utopeian

[utopeian]

one cruel mind

SUMMARY You're humiliated how much a dream of Bob cheating on you gets to your head, but he has no problem showing you that you're it for him, for the rest of your lives.

PAIRING bob reynolds x gender neutral!thunderbolt!reader

GENRE hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship

WORD COUNT 1.4k

WARNINGS not proofread, mentions of cheating, descriptions of relationship insecurity & self-doubt, lots of begging and yearning, sentry and the void linger around if you look hard enough, no mention of Y/N

AUTHOR’S NOTE just had to let this idea out of my system. i tried to keep this under 800 words, but alas..

Bob doesn’t know what he did wrong.

You’d been short with him all day: half-assed responses, glances that were less than, your eyes never meeting his own, your whole body slightly skewed away from him whenever he’s beside you. He was lucky to even have you present in the same room as him. He knew he’d drive you away eventually— constantly anticipating the possibility— he just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

The out of place behavior was extended towards your teammates tenfold, but Bob at least expected to be your exception. He always was, you reassured him he was; he supposes he got ahead of himself. 

You had created a safe space for him: making sure he was heard by the rest of the team when the volume among them raises, going out of your way to check up on him in his room even if you lie and tell him you were just passing by, noting down observations of what he likes and doesn’t to make sure you never make him uncomfortable by accident. You knew him.

He spirals recalling all the things you did for him like it was second nature. Maybe it became all too much for you, maybe he didn’t reciprocate your love enough, maybe you realized that he was no longer worth your time.

Bob’s brain doesn’t process that he’s already walking away from his warm seat in the living room and towards your bedroom where you scurried off to after barely eating dinner. You’ve always gone out of your way to make sure he was alright, it would never hurt him to do the same.

His knuckles tentatively grazed your door for a few seconds before knocking lightly so as not to startle you. He lets a few seconds of nothing pass before knocking once more. “Can I come in?”

“...Not right now.” It’s barely there, but he hears it. He’s thankful he does. He rests his forehead on the rich dark wood and lets out a pleading sigh, akin to a pained whimper.

“Please, I need to see you. Need to hear your voice again.”

You give into his begging; it’s difficult not to. Bob immediately hears the mechanisms of your door turning to reveal you behind it. You’re holding the same defeated expression you had the whole day, still avoiding eye contact, and he wants nothing more than to make it all go away. At this point he doesn’t care as he steps in your space, closing the door behind him, and his hands quickly move to cup yours. His expression falls, however, when he sees you tense up. But something in him doesn’t want to release you, so he doesn’t.

“My love, let me go.”

Familiar, yet unwelcoming gold specks flicker in his eyes. They’re gone as fast as they came. “Funny how you call me love in the same breath you tell me to let go.”

His grip on your hands is commandingly gentle; it’s not tight enough to hurt you. (The word yet lingers dangerously behind that sentence.) You try to pull your hands away, but they’re as heavy as metal to a magnet. You can only plead to him to let go. “Bob… please.” 

He shakes his head, snapping out of it, trying to erase the possibility of breaking up with you out of his mind. He doesn’t want to exist in a lifetime where he lets you slip through his fingers knowing it was his fault, something that could have been fixed. Bob’s lower lip gets caught between his teeth before he speaks again. “What’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you?” 

You want to caress his jaw, thumb at his lower lip to release it from the abuse of his bite. Instead, you shift ever so slightly, finding the flooring more interesting. Despite the desperation, he waits for you. Two minutes pass.

“I had a dream that you cheated on me.”

Tension clouds your room. You know it’s absurd, to let a figment of your cruel imagination affect you this badly to the point of almost reinviting self-isolation. He looked wounded, like he’d actually done something to hurt you, like you’d accused him of actually cheating on you. It takes him a moment to realize this was no longer about him and wasted no more time to reassure you.

“Baby,” the desperation in his voice made something in the pit of your stomach stir. His hands move up to your elbows to pull you closer, “look at me, please.”

You don’t hold his intense gaze for more than half a beat, a lump instantly manifesting in your throat. How humiliating, you think to yourself. Tears pool in your waterline like a basin left outside to collect rainwater during a storm; it almost overflows. “It’s pathetic. I’ll get over it, just come back lat—”

His palm brushes against your cheek as he holds your face. You know you can’t defeat the urge to lean in, you don’t fight it. Your eyes flutter closed so he doesn’t stare into your soul, doesn’t see how much the mere idea of him being with someone else pains you, swallowing your being whole. His composure breaks when he sees you force your saliva down to discard any tears dangerously wanting to flow free. Bob thinks he’s about to cry, too.

