You're quite literally my most favourite writer on this blessed app. I thought I was the only one who thought of Enchantress reader and seeing you write her scratched the itch in my brain.
I do have to ask though, does enchantress have little bonding moments with the team too? As in, she herself and not just her power type thing or does she only have a soft spot for Bob³ AKA Bob, Void and Sentry??
hi there! thank you soooo much for your kind words, i’m glad you like my writing!! 🥺❤️ my grammar, vocabulary, and overall english skills are not perfect yet, and i’m still learning every day, so reading comments like this always makes my day!
i was planning on making like either a headcanons post or short individual fics for the rest of the gang, just haven’t gotten the right ideas for it yet! i do feel like at first, enchantress thought little of the others UNTIL the reader talks her through it by saying “they’re not as bad as you think…” and stuff like that
so the longer they all bond, the longer she gets used to them, the longer she sees them fight, the softer she gets, but just the TINIEST soft spot for them. AND SHE WILL NEVER ADMIT TO THAT. like if walker teases her about it she will literally fling him onto the nearest wall, “you talk so much for a mortal who’s strength lies in a puny shield.”
but of course, the top two characters she has a soft spot for is still bob and reader. hope that answers your question❤️
still holding the silence - thunderbolts* (b. reynolds)
summary - the world is moving on with the New Avengers leading the move. you not so much.
warning(s)- typical thunderbolts warnings (depression, cannon violence, blood, etc.), mentions of alcohol, language
a/n - mentions of multiverse of madness, thunderbolts,CA 4 (?), this will probably become a mini series since this is wayyyy too long (around 3.8K words) but I really couldn't help myself, lowkey a sad x sadder trope hehe, pretty angsty ngl
It's funny how Bucky and his new team seem galaxies away from you, like characters from a fantasy. You shift in your seat on the couch, eyes glued to the huge TV screen. Reruns from the news report earlier today play different angles of the new heroes cycling with new commentary here and there. They seem untouchable, like heroes you only see on screen.
A laugh mixed with a scoff makes its way out of you as you force yourself to get up and throw out the empty ice cream carton from your hands. You place your spoon in the sink, and as you turn around, you nearly jump out of your skin and see Morgan now sitting on the couch.
The young girl's eyes are trained on the screen before she turns to you, her lips curled slightly downwards. "That guy with the metal arm was at Dad's funeral," she says, and your mouth goes dry momentarily.
You exhale as you sit next to her, the couch dipping and her small body leans onto you. Morgan's quick to curl up in your lap, and you let her. Your fingers comb through her brown hair, and your eyes fall back onto the TV.
"Yes, he was," you finally answer, your voice quiet, almost a whisper. You don't remember your voice always being so small. You used to be louder, snarkier, livelier. Keyword: used to.
Now, everything seems to be muted. There isn't a new adventure or mission every day, and part of you likes it like that. After everything that's happened, you deserve to live a quiet, calm life, not wondering what monster is around the corner.
But then there's another part of you—one that yearns for the life of the New Avengers—your old life. Yes, constantly fighting bad guys was annoying and tiresome, but with it came the Avengers, your friends, your family.
And now?
Now, there was little to nothing to show for it. You look down at the girl curled up in your lap and notice her breathing has evened out. She's fallen back to sleep. Maybe Morgan sensed how sad the news of the New Avengers made you and sought you out to comfort you. Kids are like that, as Pepper told you once. That they could sense things that adults couldn't.
You shake away all your thoughts and lift Morgan up. You really should have scolded her for being awake since Pepper is coming early to pick her up. Guess there's still some of this "parenting" or "adulting" thing you need to get better at. With a last look at the TV screen, your heart squeezes again agonizingly as you look at Earth's newest defenders.
Good luck to them, you think.
You've come to the conclusion that you're a glutton for punishment.
Your fingers run over the silky material of your black dress as you lean back in your seat. Happy's eyes dart back to you for a moment, trying to asses if he should turn the car around back to your apartment.
