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shiningsuki · 1 month ago

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reverie - bob reynolds x reader

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x Fem!Reader Summary: Bob’s a drummer, a hidden talent he greets as an old friend after being sober. To the New Avengers’ chagrin, he practices in the basement almost every day since they bought him a new set, and they decide to soundproof the room. You’ve sat in every one of Bob’s sessions, and one day, everything changes. Warnings: Minor language. None, really, just self-indulgent tooth aching fluff. Content: Drummer!Bob, Mentions Thunderbolts* crew, Kissing, Making Out (very PG13) AO3 🔗: <- read it on ao3! Word Count: 3.3k A/N: Thanks yall for the love on my last Bob fic 🥹 This one is soooo self-indulgent, as soon as I discovered Lewis Pullman is a drummer irl, my Spidey senses were tingling. I have another drummer au cooking. I LOVE drummers and as an alt rock/emo kid, writing this was so cathartic. This is not good for my health maybe but I’m having the time of my life. Enjoy 💓💓 listen to the song in the fic below! PTV my inspo for life <3

The dishes on the dining table clink ever so slightly in a steady rhythm. The beat echoes in your ears, thuds in your heart. You take a look around the table—most of the team carries out their business as usual, though you notice a tension in their bodies, as if poised to attack, a string about to snap. Yelena’s foot taps up and down, and Alexei drums his fingers while reading the newspaper. Bucky cracks his neck and Walker’s hand grips the edge of the dining table tightly. Ava’s eyes wander around, mirroring your glances. You catch her eye, and she grimaces.

Movement flashes in your peripheral and you shift your attention to Walker. He slams his spoon down in the cereal bowl in front of him and rubs his eyes, groaning loudly.

“It’s 9 in the morning,” He grumbles. “Does the boy ever sleep?”

“Bob’s not a boy, Walker,” You jump to Bob’s defense, per usual. Walker glares at you, and you shrug it off. “You know he drums to let off steam. And it helps.”

Cymbals crash in the penthouse’s basement, and booming drum sounds seem to reverberate throughout the place, growing in volume with every word you say. You wince. Yelena rolls her eyes, not saying a word as she gets up from her seat to put her dishes away.

“Yeah well, we need to soundproof the damn basement at this point,” Walker continues to murmur. “I have a headache already. Another week of this and we’ll all go deaf.”

Bucky nods, ever so stoic. “Walker’s got a point. It’ll be good to order sound panels.” You acquiesce, rubbing your neck sheepishly.

“Um, okay, well I’m just gonna go,” You announce to everyone, who waves you off in their various manners. Again, Ava gives you a pointed look, which you steadily avoid as you rinse off your dishes, dump them in the dishwasher, and scurry off.

Perhaps you’ve taken the liberty to sit in a couple of Bob’s sessions. Or all of them this past week. Out of pure curiosity, of course; the man never struck you as a drummer. As jumpy as he is, you assumed he wouldn’t like loud noises in general.

“It’s not that I can’t tolerate loud noises completely,” Bob explained to you at a session earlier this week. “If I can control it and I’m not startled by a sudden noise, the decibel level doesn’t really bother me. But when it’s crowded and there’s lots of movement around me and I feel like I can’t control my surroundings, that’s when I get overstimulated.”

You were pleased and not at all surprised to find that he’s talented at drumming, exceptional even. At first, he was very shy and would only tinker with the cymbals the first time, opting to chat with you about music and what he’s listening to nowadays.

You didn’t mind at all; you jumped at any chance to talk to Bob and get to know him more. He eventually gave into your pleading and managed to jam out to a few Motley Crüe songs by the third session. You just sat there, earplugs in, jaw slack from seeing Bob lose himself in the music. It’s a sight you secretly relish and feel honored bearing witness to.

Nobody else had really watched Bob play, just you. They heard how good he was upstairs; one day you’re going to drag everyone’s asses downstairs for a mini show. You already know convincing Bob to play in front of all his friends will be like pulling teeth, but you’re determined to shine his light onto the world however you can. He deserves that much.

Usually, your teammates barely notice your absence during Bob’s practices. Lost in your thoughts as you drift into the hallway, you jerk to attention once you catch Yelena’s eye. The blonde gives an equally penetrating look as Ava’s, if not more bemused. She chuckles as you duck your head down, eyes downcast and hair falling into your face. No doubt your cheeks are turning pink as you feel your skin burn.