“Let— I need to see you.”

You start to heave as your eyes slowly open, still afraid of what he’ll say. Ironic, because he isn’t even capable of thinking bad about you. Guilt starts to follow after realizing this fact, but you don’t even know when your previous emotions started in the first place. All you knew is that you needed him out of your room to regulate whatever you were feeling. 

Your plans of self-reflection evaporate as soon as you properly meet his eyes for the first time today. He looks at you so hurt and longingly that you can’t help but lay it all on him. He wouldn’t want it any other way; he wants to hear it. “Bob, this is so fucking dumb. You know I would never accuse you of cheating. I… I loathe how my brain feeds me the most absurd shit ever and it makes me start thinking that you’d be so much happier with someone else.”

In the midst of your monologue, you don’t realize that his other hand found its way to rub your back to soothe you. Once you do while trying to pace your breathing, it’s enough to tip the basin over. You choke almost violently on a sob, “You’re too good for me.”

He’s quick to kiss your tears away, you wouldn’t be surprised if the immediate action gave him whiplash. He’s indifferent to the ones that pour out of his own eyes. “You’re too good for me.”

Bob blots away your remaining tears with his thumbs. He knows he looks as guilty as he feels. “Fuck, I’m sorry I don’t do enough for you. I’m sorry I let there be room for doubt. I’m so sorry I don’t tell you enough, but I love you.”

You’re desperate to keep him to yourself, to have his lips against yours, to feel him; urgency to use him as an anchor blinds you. The needy and impulsive kiss you share with Bob is salty. He syncs himself to your rhythm, relaxing against your touch as your hands wipe his tears, and finally resting them on his nape to pull him deeper into your lips. Bob whimpers, ardently gripping your hips to flush you closer. There’s still too much space. You both want more, but you pull away to breathe. Fuck, if you could, you’d suffocate yourself to death while loving Bob for hours on end.

He rests his forehead on yours to catch his breath. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel otherwise. I— I don’t want anyone else, okay? You’re my partner for life, if you’ll continue to have me.”

Eyes glassy with lust and love, lips puffy, chest void of the inner turmoil built up from the morning until nightfall. You muster a shy, wet smile; he immediately returns it, his expression no more composed than yours. “That better be a promise. I’ll love you for as long as we’re alive. It’s you and me, Bob.”

He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh of ease, “It’s you and me.”

[utopeian]

you get it 🙂‍↕️ considering that he spends time reading too.. it makes sense to me!

a man who yearns

SUMMARY Having his hands on you keeps him present. Little does Bob know, his touch is what keeps you present.

PAIRING bob reynolds x gender neutral!thunderbolt!reader

GENRE vague relationship, but they like each other, fluff, a lot of nonsexual intimacy

WORD COUNT 1k+

WARNINGS not proofread! reader wears heels and makeup, no mention of Y/N

AUTHOR’S NOTE hi, this is my first time writing for bob! so sorry in advance for the inaccuracies.. this was based off a little dream i had, hehe.. hope y'all still like it, though! <3

The minimal chatter and droning of the television that usually echoes throughout the newly renovated living quarters are absent. A rare occasion. The only way one can get to experience this wholly is to sneak out of Valentina’s galas hours earlier than intended; that’s exactly what you and Bob did. Over, and over, and over again. The rest of the team stopped questioning your sudden disappearances after the first few times, eventually understanding that the two of you need a head-start to recover from social settings.

“I don’t understand it. Just don’t interact with anyone when you get tired, easy!”

“Alexei, that is not how it works.”

Although this time, you might’ve had one too many servings of champagne tonight before booking it out of the flashy venue. You wanted to try something out of your comfort zone, slowly but surely. You knew it was a disaster waiting to happen when you asked Yelena in passing if you should let loose, but you still wanted her validation. (Of course, she enabled you; she always thinks you deserve to let loose).

