bowiebugwrites

[bowiebugwrites]

Hi.. i wanna write 4 u guys this week.........

[bowiebugwrites]

alr I’m gonna play rivals then get around to these requests

[bowiebugwrites]

since 30 of you pressed the same button, I am once again tagging all my followers to let you all spam my inbox with requests. Whichever character you want off of the masterlist and it’s yours!!

@pigzkay07 @fandomandkass @leenababy @uselesscomicnerd @mah2101 @annggelllll @differentkingdombread @patherheart13 @cherryresidence @2amvibess @onlycucumberry @cherryexplosivecake555 @frankies-girl @bibonacita23 @veralovesanimeplusmanga @austinswhitewolf @nobodyyy1737 @tortilla-chips-and-allioli @ilovewithfictionalmen @thewintergoddess @superbreadsoul @angel1997-06 @my-mixed-up-reposts @aristotle97 @six-sided-die @sammyreidslut @froyofoxes @idkkapql @past3lprincess @rawrftzek

[bowiebugwrites]

OHOHOHOHOH MY DAYYYSS

[bowiebugwrites]

Focus on the Job

anonymous requested… “saw your post and saw you write about tf2 sniper? I have an idea for a tf2 sniper story that I personally cannot get off the ground, but I think it's pretty fire and am sure someone else could make into something really cool. So basically, Sniper gets called on a job to kill a woman's husband because he's cheating on her, and over the course of the job Sniper and the woman fall in love. My issue is I haven't nailed down an OC for the woman, but I think this could be an xreader idea too (although I don't read much xreader stories lol).”

cw: mentions of killing, mercenary work, cheating, swearing, female reader, feminine terms and pronouns, Bowie doesn’t know how New Zealanders talk

a/n: this one is going to be a bit more short and sweet, I’m sorry if it’s not what you imagined anon. I might do a bit more if I’m asked but I don’t know.

word count: 476

It was a job. That’s all it was supposed to be.

He’d gotten a call at night, and set to work in the morning. A very distressed sounding woman who said that her husband was cheating on her. Sniper wasn’t exactly a saint himself but he would not let a man cheat on a woman he’d devoted himself to. It was just plain cruel. The man had to be brought to justice. He agreed to take the client, he’d be killed from afar but he’d have to be paid face to face in cash after he was dead. It was a deal after that. The morning after the woman called, a bullet came sailing through her kitchen window and right between her husband’s eyes. Despite knowing exactly what she was paying for, she called the police, begging for help. Help came. She didn’t care. His body was gone. He was gone. That’s all that mattered.

The night was cold, you’re standing under a streetlight with your hands in your pockets. It’s around that part of summer when the morning and the nights are freezing despite the afternoons being hot. You have your hood up and over your head to try and hide your face or any defining features, but now you just look like a creep. A figure approached you, giving you a polite wave to show they weren’t a threat. It’s the man you spoke to on the phone, the Sniper.

The man that killed your lying, cheating husband.

You were glad to see him in person.

He stood next to you silently, hands in his own pockets. Despite the weather he still had his red sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Thanks by the way,” you said quietly, as if speaking too loud would physically shatter the silence, handing him the money you owed him. He nodded wordlessly.

“Any time,” he said, taking the money and stuffing it into his pocket in an informal manner. “Just doing my job.” You look up at him and smile at him.

“You got a name I can call you?” You ask, wondering exactly who he is.

“I’m just a sniper, ma’am, that’s all you gotta call me,” the Sniper replied. You heaved a sigh at the uninformative response, before turning on your heels to get back in your car and leave. “You know it’s a shame,” he calls out by the time that you’re in the dark and he’s still under that streetlight. “A woman as beautiful as you getting cheated on, a bloody shame.” You pause for a moment at the statement. You don’t say much for a few seconds, just looking at him over your shoulder.

“Goodbye, mister Sniper,” you say simply, before walking away. He’s left under the light of the street lamp and you’re left in the dark to walk to your car.

[bowiebugwrites]

[bowiebugwrites]

༘⋆｡ stirring the pot starters

a mix of arguments, tension, manipulation, gossiping, fighting, & general emotional messiness!

you  weren't  supposed  to  hear  that.

don't  look  at  me  like  i'm  the  only  one  lying.

want  to  tell  them,  or  should  i?

you  think  i  don't  know  what  you  did?

i've  hit  people  for  less.

oh,  i  thought  you  already  knew.

that's  funny,  you  didn't  say  that  last  night.

say  that  again.  i  dare  you.

you  wanna  talk  about  loyalty?

no  offense,  but  if  you're  the  last  to  know,  that's  on  you.

go  ahead  -  pretend  like  it  wasn't  your  idea!