You can feel his eyes, sense his worry, and hell, hear how loud his thoughts are. Not the exact thing he's thinking, but more so a general "I am worried about y/n, but I don't want to say anything out loud" thought. You aren't as gifted as Wanda when it comes to mind-reading. Or, you aren't as talented as Wanda was at mind-reading.
The reality of your best friend's death makes you shrink in on yourself as you recall everything that happened with you, Strange, Wanda, and America. Why hadn't you been there for her earlier? Why hadn't you thought about your family after Thanos and the war? You were hurting, so surely they were as well.
No.
There's no point in dwelling on the past. You also aren't gifted with time-manipulating abilities, so there's not much you can do now to change reality.
"You ok back there, Kid?" Happy finally asks, and you lift your head to meet his eyes. There's a furrow in his eyebrows, and you feel bad about making him worry.
"I'll be ok," you reply, short and small. Happy frowns.
"You don't have to go to this, you know," he says. And he's right. You aren't required to attend the New Avengers' "Meet the Future" gala. It's not like you were actually invited.
You figured no one could say no to you if you showed up.
You could also finally talk to Bucky. You know that he and Sam had argued about the New Avengers, and when you tried to talk to the former assassin, nothing but silence came your way. It hurt. Downright ripped what little of your heart you're holding onto.
Realizing you haven't replied, you clear your throat. "I just want to say congratulations to them. That's all."
Happy isn't convinced.
You shrink a little under his flat gaze. "Do you think it's a bad idea?" you ask, voice smaller than before, almost like a child asking their parent if they're in trouble.
"Why do you think it's a good idea?" he says, and you furrow your brows. Happy's been on this crusade lately of flipping your questions back, hoping you do some "self-realizing." He read it in some book and you think it's bullshit.
As annoyed as you are with his questions, you give him props. Why do you think going to this gala is a good idea? On paper, it isn't.
You, former Avenger now turned billionaire philanthropist, who seems to be on the verge of breaking down in all senses, meeting the New Avengers, made up of people you know don't have the greatest backgrounds, whom no one bothered to ask you about. Ask if it was okay, if you wanted to be involved, what you thought—nothing.
"I don't know," you finally confess, and the car stops.
Paparazzi shout and flash their cameras, and you watch multiple investors, politicians, and workers walk up the red carpet and into what was your home, now remodeled for the new heroes living there.
The world seems to mute itself as Happy steps out of the car and approaches your door. He knocks three times.
"Are you ready?"
You knock back once.
"Yes."
Dozens of flashes go off, and the crowd intensifies as you step out of the car and onto the red carpet. You can see reporters call your name and wave you over for an interview, but you ignore them, simply turning to thank Happy for driving you and that you'll call when you're ready to go home. You breathe out before straightening your shoulders and holding your head high as you enter the tower.
"Ms. l/n! One moment!"
"Sunwraith, will we be seeing you join the New Avengers!?"
"Are you supporting the New Avengers tonight?!"
"What do the remaining original Avengers say about these new ones!!"
"What does this new team mean for the Avenger legacy?!!"
Finally, you make your way inside the tower, and you stop. Something, a mix of guilt and joy, you think, floods you as you look up. The tower's lobby has always had a high ceiling, but now, it seems taller, different, scarier.
"Ms. l/n!" a voice calls out, and you turn your attention to the older woman calling you. Cecilia Anderson greets you, telling you that you look stunning tonight. She's an older woman and a politician who has donated to the Stark Relief Foundation and yours, "New Light." She's nice, has a good heart, and is a little blunt, but company you don't mind.
"Hello," you greet softly, your hand shaking hers. "You flatter me, Ms. Anderson. I love the gold tonight." Cecilia laughs at your compliment, telling you your dress is much more modest and flattering than hers. You let her ramble away for a few minutes, silently nodding here and there and laughing when appropriate.