The tipsy haze slowing your movement and speech might not be clear to you, but it is to Bob. Even if he wanted to drink as much as you so you wouldn’t feel all alone, it would’ve evaporated the moment it entered his system, because of the serum and all. Instead, he settled for the next best thing: being your guardian angel for the night. That’s how the two of you end up on the floor, you using one of the sleek couches as a backrest as he sits across from you. He’d follow you anywhere, no matter how questionable. Bob doesn’t mean to cut your tangent off when he blurts out, “Why are we on the floor again?” He tenses immediately when he imagines your reaction to what he just did. He prepares for the worst.

You blink twice, not too bothered that the topic changed, knowing it had to stop at some point. You don’t really remember what you were going on about, anyway. “Oh! My heels are still on. Don’t wanna get up anymore.” The reason doesn’t make sense, but Bob keeps that comment to himself. The last thing he wants is to upset a tipsy you, or you at any moment in time. He instead focuses on the fact that you don’t hate him just because he diverted your attention away from what you were talking about.

You straighten your legs in front of you from their initial folded position, alternating each polished shoe tip to playfully point in Bob’s direction. Despite your follow-up complaint that you want them off, you do nothing. He knows you’re fully capable of doing things on your own when you want to, that’s only one of the many things he loves about you, but he tries to grab every opportunity to show you that he cares. This is no different. He shuffles in his place and takes advantage of your position as you start talking about a movie you rewatched the other day, oblivious to what he’s planning. 

He reaches over to gently grab the back of your shoe and slips it off your foot, shyly glances up to see that you’re still distracted, then takes the other off. Bob has one heel in each hand and hesitates for a second, thinking of where to put them. The poor, patient soul had really tried to listen to you while multitasking, but your words started running into each other. He didn’t catch the title of the film you were talking about (did you even mention it?). Your monologuing continues as he settles to put them about an arm's length away from the two of you, nodding at whatever you were saying, ensuring the pair was still in pristine condition. 

You fold your ankle over the other mindlessly, not noticing all that’s left to cover your feet are your stockings with some runs at the bottom. A corner of the brunet’s lips fondly quirks up at your action. Bob finally exhales through his nose; he’s thankful he can go back to listening to you properly. Well, he never listens to you fully, though, because he gets distracted by how beautiful you look in the dimly lit space with your makeup a little worn in, how the intimate setting fuels the wildfire spreading throughout his chest. Before he can stop himself, Bob inches closer to you, afraid to startle you but desperate to touch you in any form. As long as it’s you, it doesn’t matter how. Having his hands on you keeps him present. Little does he know, his touch is what keeps you present.

Unknowingly, in a way that makes it look like it’s as simple as breathing, he pulls you softly by the ankles to rest your feet on his lap. His hands don’t leave. Instead, they soothingly circle the inner parts of your ankle. Bob sees you practically melt under his touch, dissolving your train of thought to a sigh of relief. It’s enough to get him giddy; making you feel good makes him feel good. Your eyes flutter closed for a good minute before you remember where you are. “If you wanted me to shut up, y’should have just told me.”

His actions halt for a second, before he continues out of fear of getting chastised. “No! Keep telling me about Mr. Darcy and how a man who yearns is a man who earns.” You smile dopily at him and his heart wants to race out of his chest. You gladly continue.

The distant twinkling of the city lights against the abyss of the night, the occasional sirens and the flashing blues and reds, the humming of airplanes passing. The world around you accompanies your aimless conversation, but in this moment, you forget that you are two out of billions of… everything. It doesn’t matter, these details don’t matter. Everything fades away in the background because you have each other. That’s all you need. 

[utopeian]

BRO YOUR FIC WAS FIREEEEE

awhhh thank you!!! so so glad you enjoyed it xx

[utopeian]

a man who yearns

SUMMARY Having his hands on you keeps him present. Little does Bob know, his touch is what keeps you present.

PAIRING bob reynolds x gender neutral!thunderbolt!reader

GENRE vague relationship, but they like each other, fluff, a lot of nonsexual intimacy

WORD COUNT 1k+

WARNINGS not proofread! reader wears heels and makeup, no mention of Y/N

AUTHOR’S NOTE hi, this is my first time writing for bob! so sorry in advance for the inaccuracies.. this was based off a little dream i had, hehe.. hope y'all still like it, though! <3

The minimal chatter and droning of the television that usually echoes throughout the newly renovated living quarters are absent. A rare occasion. The only way one can get to experience this wholly is to sneak out of Valentina’s galas hours earlier than intended; that’s exactly what you and Bob did. Over, and over, and over again. The rest of the team stopped questioning your sudden disappearances after the first few times, eventually understanding that the two of you need a head-start to recover from social settings.