they  deserve  to  know  the  truth.

you  didn't  hear  this  from  me,  but  -

oh,  so  now  you  care?

don't  flatter  yourself.  you  were  just  convenient.

you  crossed  a  line.

we  had  bets  on  how  long  it  would  last.

it's  not  even  a  secret  anymore.

you  don't  get  to  cry  about  it  now.

touch  me  again  and  see  what  happens.

say  it  again.  louder  this  time.

you  really  thought  nobody  would  find  out?

don't  act  so  innocent.

okay,  but  am  i  the  villain  for  laughing?

tell  me  who  else  knows.  right  now.

this  whole  time,  and  you  didn't  say  a  word?

don't  act  brave  now.

you're  really  gonna  do  this  here?

it  wasn't  supposed  to  get  this  far!

you  can't  rewrite  history.

oh,  i'd  never  say  it  to  their  faces.

it  was  supposed  to  stay  between  us.

we're  all  thinking  it,  i  just  said  it.

you're  not  as  untouchable  as  you  act.

do  you  even  feel  guilty?

they  warned  me  about  you.

go  ahead,  make  it  worse.

if  you  repeat  this,  i'll  deny  everything.

the  next  thing  out  of  your  mouth  better  be  an  apology.

you're  about  three  seconds  away  from  regretting  this.

you  keep  pushing,  and  i'll  push  you  back.

they're  going  to  find  out.

one  more  lie,  and  i  walk.

they're  lying  to  you.

you  need  to  back  off.  now.

you're  defending  them?  after  everything?

don't  try  to  hide  it.

tell  me,  was  i  just  a  placeholder?

you  really  think  sorry  fixes  this?

there's  nothing  left  to  say.

don't  act  like  you're  the  one  hurting.

i  don't  owe  you  any  explanation.

whatever  helps  you  sleep  at  night.

you  should've  seen  this  coming.

i  hope  it  was  worth  it.

i  told  the  truth.  just  not  all  of  it.

you'll  miss  me  before  i  miss  you.

smile.  you're  ruining  the  mood.

i'd  watch  that  tone  if  i  were  you.

it's  not  my  fault  you  believed  me.

you  have  such  a  talent  for  pretending  you're  innocent.

we  both  know  this  is  over.

i  never  said  i  was  a  good  person.

i  thought  you  were  different.

[bowiebugwrites]

sometimes I have to remind people: I’m Latina.

My great grandparents were from El Salvador, my grandma barely knew English, my mom got Americanized, and I came out with my white dad’s coloration. So I think a lot about how I’m never going to have to worry ICE because I have red hair and pale skin. Me and my dad are safe but something I worry what about my sister who’s browner than me, what about my mom? It’s not like I want to know fear, but it’s not like I wanna know nothing but privilege either.

just a thought

[bowiebugwrites]

not begging for requests or anything but having something to write would be like really nice you guys

[bowiebugwrites]

I have such a big thigh ride/thigh job kink- like Sam will just be reading a book and you'll be a whimpering mess in his lap and he just nudges his thigh up and down- maybe a little bit of anxiety? But you love him just as much for all him 😩 he whispers sweet praises and tells you how you'll soak his thighs like AAAA

omg i’m not even a sam girly but i’m twirling my hair and kicking my feet at this 🫡 this accidentally turned into a mini drabble idek i love thigh riding lol anyway 18+ pls <3

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

sam’s researching for a case and you’re all needy because he’s been out all day, leaving you alone back at the motel. dean’s gone out for a beer at the local dive, finally giving you and sam some time alone. but sam is just soooo busy. “c’mon, this case is important. can’t you wait?”

but your constant whining and fidgeting is so distracting, pulling his thoughts away from the lore books entirely, which causes him to finally break. “fine. c’mere, baby.”

sam lets you slip onto his thighs, your body cuddling up against his firm torso, your core pressing against his thigh muscle, trapped under his rough denim jeans.

your little fidgeting movements placate the aching between your legs, helping you find relief and pleasure. sam tries not to notice the grinding against his leg, but he’s just a man. his dick twitches in his boxers, and a smirk graces his face.

he starts bouncing his leg a little for you, helping your movements. as louder moans and whimpers tumble out of your mouth from his physical encouragement, he can’t help but praise you. you’re just too sweet. “there we go. is that helping, angel? you’re doing so good. keep going. you feel so warm, baby. gonna soak my leg at this rate.”

andddd you do. and then again, and again, and again, but around his cock when he finally gets you under him on the motel bed, helping you out like a good boyfriend should.