"Shall we make our way upstairs?" she asks, her eyebrows wiggling up and down in anticipation. Your stomach turns.
"Of course."
Your heart beats wildly in your ear as you make your way towards the elevator. People are staring. They're whispering. They're pointing.
All directed to you.
Cecilia pulls out a small card from her clutch, and the guards nod at her. She turns into the elevator, waiting for you to join her.
But you can't. Your feet freeze as you stare at the ground. The world shifts, and everything sounds murky as you hear their voices around you. Time rewinds, and suddenly, seven years haven't passed since Thanos. You're still you, a hero, an Avenger, Sunwraith.
"Ms. l/n," the guard to your right calls out, and everything snaps back into place. You raise your head and meet his gaze. "You're free to enter," is all he says, and you force a polite smile before bowing your head and apologizing for holding up the line.
You step into the elevator, and Cecilia is saying something, but you're not listening as you press your back to the wall. People fill up the shaft, and you feel them looking back at you. You duck your head down a little to avoid their gazes, and shit, you think Happy was right. You shouldn't have come; this was stupid, so utterly stupid.
What did you think you were going to achieve by showing up tonight? Show people that you're stable, like all this "New Future" shit doesn't bother you? Show the world that you've moved on past the Avengers, that it was who you were, and now you've turned a new leaf? This plan was complete and utter shit. You can turn back now. Leave and pretend this—
The doors open, and people flood out.
Shit.
Your brain goes on autopilot as you step out. Before you know it, you have a glass of champagne in your hand and are shaking all sorts of hands.
Faces come and go as you're dragged from one side of the room to another. Pleasantries are shared, and bad jokes about how you've grown up so much and are much more well-mannered than Tony ever was. Foundation names are thrown at you, and you simply smile and nod. Questions are asked about you and New Avengers, and all you do is give them a cheeky wink and a finger to your lips, and they eat it up.
You don't know how many people you've spoken with, but soon your chest is filling up. You need to get out, breathe some air, and take a moment to remind yourself that you're a person and not some marketing pawn for these people.
"If you'll excuse me, I don't want to fall too behind on drinks," you say, and the older men around you laugh. You're quick to move away from them and out of the main room.
You walk and walk and think you're going the right way toward a balcony, but everything's different, and you're lost. Your eyes start to sting as you come to a crossroads. Unsure which way is the right one, you crouch down. A shaky breath leaves your lips, and your dress suddenly starts feeling too big, like it's not meant for you, like you're a little kid playing dress up.
"Are you ok?" a voice asks, and your head snaps up. A man stands there, his eyes big, worried, and cute if you're being honest. He's biting his lower lip as his right hand tugs at his other hand, and he's starting to shrink in on himself in the looming silence. "I'm sorry! Y..You probably want to be alone, so I don't know why I asked. I.. I'll just leave!" he stutters out, and he flinches when you suddenly stand tall.
"You can stay," you finally say, and some of the tension leaves the guy's shoulders. "I was just looking to get some air, but I'm kind of lost now," you add on, and you try to laugh to seem happy, but it comes out sad and depressing.
"Me too," the man adds and his eyes meet yours for a second before shifting down to the ground. "I can show you the way?" he asks, and his shoulders bunch up again, already preparing himself for your rejection.
It certainly doesn't help that you're just staring at him. Helplessly staring at him, he really wants to look up and meet your eyes, but he can't. Bob knew he was a depressing person; hell, he couldn't really use his powers because of how intensely he went from his highs and lows. But you, your eyes were just so sad.
Sad in a way that made him sad—like it was oozing out from you and clinging to his newly tailored pants that still felt too tight. But with that sadness came a weird calm, like the feeling he gets when he's curled up in his room, staring out over New York on a cloudy, rainy day.
"I'd like that," you finally answer with a small smile, and Bob catches a glimpse. Seeing you smile makes his chest feel lighter, and he feels like he has accomplished something unthinkable. He nods, and a silence falls between the two of you. It's not uncomfortable or awkward, it just feels right.