Perhaps you haven’t been so subtle. The women caught onto your unique attachment to Bob early on, much before you started watching him play, but with not so much of a confession from you about your feelings. You like Bob’s company, and he seems to like yours, too. You’d jump back into that void to bring him back, encourage and believe in him until he believes in himself, and continue to be his biggest cheerleader afterward. You’d do anything to see him happy.

Working everything else out that comes with said feelings is a later problem.

For now, after weaving your way through the penthouse’s hallways, you arrive at the door leading to the basement. You quickly glance behind you and disappear downwards, following the sound of drums getting louder and louder. You’re prepared, digging out squishy earplugs from your pocket and stuffing them in your ears. Your feet hit the ground and walk in time with the rhythm Bob’s drumming out. You raise your eyes and stop dead in your tracks as soon as he’s in line of sight.

He’s in the corner of the makeshift studio room, back against the wall and facing you. His eyes are closed shut as the beat steadies into the same rhythm. What catches you off guard is what he’s wearing: a drenched white muscle tee, which exposes Bob’s muscular arms, equally slick with sweat. Veins strain on his lower arms nearing his wrist, and a snapback sits on top of wet, brown curls.

You stare, mouth open, as he continues to drum without noticing your presence. This is far from his usual wardrobe. He loves oversized sweaters and pants, anything comfortable that offers a misleading frame for how toned his body is. This is the first time you’ve seen him expose more skin, and you blush furiously. It almost maddens you how much more attractive he becomes from a simple style change.

After a few beats of you ogling at him, Bob’s eyes flutter open and widen as he sees you. He abruptly stops playing, hands clamping over the cymbals to stop them from ringing. A minor reverberation hums from the rest of the equipment before fading away, and you and Bob just watch each other in silence.

Inadvertently, you glance down at his shirt, which you also notice has low-hanging arm holes and exposes the rest of his lean torso. You gulp as Bob shrinks into himself, cowering from your stare. You avert your eyes, looking all over the room in pointed curiosity, as if you’ve never been in it.

“S-sorry, I just get hot and this shirt is airy,” Bob announces, his voice a little louder than normal to adjust after playing. He grabs a white towel hanging on a nearby rack and wipes his face. He also takes off his hat and shakes his head. You see small droplets fall away as he proceeds to wipe the towel into his curls. You blink, feeling your cheeks burn hotter as you catch yourself staring.

“No, no, it’s fine. You look good.” You give him two awkward thumbs up, crossing the rest of the length of the large room to sit down on a nearby couch. You fidget with your hands, smoothing your clothes and hair, trying not to smack your forehead in embarrassment.

Bob quirks his mouth up in a lopsided grin from behind the towel. You glance back up at him, and your chest constricts from the gesture, as equally awkward and endearing. The sentiment makes your throat tighten, and you try to shake the nerves away by returning his smile.

“Thanks,” Bob replies as he wipes his neck. “You too.”

You quirk your eyebrow at him, bemused, and he turns scarlet, ducking his head. Bob clears his throat for a few seconds, and you can only laugh, affection blooming in your chest.

“So, you’re paying me another visit?”

“Well, yeah,” You say, leaning back and shrugging. “I’m your biggest fan.”

Bob laughs at that. You resist smiling wider, fearing it’ll give you away too much. Every time he laughs at one of your jibes, whether you mean them to be funny or not, you can’t help feeling proud that you could lift his spirits, even in the smallest of ways.

“I’m flattered, m’lady,” He bows in his seat. “Any requests?”

Bob twirls his drumsticks in his hands as he readjusts in his seat, and you track the movement, slightly dazed. Shaking your head, you look up to the ceiling, thinking for a moment.

“Surprise me.” You reply, and he nods. Bob reaches behind him to add a track on the soundboard, but you stop him.

“Wait! Okay, one thing: the team thinks we should get sound panels down here. A closed door can only soundproof so much.”

Bob freezes, and he looks back at you, cheeks turning bright red again. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I’ve just been so excited since we got this set last week, I haven’t played in forever, and I’ve been down here every day, I can’t believe I didn’t realize how loud I’d—”

“Bob!” You raise your voice to stop his verbal spiral. “It’s okay, I promise.” You stand up and move toward him, shimmying behind the set and placing your arm on his shoulder. Bob winces from your touch, a reflex of his that you and everyone’s gotten used to, before he leans in.