[bowiebugwrites]

love how I don’t like gambit as much as I like other characters on my writing list but I have more gambit fics than anyone else. So now ppl come to me for gambit fics. He isn’t what I wanna be known for, please make diff requests before I pause writing for him ;-;

[bowiebugwrites]

Aw, honey, you baked :)

@tortilla-chips-and-allioli requested… “Hey! Could I maybe request a fic with Remy LeBeau please? My brainrot for him is all consuming right now. Essentially my idea is Remy with an S/O (preferably female but it's your fic!) Who tried to make beignets for him for the first time, I'm thinking they're normally quite a good baker but whether or not the beignets turn out well is completely up to you! I'm thinking mostly fluff, maybe a little suggestive note thrown in towards the end? But I don't want to write the fic for you lol! Thank you so much!😊

a/n: I want everyone to be very fucking aware that I had to research how to make beignets for this. The things I would do for you guys…

word count: (520)

Beignets are such an odd treat but they taste like heaven.

I mean it’s such a weird thing. Most confections are baked, actually almost all. But beignets are deep-fried, which is such a weird thing. And you know Remy just loves beignets, so you thought it’d be fun to make him some. Turns out it was so simple that it was hard. Wait, no, that’s an oxymoron. It’s just simple then. Unfortunately for you, you needed to deep fry them, and you did not have a deep fryer. After extensive research, and some assistance from Anna Marie, you learned that you could bake them. So while Remy was out on some x-men business, you decided to play housewife and bake some beignets for him. How hard can it be?

The kitchen smelled of freshly baked pastries, which is smell that anyone would absolutely love to come home to. Especially after a tiring day of listening to Scott drone on and on, and danger room drills, and Jubilee talking much louder than necessary, and Logan throwing a tantrum over god knows what. Remy was exhausted, and the smell of freshly baked goodies hitting his nose made the tension melt away and made him feel like he was in heaven. As he steps into the kitchen of the X-Mansion, Remy is absolutely thrilled to find you leaning against the kitchen counter, eating a beignet with your phone in the other hand.

“Well well well, look what we have here,” Remy said, walking to stand in front of you. He set his hands on your waist, you set your phone down in the counter. “you make these for Gambit, chér?” He asked with a little smirk on his face.

“Maybe,” you say in a drawn out voice. You think he’s about to go in and kiss you, but he breaks away from your body and proceeds to go to the plate of beignets you have set aside for you, him, and the other x-men to share. “There’s plenty for everyone,” you add, trying to show how many you made as a testament to your hard work.

“Nah, chér, there’s enough for Gambit, I’m eating them all,” He said with a big smile, reaching over to the plate of beignets. He took a big bite into one, enjoying it until eventually he paused to think. “These ain’t deep fried,” he pointed out.

“No they are not,” you reply. “We don’t have a deep fryer so Rogue showed me how to bake them.” You stood there with a proud smile on your face, excited to see your boyfriend enjoy more of the treats you made.

“You know in hindsight, maybe there is enough for everyone,” Remy said, still grabbing a couple beignets regardless.

“Wuh- what’s wrong with them?” you ask, hands on your hips in an offended manner.

“Well ain’t nothin’ wrong with them, chér, just I prefer my beignets made the old fashioned way,” Remy said. He walked away, hands full of beignets. And you were left to wonder how the fuck you were supposed to get a deep fryer and do this right.

[bowiebugwrites]

[bowiebugwrites]

nsfw alphabet < sam winchester 3

a = aftercare (what they're like after sex) : sam is insanely gentle with you, picking you up with ease as he brings you to the the dingy motel bathroom, carefully setting you on the counter as he cleans you up, he helps you get dressed (youd feel like his little doll the way hes dressing you teehee!!) he would also love to brush your hair and take your makeup off if you hadnt already

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's) : his favourite body part of his own would 100% be his hands. his huge hands he uses to caress your curves, his long fingers he puts in your mouth when you just need something to suck on, the hands that always get the job done. his favourite body part of yours would either be your lips or your back!! he thinks your lips mustve been a gift from god, the feeling of your lips kissing his lips, his neck, all the way down his abs, its heaven. your back is just so smooth am feminine, something about it just so perfect the soft curves he can see as he slides his hands down, makes him feel woozy.

c = cum (anything to do with cum basically... i'm a disgusting person): he does not care where he does it, i mean hed cum anywhere as long as you told him told, but if he had to choose hed want it to be inside, he likes to feel like youre melting into one when hes finishing, very poetic.

d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) : you guys 100% have a sex tape i just know it. hed have his stupid little cam corder sitting on the bed when all of a sudden hes pointing it at you. youre practically drooling as you ride him into the bed, and the camera is tracing your whole body showing off your plush hips grinding against his, your tits bouncing at each move, then of course to your fucked out face. "cmon baby, show everyone whos the best girl-fuck" he says almost incoherently as he traces up your torso with his big rough hands. "delete that sam" you giggle to him when he puts the camera away, but we both know hes not getting rid of that.. right?

