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itwillbethescarletwitch · 1 month ago

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What The Fire Witheld

Bob Reynolds x Fem!Witch!Reader, Thunderbolts* x Fem!Witch!Reader

Slow Burnish?

I don’t know how many words but it’s a lot.

The city hums under me like it’s alive.

It’s 7:23 a.m. on a Friday, and I’m standing barefoot on the rooftop of Thunderbolts Tower with a cup of lukewarm coffee and a migraine that started sometime around 3 a.m. The sunrise isn’t dramatic — it’s pale and ghosting through cloud streaks, like it’s unsure if today’s even worth showing up for.

I’ve got a wool blanket around my shoulders, one that Yelena stole from a five-star hotel in Switzerland. Still smells like lemon detergent and guilt.

My fingers trace sigils against the concrete railing. Just muscle memory. Comfort. Like a pianist playing keys they forgot they knew.

Somewhere below, I can hear Ava arguing with her toaster again. Something about quantum energy short-circuiting the coils.

Again.

She says it like the appliance betrayed her personally.

Inside the tower, the place is barely waking up. The fridge hums. A shower squeals on the third floor — probably John. He plays war podcasts at full volume while he scrubs blood off his tactical gear like he’s in therapy.

The sky’s buzzing.

Not physically, not audibly, but in that way I can feel in the marrow of my spine. Something’s shifting. A crack in the weave. An old energy breathing beneath the static of the world.

And I’m too tired to care today.

Footsteps behind me.

Thick boots. Casual pace. Weapon holstered but not relaxed. I don’t have to turn to know.

“Yelena,” I say, still watching the clouds.

She slides up beside me and leans on the railing with a sigh, holding an open container of Greek yogurt in one hand and her phone in the other. “This is what you do before breakfast? Stare at weather?”

“I like to see what’s coming before it hits us.”

She glances up, skeptical. “Sky say anything interesting?”

“Not yet.”

“Damn. I was hoping for gossip.”

She scrolls on her phone a bit, flicking her thumb with unbothered speed. I catch a glimpse of her feed. TikTok. Mostly black cat videos, people falling during obstacle courses, and one suspiciously well-edited thirst trap of Bob Reynolds lifting a Jeep.

“That one’s yours,” she says, nudging the screen toward me.

My throat tightens.

“You’ve got a problem,” I mutter, trying not to look.

“He’s got a jawline that could cut glass and arms like Greek mythology. Sue me.”

I shrug deeper into my blanket. “He doesn’t even look at me.”

Yelena gives me a side glance. “That’s the only reason it’s not a problem.”

Then she smirks. That kind of lazy, dangerous smirk she usually reserves for enemy interrogations and social sabotage.

“But he does look at you,” she adds casually, licking yogurt off her spoon.

I hate that I blush.

“He’s unstable,” I say. “Dangerous. Unpredictable.”

“So are you,” she says without hesitation. “But you don’t see him running.”

I don’t reply. The sky starts to glow a little warmer. Peach gold filtering over glass and steel.

Yelena taps her phone again. “Anyway. He thinks you’re beautiful.”

I look at her sharply.

She doesn’t look back. Just flicks to the next cat video.

The Briefing Room — 11:00 A.M.

By the time we’re all seated around the mission table, it smells like someone spilled burnt coffee on a rubber mat and tried to cover it up with vanilla air freshener. Yelena’s in the corner slouched in a beanbag chair she stole from a tech startup. Ava’s half-phased into the floor, like she’s trying to disappear through osmosis.

John’s pacing.

Bob is standing by the window again, arms folded. Silent. Staring out like the city might collapse if he blinks.

“Intel confirms the Prague facility went dark forty-eight hours ago,” John’s saying, snapping the remote across the screen. “Energy spikes matched Stark-grade tech fused with quantum-layer materials. Possible sabotage.”

Ava raises her hand halfway. “Or possible science experiment that cracked reality.”

“Even better,” I mutter.

Bob hasn’t moved.

I can feel him, though. His energy isn’t heat or light—it’s pressure. Like gravity but sideways. Like the universe leaning in.

I wonder if he hears me think about him.

I wonder if he thinks about me.

Bucky’s leaning against the back wall like he’s been there the whole time—half in the shadow, gloved hand flicking a knife between his fingers without looking down.

He hasn’t said a word since we started.

But when I shift in my seat, I feel it—his gaze, just a flicker, catching me like a tripwire.

“You’re not telling us everything,” he says suddenly.

Walker looks up, clearly annoyed. “You wanna run the briefing, Barnes?”

Bucky doesn’t move. “No. I just want the truth. This isn’t just a power spike in Prague. These readings are off the scale.”