“Sorry, I’m really sweaty,” He mutters under his breath, the blush on his face creeping up to his ears.

You laugh, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of his hair back before realizing what you were doing. Bob looks up at you, stunned, and you realize how close you’re standing to his body. Your mouth shapes into a little “o.” Bob glances down at your lips and back up to your eyes, slight fear in his own mixed with an expression of awe. You bite your lips and look away, feeling blood rush in your ears.

“We’ll order the sound panels, okay? But keep playing till then, everyone will just have to deal with it.” You avoid Bob’s gaze as you make your way out from behind the set and plop down on a stool nearby.

“So,” You continue, twiddling your fingers in your lap. “What you got for me?”

Bob straightens out of his stupor, and he clears his throat. He also looks everywhere but you, adjusting his hat, turning to the soundboard to cue up the next track. He clicks a button, and a melody starts, slow and twinkling. It’s different from the immediate headbanging music he plays, but the music builds up with an electric guitar solo into a hopeful melody, and Bob starts drumming along.

Are you up there? Just give me a signal, I’m reaching you now

‘Cause I remember the sound of your voice

But I don’t remember what we talked about

It doesn’t matter, that’s a waste of time

You bob your head to the rhythm, swaying with the sweeping melody. You close your eyes, getting lost in the music. When you open them again, Bob stares at you earnestly, still drumming along. He starts to mouth along with the lyrics, still locking eyes with you, even though you see his lip trembling.

So take off your rings and lipstick

I swear that I can hear you in the wind

You’re singing to me and

You’re dancing in the halls outside again

I’m always listening

Your breath hitches. Bob looks down at the drumset for a brief moment, then back at you. It’s like you’re the only one that exists in his mind, the center of his attention. And he has all of yours.

Send me off into space on this rocket invention

We’ll look at the lights over the atmosphere

Eat gold medal ribbon ‘til we die up here

It’s self-sabotage, suffocation, and stale taste of blood

Your chest constricts further, and your heart thumps in time with the beat. It threatens to leap out of your throat as you freeze, the beauty of this incredible man in front of you rendering you speechless. Unassuming, quiet Bob erupts like a volcano in his element. On fire, electric—the energy you both share in this space escalates and crescendos as the music does.

I’ll teach you to love

Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

I’ll teach you to love

Oh-oh, oh-oh, again!

Bob’s eyes remain locked on you. Tears prick in your eyes; you don’t want to blink and miss anything.

Swear that I can hear you in the wind

You’re singing to me and

Dancing in the halls outside again

I’m always listening

As the song reaches its end, Bob drums furiously, passionately, a man on a high. You draw in a sharp breath. You know Bob’s past, what he’s entrusted to you and your teammates. His addictive nature spills over here, but in a way that you know lifts his soul. In this makeshift studio, he deems sacred a space he’s willing to share with you. In this moment, you witness a type of euphoria that can only be shared by two people, letting the music wash over you and lead you somewhere you’ve always wanted to go.

I’m always listening

I swear, I swear, I swear…

Like time slowed, and sped up again to this very moment, Bob ends the song with a flourish of the toms. The silent seconds stretching after, only the hum of the soundboard filling the void, threaten to cave in on you, but you don’t dare move. Bob’s chest heaves up and down as he blinks away the sweat in his eyes, streaming down his face. You breathe just as heavily, not knowing what to say, as you share an indescribable look with him.

Something in the air shifts. You feel it the moment you stand up, Bob following suit, and you both walk towards each other. Your steps carry you forward in a frenzy, like a buzzing underneath the surface of your skin that you just have to get out. You stop inches from Bob’s frame and look up at him. He carries a wild look in his eyes, a shadow beneath softness. He’s terrified.

Cautiously, you bring your hand to that same damn stray hair and tuck it back. You notice Bob straining to remain as still as possible, shoulders tense and hands balled into fists. His eyes never leave yours. You rest your palm against his cheek, gently touching the stubble growing there. He leans into your touch, sighing, and moves his hand to grip yours. It’s firm but equally gentle, if not more. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“Bob, that was wonderful,” You whisper, struggling to meet his eyes fully. “You’re so talented. Thank you for playing that for me.”