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?) : i think hed have minimal experience but definitely not none, maybe 2-3 girls before you, never anything serious just enough to show him the ropes.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying. will probably include a visual) : cowgirl cowgirl cowgirlillill, god would he love to have to just using him all by yourself!!! just the visual of you on top of him, bouncing like a bunny on him, looking down at him with starry eyes, well that would be enough to make him cum on the spot. (especially cause youre so much smaller than him)

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) : i dont think he would joke around much during sex, maybe a slight joke about how gone yall are but other than that he doesnt see the point in joking around with such a special moment.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) : def has a happy trail leading to his bush, always trimmed though never crazy, matches his pretty hair colour!!

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect..) : hes a romantic for sure, he will genuinely make you feel like a goddess the way he would worship your body. would be constantly telling you what you do to him and how beautiful you are he woukd make you feel so soecial even if its the hundredth time.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon) : when hes off on a hunt without you its like routine, hed have his hand wrapped around himself, eyes closed just picturing how good youd feel on him at that moment. hed bring his nerdy little laptop with him to the bathroom putting his headphones in and go to his folder from the tape yall made... he just misses you so much he has to hear your pretty noises, is that so wrong?

k= kink (one or more of their kinks) : his size kink is so obvious, his huge hands resting on your stomach when hes eating you out make him almost cum right there at how much area the cover. the fact that when you ride him you gotta essentially climb onto his large body makes him go insaneee. he also has a crazy praise kink which goes both ways hed always be telling you how good you are and how "youre the best hes ever gonna have" but when you praise him its a whole new story. "sammy baby mmmso big youre doing so good-shi-dont stop" the words that leave your mouth make him cum on the spot, he just needs to know how good hes doing for you, he needs to be the best.

I = location (favorite places to do the do) : all the classic places, the motel bed, the shower, the car. but sometimes he branches out, fucking you over the bathroom sink thats a favourite of his, just everything about it feels almost domestic which he likes to imagine.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) : when you play innocent, you could be doing the dirtiest thing but look sooo innocent and that turns him on, his sweet girl could never do anything wrong.

n = no (something they wouldn't do, turn-offs) : anything to do with hurting his baby, he really doesnt like to even think about hurting you (slapping, choking) in an intense way, hed rest his hand lightly on your neck, never squeeze. hed give your ass a few slaps, never spanks.

0 = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) : hes a giver ok hes the biggest munch on earth. bad day? eating you out. good day? eating you out. hed find any excuse to get in between your legs, he gets so drunk off your pussy, the taste is addicting to him. hed beg to eat you out its one of his favourite pass times. as for you giving him head hed love that too, hed think its sweet that youd do that for him hed be very gentle with you and let you go at your own pace. hed be scrunching all your hair up and brushing it out of your face trying to make you as comfortable as possible!! ps: dont look up at him in the eyes unless you want to kill him

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) : totally matters on the mood hes in, if hes feeling lovey dovey hed go so slow just worshipping you as he goes taking hus time to feel every portion of your body. meanwhile, hes having a rough day, stressed out, hes just trying to get off as fast as he can it wouldnt be rough just rushed almost but then again thats only the first round

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) : hed be ok with them def not his favourite, he wants to take his time with you, or more he wants you taking time on him teehee, he thinks good sex takes time!!

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) : i dont think hed like to be risky, hes too nerdy honestly, the calculations would be going off in his head as you pull him towards you. hed be totally up to experiment stuff with you but risks hes not too sure about..

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) : he could go forever i think, if he can fight demons and monsters for a living, he can handle making you cum as many times as you need. hed definitely let you take over if he was getting tired, letting you fuck yourself on him, how could he say no to his baby?

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) : i dont think he uses any toys at all really, he just wants some good ol classic american sex (he wants you to boss him around)

u = unfair (how much they like to tease) : hes not a tease at all he cant, he just needs everything right away… however he loves being teased, like waiting to get something turns him on, losing control is a major turn on for him!!!