Everyone glances toward the display again. Ava narrows her eyes, phasing her hand through the edge of the table like she’s testing its molecular loyalty.

“It’s not natural tech,” I murmur. “It’s been… tempered. It’s vibrating wrong.”

“Wrong how?” Bucky asks, still watching me.

My fingers twitch, magic itching at my skin like it’s trying to crawl out. I meet his eyes. Steel blue. Calm, but not cold. He’s worried. And not for the first time.

“Like someone tried to blend arcane resonance with vibranium pulse patterns,” I say softly. “It’s unstable. It’s sick.”

Yelena leans back, balancing her chair dangerously. “Great. I love when missions sound like cursed IKEA furniture.”

I glance over at Bob—still by the window, still a statue. He hasn’t spoken once. But when I talk about the arcane resonance, his jaw ticks, barely.

He knows something.

And I know he knows I know.

“Y/N and I will handle the secondary perimeter,” Bob says suddenly.

It’s the first time he’s spoken all morning.

Every head turns toward him. Bucky raises an eyebrow. Ava stops mid-phase.

Even Yelena looks up from her phone.

I freeze. “Wait, we—”

“You’re the only one who can read the magic,” Bob says, calm but not casual. “And I’m the only one who can survive it if it goes wrong.”

That silence? It comes back. Loud and hot in my ears.

Bucky watches me. He sees it—whatever’s happening between me and Bob. And for a second, I think he might say something. Call it out. Rip it into the open.

But he just says, “Fine. But if either of you go off-book, I’ll know.”

He doesn’t say I’ll stop you. He doesn’t have to.

-Prague

The rusted stairwell groans beneath our weight.

Every step down into the sublevels feels like a choice we’ll regret.

Ava’s already phasing through the floor ahead, scouting. Yelena’s muttering curses in Russian behind me, blades strapped across her chest like jewelry. John’s loading his sidearm. Bucky’s silent, his hand resting on the strap of his rifle like it’s a habit, not a weapon.

And then there’s Bob.

He walks beside me—close but not touching. He always walks like that. Like he wants to reach out but is afraid he’ll burn me if he does. His eyes flick toward me every few seconds, worried. Gentle. Unspoken things pulsing behind the gold.

“You’re glowing again,” I murmur under my breath, trying to lighten the air.

He blinks. “I’m not—” he looks down at his hands. A faint golden shimmer slips between his knuckles. “Damn.”

I laugh, just a little. “It’s cute.”

His breath catches.

And then we reach the door.

Massive. Steel. Ancient runes scorched into its frame.

The air shifts. My magic flares in my chest—warning, warning, danger.

I raise a hand. My fingers tremble before they even touch the sigils.

“Let me do this alone,” I say, half-turning to the team. “It’s unstable. Whatever’s behind this door isn’t just tech. It’s cursed, maybe alive.”

Bob steps forward instantly. “No.”

“Bob—”

“I’m going in with you.”

I want to argue. I want to tell him I’ve handled worse. But something in his voice—his eyes—makes me pause.

He looks like he’s already lost me.

So I nod.

And we go in.

The door groans open with a hiss of old pressure. Cold air spills out like a warning.

The chamber is circular. Ancient and modern tech fused together in a horrifying knot. Vibranium conduits snake through black-stone pillars. Arcane circuits glow in red pulses. And at the center—a reactor pulsing like a heart, veins of magic crackling out from its core.

I can feel the spells embedded in the walls. Old. Angry. Fractured.

“This thing is alive,” I breathe. “And it’s hurting.”

Bob says nothing, but I feel his heat flare.

The others keep their distance at the doorway. Yelena’s eyes scan every inch. John’s got his hand on the radio. Bucky watches me like he already knows what’s coming.

I step toward the reactor.

My magic seeps out, threads of glowing sigils unfurling from my skin. I whisper in Old Tongue. The system pulses in answer.

And then—

a sound.

click.

Barely audible. Like a bone snapping in the dark.

“Wait—” I whisper. “That rune’s not stabilizing—”

It lights up.

Red.

And then time shatters.

The first sign is silence. Not quiet—the absence of all sound.

Then—

Light.

A wall of gold and fire and crimson explodes outward.

But to me, it all unfolds in slow motion.

My ears ring violently, but my mind is crystal clear—because fear has frozen me inside my own body.

I see the wave coming.

I see Ava screaming my name.

I see Yelena sprinting forward.

I see Bucky’s mouth move—“GET DOWN!”

But it’s too late.

The world breaks.

The reactor ruptures, and I’m thrown backward—but not before the pain starts.

I see it—

The shrapnel ripping toward me.

A shard of jagged pipe spears through my side.

Metal fragments slice across my thigh.

A beam of burning rebar slams into my shoulder, and something cracks.