Finally, you're able to breathe again once Bob leads you to a balcony. The lights of New York seem to shine a little brighter tonight as you look out over them, and it brings another smile to your lips. You remember nights like this when you and Natasha would sit on the helicopter pad and talk, overlooking the night sky. Sometimes Bruce or Clint would join you, and the two of you would gang up and tease the joining party about something embarrassing they've done recently.
"Do you come to these things often?" Bob asks, and your eyes shift over to him. Honestly, you forgot he was here. He was so quiet and leaning in on himself, as if he feared taking up too much room, as if he were scared of simply existing.
"I used to. Now...not so much," you answer, and he nods, soaking up all your words.
"Do they ever get easier?" he asks, making you laugh. Again, his chest swells, and he feels like he has accomplished something.
"You get the swing of them. At least, I did. You learn when you can escape," you chuckle, and Bob does too. "I used to get trouble for escaping." Pepper used to lecture you on your escape acts while Tony simply made faces behind her, which had you trying to contain your giggle in fear of being lectured more.
"I don't think I ever will," Bob says, pulling at the cuffs of his suit jacket. "All these people and all the talking...I'm not too good at that."
"You seem alright talking to me," you say, facing him so you can see him fully. He's taller than you, only a couple of inches, and his brown curls are slicked back with gel. You wonder what they look like normally. Your eyes fall onto his suit again, and you can tell it's tailored to fit him. Although he's hunched in on himself, you can tell he's fit and that there's muscle underneath. It makes you wonder what he does. He doesn't seem like a politician. Maybe an investor?
Bob flushes under your gaze and words and quickly coughs (or laughs?). "I guess you're just easy to talk to," he says, and you blink.
You? Easy to talk to? When was the last time anyone ever said that to you?
"You think so?" you say, your voice lower than before, and you also start to lean in on yourself. Bob's eyebrows furrow as he watches you curl up from his words, and he starts to worry that he said something wrong.
"Of course," is all he can say, and somehow, like magic, you're peering over at him and uncurling again. "I...I'm Bob," he blurts out, his voice a little too loud and pitchy, and he cringes. A soft laugh comes from you, and he smiles.
"y/n," you say, and Bob can feel himself smile a little more. "So, Bob, why are you here tonight?"
"I'm just here to support my friends. I'm not good at talking, but I already told you that." Bob chuckles breathily, but it's muted in your ears.
"You're friends with the New Avengers?" you ask, and you feel like you're floating outside your body.
Bob nods, unaware of the shift in you. His gaze falls onto the city's lights. "Yeah, they helped, uh, me a while ago, and now...well, we're all a team."
"Oh."
"What about you? Why are you here?" Bob asks, a soft smile on his face, and it confuses you. He doesn't know who you are?
No, he's probably lying. He has to be. He's friends with the New Avengers, Bucky, more specifically.
But, as you look at his face and see the honest curiosity, you know he's not. Like, he's incapable of lying and just wants to know about you. There's a flutter in your chest, relief. Bob has no idea about your past, what you've lost, and who you were.
It scares you just as much as it comforts you.
"I need to go," is all you say before turning and rushing away. Your heels click on the floor as you follow the sound of laughter and chatter back to the main room.
Bob calls your name out from behind you, asking if he said something wrong, and you want to turn, but you force yourself to keep walking. Everything is closing in around you, and your vision is getting fuzzy, with wisps of black coming into your view and growing by the second. The sting comes back to your eyes and fuck, you really shouldn't have come tonight.
"Sunwraith!" a voice cheers, too loud, too staged. You freeze.
The blinding lights of the main room rip the shadows away, and all eyes turn to you. You feel Bob freeze and duck behind the wall, retreating from the sudden shift in attention.
From across the room, the woman who called you out grins. Not kindly—no, the curve of her lips is wolfish, all calculation, like she's watching to see what makes you twitch.
Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, the person who formed the New Avengers, starts walking towards you, the room parting like the Red Sea. It almost seems staged, like she was waiting for this moment all night.
"Or is Ms. l/n more suitable," she purrs, her gaze never breaking from yours, "since you're not avenging anymore?"
A ripple of talk stirs uncomfortably through the room, unsure if this is some show. But all of them are soaking up whatever's about to unfold. They're all watching, waiting for you to reply.
She turns to the audience. "Everyone, don't be shy! We're in the presence of greatness! A founding Avenger. A living weapon of light and death. The Sunwraith herself. Please! Some applause!" And like a commandment, the room fills with claps.
Your fists clench behind you, and your fingernails dig into your palms to create tiny crescent moons. Your codename burns like an old scar being reopened. It brings back memories, and it creates heat running up and under your skin and flowing throughout your body, a change from your usually ice-cold body.
Valentina tilts her head, mock surprise playing on her features. She steps closer to you, and you can smell her perfume; it's spicy and burns your nostrils, like breathing in cinder ashes. Valentina leans in close enough that everyone else can't hear her words.
"Oh, but I forgot," she says slowly, eyes narrowing just enough. "You gave that all up, didn't you? Walked away. Some say burned out, others say buried too many friends. Depends on who you ask." The crowd is still watching, waiting.
You breathe in, and your shoulders fall back. Your spine straightens out, and Valentina whistles low as she watches you puff out your chest.
"Is there a point to this?" you ask, voice steady, low.
She grins widely, "Only that the world doesn't get to retire just because you did." Valentina's grin sharpens, pearly and cruel. "See, I thought you might want a look at what progress looks like."
She lifts her hand theatrically, and your gaze shifts to where she's pointing. And then you see it, see the New Avengers, see Bucky. His presence crashes into you like a riptide. Blue eyes met yours, and your breath stills in your chest.
You knew the chance of seeing him tonight, hell, you were hoping to, but seeing him now, standing with her, letting Valentina dangle your past like bait for a crowd…it's like being gutted all over again.
Valentina clocks your reaction instantly.
"Even James knew how to move on. It just took the right kind of...leadership," she says, her voice still low, keeping the words between you both.
You don't move. You don't flinch. Hell, you don't even think you're breathing anymore.
Valentina tilts her head, eyes dancing with mock concern. "Aww. Did that sting? Or are we still pretending you don't feel anything at all?" There's blood dripping from your palms, and you hope it doesn't stain your dress.
You blink once, slowly, measuredly, and force your lips into a neutral curve. Not quite a smile, but enough to keep your image polished. The lights are still hot on your skin, the weight of every stare pressing against your back like a loaded gun. "I feel plenty," you say softly, voice sweetened just enough to mask the venom underneath.
Valentina laughs—a sharp, brittle sound that cuts through the murmurs in the room. "Someone's PR trained!"
With a swift move, she links her arm with yours and smiles brightly at the audience. "Sunwraith, everyone! A true hero for embracing the future of our world!" Cheers and applause sound throughout the room, and cameras go off as you force that practiced smile of yours to stay.
"You know there's always room for more," Valentina purrs, her teeth still locked in a smile for the photos. "Especially, for America's sweetheart."
"I'd offer congratulations," you say, voice soft and pleasant, "but I think you've got enough people doing that for you." She laughs at your words.
Valentina breaks away and steps closer to the crowd, her smile still pearly white. "Shall we raise a glass, then? To new beginnings? To heroes who show up when it counts?" She glances back at you, and it takes everything in you to keep your composure together.
Champagne is passed around, and people start to move again.
You don't. You stay frozen.
And then, once again, your eyes meet Bucky's through the crowd. You swallow the lump in your throat, and so does he. He starts moving towards you, but you turn and walk away. You can't talk to him, you don't want to anymore.
A shift catches your eye, and your eyes meet Bob's. His back is pressed to the wall, and his eyes are wide with worry and shock. You swallow again and keep moving.