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make) : hes definitely a whiner, youre teasing him? hes whining so softly, but if he was fucking you fast.. oh hes moaning and groaning like soooo loud he wants you to hear how good youre making him feel.

w = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) : hed loveeee mirror sex, hed be giving backshots and holding your chin up to see all your reactions, “holy fuck youre so perfect-just for me yeah? thats my fucking girl” hed mutter under his breath mindlessly as his hands roam all over your hips and your ass just squeezing trying to make it feel real.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) : not gonna say hes huge but i mean… hes huge. probably around 8-9 inches highkey…

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?) : fairly normal amount hed definitely have a sex drive but i dont think its above average, butttttttt anytime you ask hes saying yes, as soon as he knows you want it he does too. “baby please i need you to fuck me..” you whined at him a sweet frown on your lips, how could he not say yes?

z = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward) : i dont really think sam would get tired after sex, hed probably either cuddle with you, or just start doing something he needs to do like research or shower!!

[bowiebugwrites]

𝖸𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖺 𝖡𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖺 || 𝖡𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝖡𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗌 || 𝖠𝗅𝖾𝗑𝖾𝗂 || 𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝖶𝖺𝗅𝗄𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖡𝗈𝖻 𝖱𝖾𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗌 / 𝖲𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗒 / 𝖵𝗈𝗂𝖽 𝖺𝗌

↳ 𝖦𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝖣𝖺𝖽'𝗌 (𝗆𝗈𝗆)

A/n: I know Yelena is an asexual , so don't get on my ass. ( Female Reader )

❥:Yelena Belova as a Girl Mom

Yelena never thought she’d be a mother, but the moment she holds her baby girl in her arms, she’s a goner. Your daughter has soft blonde hair and wide, curious eyes that remind Yelena of herself as a child—before the Red Room stole her innocence.

Yelena is the kind of mom who straps her baby to her chest in a tactical baby carrier, running drills while softly singing Russian lullabies. “You see, little cub, this is how you throw a knife. No, you cannot hold one yet. Maybe when you’re five.”

She’s overly protective, scowling at anyone who dares to glance at her baby girl the wrong way. But at night, when the world is still, Yelena curls up with her daughter, tracing soft circles over her tiny hand, her heart aching with the tenderness she thought she’d lost in the Red Room.

Despite her gruff exterior, she’s surprisingly soft with her and your baby girl. Late at night, when the house is quiet, Yelena sings Russian lullabies, rocking her daughter while pressing kisses to her chubby cheeks.

Yelena smirks when you catch them like that, rolling her eyes. “What? She was crying.” But you know the truth—Yelena’s heart is completely, irrevocably hers.

And when you find them on the couch together, Yelena asleep with their daughter tucked against her chest, a tiny stuffed bear clutched between them, you can’t help but smile. Yelena Belova, the Black Widow, now a soft-hearted girl mom. Who would have thought?

Yelena is fiercely protective of you, her intensity both endearing and overwhelming. She’s the kind of partner who will call every hour when she’s on a mission, her voice a little less steely when she hears yours. “Did you eat? Did you drink water? Did you tell our daughter I love her?”

At home, she’s a different woman—soft, playful, and always finding ways to make you laugh. Yelena’s love language is physical touch. She wraps her arms around you from behind as you make dinner, pressing her cheek to your shoulder while your daughter babbles away in her highchair.

Yelena is not one for grand gestures, but you wake up to sticky notes all over the house with little scribbled hearts and phrases like, “Good job today, mama bear” or “You’re the hottest MILF in Russia.” "Babe we're not in Russia" "still...do not argue with me."

And when you’re exhausted, dealing with a fussy baby and feeling frayed at the edges, Yelena takes over without hesitation, scooping your daughter up and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Go. Take a bath. I got her.” And as you walk away, you hear her singing off-key lullabies in Russian, her voice warm and steady.

❥:Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier as a Girl Dad

Bucky never thought he’d get a second chance at a family. He’s terrified of being a father—especially to a girl. What if he screws her up? What if she’s afraid of him? But the first time his baby girl wraps her tiny hand around his metal finger, Bucky’s world shifts.

She’s his sunshine. Bucky is the kind of dad who will sit on the floor, cradling a doll in his metal arm while their daughter giggles and tries to braid his hair. And when she cries in the middle of the night, Bucky is the one who gets up, shuffling down the hall in sweatpants to rock her back to sleep, murmuring old stories of Brooklyn in the 1940s.

When she gets older, she’s the only one who can melt his stern Winter Soldier exterior. She tugs on his sleeve, and suddenly Bucky is having a tea party with stuffed animals, a frilly pink crown perched atop his head.

You find them both on the living room floor, her sprawled out on Bucky’s chest, both of them fast asleep. And in those moments, you know Bucky has finally found peace.

Bucky is your safe haven. He’s the kind of partner who reads you like a book, noticing every subtle shift in your mood. If you’re tense, he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his metal arm around you, his fingers brushing gentle circles along your back. “Talk to me, doll.”

He’s incredibly tender with you, always mindful of his strength. When you’re holding your daughter, Bucky rests his chin on your shoulder, his nose buried in your hair as he closes his eyes and breathes you in. “Thank you,” he murmurs against your skin. “For giving me this. For giving me both of you.”