I can feel my ribs shatter, one by one.

And then—

Something pierces straight through my stomach.

My back hits the wall with a scream I don’t realize I’m making.

I fall—hard. My body hits the tile, blood gushing out, pooling fast.

The breath is knocked from me. And when I try to inhale, I feel wetness flood my lungs.

I taste iron.

Everything is distant. Blurry.

But I see him.

Bob.

He’s running to me, sprinting, the golden light exploding off of him in waves of power. His eyes are pure light. The air warps around him. Every step cracks the ground beneath him.

He drops to his knees beside me like the world is ending.

Because maybe for him—it just did.

“No. No no no no—no. Y/N—Y/N—LOOK at me—”

He gathers me in his arms, cradling me so gently it almost hurts. The heat of him is blinding, but it doesn’t burn. I feel his chest rise in ragged, panicked gasps.

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just—just stay with me. Please.”

Blood runs down his hands. Onto his knees. The floor is red beneath us.

He presses his glowing palm to my wound—and it sears. I scream.

“Don’t—don’t move, I’m trying—I’m trying to help—”

But my eyes are closing.

“Don’t you—don’t you dare—don’t leave me.”

He’s glowing too bright. The golden light is ripping out of him like he’s breaking apart from the inside. Cracks of white-hot power shatter across his skin. His voice is shaking. His eyes are tears and fire.

Yelena’s behind him, crying—furious and helpless.

Bucky’s trying to reach me but he stops—because even he can’t get near Bob now.

The whole room is collapsing around us, but I only feel him.

I press my hand—shaking, blood-soaked—to his cheek.

“Bob,” I whisper. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” he breathes, broken. “Not if I lose you.”

Everything goes black.

Then something tries to drag me back.

There’s no sound. Only pressure — like drowning under warm, golden waves. I feel it in my chest first, a surge that burns behind my ribs. I think I scream, but I can’t hear it.

I surface for half a second—

And Bob is still holding me.

I’m on the floor. Or maybe I’m not. It’s hard to tell with the way the world is sliding. But his arms are around me, my body limp against him, and he’s glowing like a broken sun — like whatever’s inside him is spilling out and he can’t stop it.

My head rolls against his shoulder. His hand is cradling the back of my neck.

He’s whispering. Over and over. I can’t catch every word.

“Please. Stay. Please. I can’t—I can’t—not you.”

-on the quinjet

I’m weightless.

No—I’m strapped down. I’m on something. There’s vibration beneath me. A jet.

There’s a needle in my neck. My chest feels like it’s been torn open and stitched shut with fire.

I try to open my eyes. I can’t. My lashes are crusted with something. Blood?

A voice.

Bob.

Panicked. Low.

He’s arguing with someone. No, begging.

“You don’t understand—she stopped breathing. She was gone. You can’t keep me away from her.”

“Bob, she needs surgery. If you overload again, you’ll fry the entire med bay.” That’s Bucky. Measured. Calm. But tight with tension.

“Then don’t touch her. I’ll do it. Just—just don’t take her away from me.”

He’s scared.

The air crackles with his light. It buzzes like static between my bones. I try to speak—to tell him I’m okay, to touch his hand—but nothing moves. Not my lips. Not my fingers.

I slip again.

-at the tower

it’s Cold.

So cold.

The light above me flickers in pulses. My vision stutters. White walls. White sheets. A monitor beeping in the distance. Something breathes for me. A tube? My chest is heavy. There’s pressure on my side—bandages. Stitches.

Voices. Muffled. As if underwater.

I feel hands again.

His hands.

Bob is beside me, fingers curled into mine like a lifeline.

His forehead rests against the mattress, pressed to the edge of the bed like prayer. His other hand is on my chest, right above where my ribs shattered, glowing faintly — not healing, just being there.

Like if he leaves, I’ll slip away again.

And maybe I will.

I feel his light pulse against me in waves. Not strong this time. Soft. Frayed.

“You died,” he whispers.

“I—I felt it. Your heart stopped. You looked at me… and you were gone.”

His voice breaks.

“I would’ve torn the whole world down if you didn’t come back.”

His words sound muffled, my brain hazy, It’s hard to keep my eyes open. I want to fight it but I can’t. I let the darkness consume me.

-2 days later

Light.

It’s too bright.

And too quiet.

The kind of quiet that means something bad happened.

I blink, once. My eyes burn. My throat is dry like someone dragged sandpaper through it. There’s something in my arm — an IV? Monitors beep soft rhythms. My whole body feels… wrong. Heavy. Bandaged. Broken.

Alive.

I’m still alive.

The air stutters in my lungs, jagged and slow. A fractured inhale. My ribs scream. I try to speak, but it’s a rasp.

Someone moves.