Bob grips your hand tighter, nodding. “I hear that song and I think of you. And I mean every word.”

You finally look up at him and see just how close his face is to yours. You gaze up, stars in your vision. They reflect in his eyes, oceans of wonder, as he flicks his eyes down to your lips and back up again.

“Um,” He starts. Bob’s eyes flit back and forth all over your face. He struggles to get more words out, his eyebrows furrowing. “C-can I… Can I…”

You laugh, smoothing out the lines on his forehead and sliding his hat back, letting it drop to the floor as his hair falls out in waves. You run your fingers through, eliciting a soft groan from Bob. Your hands’ sweat mixes with his own, but the warmth in his skin is all you need to cool your clammy hands.

“Yes.” You whisper and close the distance.

Bob’s lips crash into yours, and you breathe in his scent deeply as he embraces you. Just like that, the warmth from his body washes over you like a wave, pulling you under and overwhelming your senses. Your body feels like it’s on fire. You breathe Bob in: honey, vanilla, and a musk that you can only prescribe to his being. The kiss is sloppy, frenzied, reflecting everything you feel inside. Your head spins, unsure how you’re staying present while Bob’s hands roam your body tenderly, his touch as cautious as ever, settling on your waist and squeezing with care.

You did not plan for this. The most you’d exchange with Bob are brushes of the hand and rubbing his shoulders when he’s tense. But the music got you drunk; he got you drunk on being in his space alone. And sure enough, a wild guess you never would have expected, Bob kisses you back, careful, and ever more fervent as the minutes pass. He kisses you like a promise, a token of devotion that he saves for you and you only. And you kiss him in prayer, hands roaming through his hair, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath his shirt, and wrapping around his neck like a lifeline.

You remained there, lost in each other’s arms, that you didn’t notice a pair of boots walk down the basement steps and the hurried knock rapping on the doorframe.

“Yo, wheels up in—oh my god!”

Yelena’s voice snaps you out of your reverie, and you pull away from Bob, whipping your head to the blonde while remaining in Bob’s embrace. Yelena’s eyes look back and forth between you and him, a Cheshire smile full of glee and mirth rising in her expression.

“Don’t,” You groan, rolling your eyes.

“I knew it!” Yelena shouts, whooping and pointing her finger at you. “Good on you! Wheels up in 10! Guys, guess who I finally found making out in the basement!”

“Yelena!” You shout after her, but she’s already bounding up the stairs, hollering for the rest of the team. Her shouts fade as she ascends, and you groan, hitting your head against Bob’s chest.

You feel a deep chuckle reverberate through his body. “Well, they’re never letting us live that down.” His voice shakes with nervousness and laughter.

“Nope,” You reply, your voice muffled. Your heart flutters at the mention of “us.” You raise your head and look at Bob. His lips are slightly red and swollen, and the blush on his face and chest is bright all over. You grin and lazily kiss him again. He inhales, seeming to drink in your scent just as you did his.

You pull away and frown slightly. “Um, I’m sorry if that was too much. I know that was sudden—”

Bob shifts to run a hand through your hair, shaking his head. “No, no, it’s alright. I wanted to. And that was amazing. You’re amazing.”

His voice drops to a murmur, and all you can do is smile at him softly. You share one last kiss before you reluctantly pull yourself away from his embrace.

“I have to go,” You say as your fingers stay intertwined with his. “See you later?”

Bob grins. “You bet.”

You share another kiss before you turn toward the stairs. Your foot hits the first step, and you grab the railing before turning back to him. “Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“Send me more of those songs that remind you of me. And I’ll do the same.”

Bob laughs, ducking his head shyly while rubbing his neck. He shifts from foot to foot and plays with his hands, his shirt, and everything his fingers can touch. He grabs his hat from the floor and slides it back on his head, adjusting it. He smiles at you.

“Sure thing.”

You grin and turn away, flying up the stairs two steps at a time. You touch your lips, fingers ghosting skin, and smile giddily. Everything’s different now, and it changed so fast; you’ll have to sit down and talk to Bob about everything when you return. But knowing the kindest, most devoted man you could ever meet on the planet is on your side, you’re no longer afraid, and you know he feels the same way too.

You can face what the rest of the world has to throw at you together.

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