He insists on nightly routines—tucking you and your daughter in, even when he’s the one dead tired. And when your little girl is asleep, Bucky curls up behind you, his arm draped protectively over your waist. “You know I love you, right?” he whispers, his lips brushing the back of your neck. “Always.”

❥:Red Guardian as a Girl Dad

Alexei is the loud, boisterous, over-the-top girl dad who insists that their daughter is the “strongest little bear in all of Russia.” From the moment she can walk, he’s trying to teach her how to wrestle, much to your exasperation. “Alexei, she’s two!”

But Alexei is also the kind of dad who gets teary-eyed when his little girl calls him “Papa.” He brags about her to everyone who will listen, even if she just learned how to say “banana.” He makes her tiny weight sets out of soup cans and cheers every time she lifts one. “That’s my little bear! Strong like Papa!”

At night, he tucks her in with dramatic stories of his “glorious Red Guardian days,” his hands making exaggerated gestures as she watches him with wide eyes. And when she finally falls asleep, Alexei stays beside her bed, his giant hand gently stroking her tiny curls as he whispers, “You will be the greatest of us, little bear.”

Alexei is loud, proud, and absolutely infatuated with you. He never stops boasting about you to anyone who will listen. “My woman, the strongest, the most beautiful, the best mama!”

He’s tactile to a fault, always needing to touch you—a hand on your lower back, a kiss pressed to your temple, an arm slung over your shoulders as you carry your daughter on your hip.

When you’re feeling overwhelmed, Alexei insists you rest, practically shoving you onto the couch and wrapping you in a blanket. “Stay. Rest. I will handle it,” he declares, his chest puffed out as he takes your daughter for a walk.

He always know's how to put a smile on your face and your daughters

But the best moments are at night. You find him sitting on the floor with your daughter in his lap, her tiny hands playing with his beard as he softly tells her stories of his “heroic Red Guardian days.” You lean against the doorway, watching the two of them, and Alexei catches your eye, his expression softening. “Come, my love,” he says, patting the floor beside him. “Our family is waiting.”

❥:John Walker as a Girl Dad

John is the overprotective dad who treats their daughter like she’s made of glass. He’s the dad who hovers at the playground, eyes narrowed at any kid who gets too close. “Hey, buddy, you better watch it,” he mutters, despite the fact that the other kid is four.

He's making up for his past mistakes, you two are his world.

But at home, John is a complete softie. He lets his little girl paint his nails a sparkly pink and wears it proudly, even to work. He’s the dad who always brings home a stuffed animal from every mission, his suitcase overflowing with plushies.

When she gets older, he’s the first to volunteer as her coach for every sport, barking out drills like she’s in basic training. But at night, when she has a bad dream, John’s right there, holding her close as he softly sings off-key lullabies, his hand running through her hair. “Daddy’s got you, princess. Always.”

John is a doting yet overprotective partner. He watches you like a hawk, always ready to step in and help, but he also respects your independence, even if it makes him anxious. If you’re carrying the baby and a bag of groceries, he’s already by your side, relieving you of the weight and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I got you.”

At night, he’s the most vulnerable. John rests his head in your lap, letting you run your fingers through his hair as he talks about his fears of not being good enough. “I just… I don’t want to screw this up,” he admits, eyes shining in the low light. “Not with her. Not with you.”

He's terrified he will make the same mistake again, that he'll fuck it up somehow but you always reassure him with a gentle kiss.

He’s also fiercely proud of you. Anytime you do something—whether it’s calming down a tantrum or making dinner—John is there, staring at you with that awed, boyish look in his eyes. “How did I get so lucky?” he mutters, pulling you in for a slow, lingering kiss.

And when he wakes up to find you cradling their sleeping daughter, John stands there for a moment, his chest tight with emotion. “I love you,” he whispers, voice thick. “Both of you.”

❥:Bob Reynolds / Sentry / Void as a Girl Dad

Bob is a man of two extremes—one side a warm, loving father, the other a dangerous, unstable force he prays his daughter never has to see. But when she’s born, her tiny body fitting perfectly against his broad chest, Bob swears he will be the best dad he can be.

When she’s a baby, Bob is the dad who gets up every time she cries, pacing the floor as he rocks her in his arms, his golden aura softly glowing in the dark room. And when she’s older, he’s the dad who builds entire pillow forts that stretch across the living room, pretending to be the Sentry while she plays the fearless knight.