A chair scrapes back fast. A metal cup clatters to the floor.

“Y/N?”

Bob.

He’s right there.

He was sitting beside the bed — slumped forward in a plastic chair — but now he’s at my side, crouching low, eyes wide and shining. His hands hover over me like he’s afraid I’ll shatter again.

I try to say his name. My lips barely move.

He sees it anyway.

“You’re awake,” he breathes, voice cracked and ragged like he hasn’t slept in days.

His hands finally touch me — one over mine, the other on my forehead, soft and shaking. He doesn’t glow. He doesn’t burn. He’s just warm.

“I thought—” His throat tightens. “I thought I lost you.”

I want to say you didn’t. I want to say I’m here. But my eyes close again just from trying.

He doesn’t move. He just stays, forehead against mine, fingers gently tangled with mine.

Then the door hisses open.

And suddenly, everyone is there.

Bucky enters first. Quiet. Watchful. Like he’s checking for a threat no one else sees. He stays back, arms crossed, but his eyes never leave me.

Yelena’s next — and she gasps. Audibly.

“Oh my god—” She runs to the edge of the bed. “You’re up? You’re up!”

She grabs my wrist like she needs proof I’m real. “You scared the shit out of us.”

Behind her, Ava and John come in. John’s standing too stiff. Ava looks like she’s been crying — but would punch anyone who pointed it out.

Bob slowly stands and steps back to give them space. I miss his hand immediately.

John’s the first to talk.

“About time,” he grunts, arms folded. “Who the hell’s gonna make my dinner now?”

Ava smacks his arm.

“What?” he shrugs. “She’s the only one who knows how to cook chicken without giving everyone salmonella.”

My lips twitch. A half-smile. A breath of a laugh I don’t have the strength for. That’s enough for John — his posture softens, and he looks away like he didn’t mean to care that much.

Bucky clears his throat. Walks over. Stops near my feet.

“You scared me, kid,” he says simply.

I blink slowly.

“You remind me of someone,” he adds. “Someone I used to protect. You get under people’s skin before they realize you’re already in their life. Just—don’t do that again, alright?”

I nod once. His eyes soften. Then he steps back.

Ava leans closer now. Her face is unreadable, but her fingers brush the corner of the blanket, just enough to straighten it.

“You should’ve phased out,” she says quietly. “Could’ve saved yourself.”

Her voice cracks. “But you saved me. You saved all of us.”

She doesn’t wait for a response. She just squeezes my arm, once, and steps away, eyes shining.

Then Yelena shifts.

“I want a minute,” she says, voice hard. “Alone.”

Everyone pauses. Bob doesn’t move.

“Bob,” she says again. “She’s alive. Just give me a second.”

His jaw flexes. He doesn’t want to leave.

But he does. One last glance — and then he’s gone.

The door closes.

She stares at me for a moment. Breathing heavy. Frozen.

And then — she breaks.

“I told myself I wasn’t gonna do this again,” she whispers. Her accent thickens with grief. “Not after losing Natasha. Twice.”

She kneels beside the bed. Hands trembling.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t get close to anyone. Not like that. Not like sisters.”

She laughs — bitter, cracked.

“But then you—”

She breaks again. Head on the mattress beside me. Her hand covers mine.

“You made it impossible. You stupid, loud, powerful witch. You brought me back. You made me feel like I had a family again. And when you didn’t wake up—”

Her shoulders shake.

“I thought I lost you. And I couldn’t breathe.”

I squeeze her hand.

Barely.

But enough.

She gasps and lifts her head. “You’re really here?”

My lips part. Still weak. Still raw.

But the word comes.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

She lets out a laugh and a sob in the same breath. “Don’t do that again.”

“Try not to,” I rasp.

-Later that night

The lights are dim. The others have gone to sleep or left for air. It’s quiet again.

The door creaks open.

Bob steps in.

Not glowing. Just Bob.

He walks slowly to the side of the bed. Folds himself back into the chair. He stares at my hand.

“I almost lost it,” he says quietly. “When your heart stopped. I didn’t know I could feel that kind of pain and still exist.”

I stay silent. Let him speak.

“I wanted to burn everything down. I almost did.”

He finally meets my eyes. His voice goes soft — cracked.

“You make me feel… human. And that terrifies me.”

My breath catches.

His fingers brush mine.

“I’m not good at this,” he says, barely above a whisper. “But I need you to know. Before I lose the chance again.”

He leans closer.

“I care about you. More than I should. More than I know what to do with.”

Silence.

Just our breath. The slow rhythm of the machines. His hand over mine.

“I care too,” I whisper.

His eyes flutter shut. Like hearing it hurts in the best way.

“Okay,” he says.

Just that.

But it’s enough.

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