come home until 2am. You were the good kid. So why are you being treated like a pariah by these two people who are barely a decade older than you.

“Can I go now?” you ask, your voice soft.

Neither of them say a word as their gazes shift to one another and then to you. Steve nods, his mouth a hard line. You move quickly, trying to get away as fast as possible, but you didn’t move fast enough. Just as you’re closing your bedroom door, you hear Natasha’s sobbing. She’s never been one for tears so why is this breaking her?

You crawl onto your bed, sitting crossed-legged with your back against the headboard. It seems like forever before her muffled expressions of pain fall silent.

Another half hour or so, there’s a soft knock at your door.

“FRIDAY,” you call out in a whisper, “who’s at the door?”

“It’s Mr. Barnes. Would you like me to send him away?”

“No. It’s okay. Let him in.”

A moment later, he’s inside the room, his back nearly against the closed door.

“Hey.” He says softly, “I just wanted to check on you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Like I said, I wanted to.”

You look up at him, “I made Natasha cry, Buck.” You reach up to quickly wipe at the tears that threaten to fall, “I’ve never seen Steve look so hurt.”

His footsteps are soft as he crosses the room to you. “They’re just worried about you.” He sits at your side, “We all are.”

“I wish you guys wouldn’t worry so much. I’m fine.”

“Except you’re not.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I spent a long time telling everyone I was okay when I wasn’t. I know the difference between a fake smile and real one.”

“What made you start telling the truth?”

“I had to come to terms with the fact that I had people who genuinely cared for. I had to let them in, and when I did, I started getting better. Maybe you should give it a try.”

You scoffs, shaking your head as you look down at your hands, “I can’t.”

“Then what about me?”

“What?”

“I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener. I’ll sit here, and you can talk. Nothing leaves this room until you’re ready.”

“You mean it?” I mutter, meeting the steady gaze of his stormy blue eyes.

“100 percent.” He replies with a gentle half-smile.

So he sits there, and you talk. You tell him about your fucked up childhood, about your mom’s drinking problem and your dad’s minor indifference to it. You talk about your brother’s divorce and how hard it was not getting the chance to know the son he’d had. You talk about college… the four years of your life when you were actually happy. You talk about the move to New York, your time with SHIELD before it fell, and your time in Sokovia during the war.

Maybe that was where it started. You knew Wanda and Pietro from a distance, but unlike them you left, you escaped, after you got your abilities. Once the Avengers invaded the facility, you got out of hiding and went back to New York.

Nick Fury had found you in some coffee shop downtown, insisting that you join the team. You hesitated at first, but the job you were at sucked and at least you wouldn’t be seen a freak anymore, right?

So you moved into the facility and kept your distance. You didn’t want to care for these people. The people you cared about always hurt you or got themselves hurt because of you.

But you bonded with each of them one by one. Then to compensate for the emotions, you turned to the one thing you knew emotions would never play a role: sex. Sure, when you were younger, the act was “special” and “meaningful”, but telepathy didn’t offer that false comfort anymore. You knew what those guys were thinking before they could get the first word out of their stupid mouths.

Then the next morning, you sent them packing with barely a goodbye.

“So it really never occurred to you that you matter to everyone here?”

“I don’t matter or at least I shouldn’t. I don’t want to matter. I don’t want to sit here feeling guilty for how I make you all feel. I don’t want to feel the pain that comes with breaking Steve’s heart and making Natasha cry. I want to go back to when I didn’t have to give a shit. Things were easier then.”

“That’s too bad, sweetheart, because you’re stuck with us.”

“This would be so much easier if you guys would just hate me.”

“You have to know that will never happen.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well, if you know, then let them in, Y/N. I got better. I know you can too.”

You can hear him picking his words in his head carefully as he speaks. This is trust. This is caring. This is affection that you didn’t ask for, but you find yourself appreciating it.

What is it about this man that makes you melt in just one long, yet meaningful conversation? Why is he the one you chose to open up to?

For whatever the reason, you let him in. You told him your whole life story with barely a second thought.

Maybe he was right. Maybe, after year with these people caring about you, it’s time for you to let them in.

It wouldn’t happen all at one, at least not with all of them, but you know it’s time. No more maybe’s.

Natasha first. You think, leaning forward to hug Bucky tight around his neck.

Maybe it’s nothing, but your heart flutters a bit in your chest as he hugs you back.

Maybe this could become something too.