But the Void looms. Sometimes, Bob disappears for days, and when he comes back, his eyes are hollow, his hands shaking. You’re the only one who knows where he’s been, the only one who sees how he collapses in the doorway, whispering, “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

And every time, you gather him in your arms, pressing your forehead to his. “You’re her dad. You’re her hero. And we’ll get through this. Together.”

When their daughter turns five, she brings him a crayon drawing of the Sentry holding her hand, both of them smiling. Bob looks at it for a long time, tears welling in his eyes. “You’re my hero, too, Daddy,” she says, and he pulls her close, holding her like she’s the only light in a world that’s always threatening to go dark

Bob is a man of extremes, but with you, he’s tender, gentle, and desperate to be enough. He’s the kind of partner who leaves love notes everywhere—tucked under your pillow, slipped into your coat pocket, scribbled on a napkin at breakfast. “You are my light,” one reads. “Thank you for staying.”

When the Void claws at him, threatening to drag him down, Bob clings to you like a lifeline, his head buried in your neck as he whispers, “Tell me I’m real. Tell me I’m here.”

You’re his anchor. You’re the one who pulls him back when his mind begins to fracture, holding his face in your hands and pressing your forehead to his. “You’re here, Bob,” you say, voice firm. “You’re with me. You’re with our daughter. You’re home.”

When he’s in his Sentry form, the golden aura surrounding him, you find him on the rooftop, watching over the city like a silent guardian. You stand beside him, your fingers threading through his, and Bob squeezes your hand tightly. “I’d destroy the world for you,” he whispers, voice cracking.

But later, when the Void takes hold, he comes back to you, shattered and afraid, kneeling in front of you as he presses his forehead to your stomach. “Please don’t leave me,” he begs. And you sink to the floor with him, holding him tight, promising that you never will.

[bowiebugwrites]

Never was there ever a girl so pretty

anonymous requested… “Hi! I normally don't request anything so I apologize if I'm missing anything, but can I request a gambit x reader where like...the reader always hides her face behind a mask and tortures herself to be more beautiful because she believes that she can never be loved if she isn't beautiful but she doesn't believe she's beautiful yet. Like she doesn't believe she's pretty and constantly strives to be more pretty than she is and she's lost in a haze of self doubt and a loss of self if that makes sense. Maybe angst but ends with some good comfort and fluff (because my heart can't take hurt/no comfort) sorry if this topic hurts you, if it does please don't force yourself to write anything. But also don't feel pressured to write this in general if you don't want to. That's it, bye”

warnings: self harm, body dysmorphia, afab reader, female gendered terms

a/n: full disclosure I read this request and immediately thought of the scene from the Substance where Demi Moore's character is reapplying and removing makeup repeatedly. I hope no one notices.

word count: (652)

You were always the type to get self-conscious but it usually wasn’t ever this bad. 

You hid your face behind a mask and sunglasses usually, it concealed your face and that was how you preferred it. The only person who had seen your face in full was Remy. If he ever slept in your room he didn’t want you going through the discomfort of sleeping with sunglasses on. But you did. You didn’t mind being uncomfortable if it meant no one was seeing your face. But Remy always wanted to see your face, which was baffling to you. Why would he voluntarily want to look at it? It just didn’t make sense.

It had been a long day, the sun was hanging low in the sky and had already dipped below the bathroom window. You’re standing in front of the mirror above your sink, pulling off your mask then setting your sunglasses on top of it. You’re staring at your face in the mirror. It makes you want to throw up, looking at someone and not being entirely sure what’s looking back. So you do what you do best.

You cover up.

You open one of the drawers below the sink, pulling out the bag where you keep all your makeup. You do your eyes, eyeshadow, liner, and mascara. But you still don’t feel pretty. You line your lips then gloss them in red, and you still don’t feel pretty. So you take it all off and now you’re just staring at yourself in the reflection and it’s so much worse. So you put it all on again and take it off again. Again and again and again and again until your face is sore.

“Chér?” a soft voice said from the door. When you turn, Remy is standing in the doorway with something in his eyes that you just can’t quite read. There’s no disappointment, no upset, just a pure concern mixed with a few other things. He sees you, eyes wet with tears, several paper towels stained with wasted makeup. He could see how red your lips and your eyes are from reapplying and removing makeup, the cuts running up and down your arm from separate situations and he just feels sick in a way he can’t describe. “What happened?”

“I-I just…” you whisper, looking at your hands like you killed a man, not as if all you’d done was put makeup on. “I just wanted to look pretty.” Remy sighs, taking you up in his arms in a comforting hug.

“You already are,” he muttered into your hair, pressing his face into the top of your head. He says it but you don’t believe it. “Don’t try to argue with me, you know you are.”

“Do I?” You say in reply, voice incredibly quiet.