“I don’t understand it. Just don’t interact with anyone when you get tired, easy!”

“Alexei, that is not how it works.”

Although this time, you might’ve had one too many servings of champagne tonight before booking it out of the flashy venue. You wanted to try something out of your comfort zone, slowly but surely. You knew it was a disaster waiting to happen when you asked Yelena in passing if you should let loose, but you still wanted her validation. (Of course, she enabled you; she always thinks you deserve to let loose).

The tipsy haze slowing your movement and speech might not be clear to you, but it is to Bob. Even if he wanted to drink as much as you so you wouldn’t feel all alone, it would’ve evaporated the moment it entered his system, because of the serum and all. Instead, he settled for the next best thing: being your guardian angel for the night. That’s how the two of you end up on the floor, you using one of the sleek couches as a backrest as he sits across from you. He’d follow you anywhere, no matter how questionable. Bob doesn’t mean to cut your tangent off when he blurts out, “Why are we on the floor again?” He tenses immediately when he imagines your reaction to what he just did. He prepares for the worst.

You blink twice, not too bothered that the topic changed, knowing it had to stop at some point. You don’t really remember what you were going on about, anyway. “Oh! My heels are still on. Don’t wanna get up anymore.” The reason doesn’t make sense, but Bob keeps that comment to himself. The last thing he wants is to upset a tipsy you, or you at any moment in time. He instead focuses on the fact that you don’t hate him just because he diverted your attention away from what you were talking about.

You straighten your legs in front of you from their initial folded position, alternating each polished shoe tip to playfully point in Bob’s direction. Despite your follow-up complaint that you want them off, you do nothing. He knows you’re fully capable of doing things on your own when you want to, that’s only one of the many things he loves about you, but he tries to grab every opportunity to show you that he cares. This is no different. He shuffles in his place and takes advantage of your position as you start talking about a movie you rewatched the other day, oblivious to what he’s planning. 

He reaches over to gently grab the back of your shoe and slips it off your foot, shyly glances up to see that you’re still distracted, then takes the other off. Bob has one heel in each hand and hesitates for a second, thinking of where to put them. The poor, patient soul had really tried to listen to you while multitasking, but your words started running into each other. He didn’t catch the title of the film you were talking about (did you even mention it?). Your monologuing continues as he settles to put them about an arm's length away from the two of you, nodding at whatever you were saying, ensuring the pair was still in pristine condition. 

You fold your ankle over the other mindlessly, not noticing all that’s left to cover your feet are your stockings with some runs at the bottom. A corner of the brunet’s lips fondly quirks up at your action. Bob finally exhales through his nose; he’s thankful he can go back to listening to you properly. Well, he never listens to you fully, though, because he gets distracted by how beautiful you look in the dimly lit space with your makeup a little worn in, how the intimate setting fuels the wildfire spreading throughout his chest. Before he can stop himself, Bob inches closer to you, afraid to startle you but desperate to touch you in any form. As long as it’s you, it doesn’t matter how. Having his hands on you keeps him present. Little does he know, his touch is what keeps you present.

Unknowingly, in a way that makes it look like it’s as simple as breathing, he pulls you softly by the ankles to rest your feet on his lap. His hands don’t leave. Instead, they soothingly circle the inner parts of your ankle. Bob sees you practically melt under his touch, dissolving your train of thought to a sigh of relief. It’s enough to get him giddy; making you feel good makes him feel good. Your eyes flutter closed for a good minute before you remember where you are. “If you wanted me to shut up, y’should have just told me.”

His actions halt for a second, before he continues out of fear of getting chastised. “No! Keep telling me about Mr. Darcy and how a man who yearns is a man who earns.” You smile dopily at him and his heart wants to race out of his chest. You gladly continue.

The distant twinkling of the city lights against the abyss of the night, the occasional sirens and the flashing blues and reds, the humming of airplanes passing. The world around you accompanies your aimless conversation, but in this moment, you forget that you are two out of billions of… everything. It doesn’t matter, these details don’t matter. Everything fades away in the background because you have each other. That’s all you need.