“You should,” he assures you, pulling away a little to look at you, your face raw from how many times you rubbed over it with makeup remover on a rough paper towel. He sighed. “Chér, you do realize that you are one of the prettiest dames I know? Apart from all the other stuff, it’s one of the many many reasons I love you.” He says the whole thing in a slightly unserious tone, which doesn’t fail to make you giggle. Just his accent alone is enough to make you smile. “There we go, there’s the girl I fell in love with.” You can’t help but smile. He’s so sweet to you, you can’t help but be affected by that cajun charm.

This is how it was, you felt yourself falling into a spiral and Remy was right there to catch you. To remind you that to him you were beautiful. And his opinion was the only one that truly mattered in the long run. Because he loved you, and you loved him. And when you love someone, what they say is like God's word.

[bowiebugwrites]

robert "bob" reynolds

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  bob reynolds x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  dating Bob Reynolds means loving someone gentle, wounded, and quietly devoted — a man who gives love like it’s a sacred promise, not a performance. Through emotional highs and lows, he builds a world with you that’s slow, deliberate, and filled with the kind of quiet safety he never thought he’d have.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ none besides bad words

Bob is deeply introspective — and honest about it. He reflects constantly, especially after arguments or miscommunications. With you, he’s always circling back: “Did I make you feel unseen when I said that?” It builds a foundation where you feel safe to be human, because he’s not trying to win — he’s trying to understand you. He wants to be able to discuss things rather than have constant arguments. 

He craves stability but isn’t always sure he deserves it. That means you become his grounding point. He’ll start looking for you the second he walks through the door, like home doesn’t fully exist until you’re in view. When you bring him into your routines — your morning coffee, your playlist while you clean — he treats it like a privilege to be included. If you have to run to the store or the gas station he is there. If you wanna watch a movie he bring his book and sit with you. Finally if you wanna do anything with him you barely have to ask, in fact he usually only hears the “Hey do you wanna-” part and then he follows up as you go to do it so he knows more of what is going on. 

He loves being touched, but only on his terms at first. You notice how he relaxes into your touch slowly, cautiously. The first time you instinctively reach for his hand and he doesn't pull away? He watches your fingers like they’re made of something holy. Eventually, you find him reaching for you, thumb rubbing circles over your knuckles during movies, tucking you into his chest during storm, letting you play with his hair while he reads books, and letting you put your legs on his when you do whatever little thing you wanna tinker with. 

He spirals sometimes — but he fights hard to stay above the water. When he feels it coming, he doesn’t shut you out anymore. He’ll gently say, “I need a quiet day, but I want you here.” So you bring him whatever he wants, read nearby, or just lie beside him. Being allowed to witness those days — without having to fix them — becomes the quiet intimacy that defines your bond. 

He has deeply specific tastes. You learn quickly that Bob doesn’t just like things — he feels them. He’ll explain for ten minutes why a certain guitar chord feels like autumn heartbreak. You catch yourself falling for him more during those long, winding tangents, just watching his eyes light up while talking to you. He loves music, it is one of the only good things he can recall from being high so much in his teens. He also likes to try and paint, he knows he is not great at it but he does like to see what he can come up with. And he loves to do those things with you. 

He is loyal beyond reason. It’s not performative — it’s bone-deep. You never wonder where his loyalty lies. Even on hard days, you know: he chose you. And if anyone ever hurts you? Bob turns terrifyingly focused. Not violent — just unshakeable in his defense of you. You ever need a plus one he is there. 

He asks permission for everything early on. Your first kiss doesn’t happen in a whirlwind — it happens after he looks at you for a long moment, sitting so close you could practically feel his bottom lip touching yours, with his lips parted, and  he asks quietly, “May I?” It sets the tone for everything that follows: respect, softness, reverence. You always feel safein his arms — never cornered.

He is surprisingly domestic. He finds comfort in doing things for you. Fixing a lightbulb, unclogging a drain, reorganizing your fridge. He’ll hum while sweeping your room, look proud when you notice. Sometimes you wake up to fresh coffee and folded laundry, and you realize: Bob takes care of you the way he wishes someone had taken care of him.

He makes you feel chosen, not trapped. He tells you often — “I’m here because I want to be.” When you have bad days, when you cry or say something too sharp, he still stays. He reminds you that being loved by him isn’t a performance test. You are enough, and he is choosing you — even then.

He journals but doesn’t let anyone read it. You find out about his journals when you catch him writing at 2am. One day, when he trusts you deeper than he thought possible, he lets you read a page. It’s a dream about you. A memory of your laugh. Your name written like it means something salvific. You cry reading it. He holds you after.

He worries about overwhelming you. He’s scared his past, his sadness, his depth will swallow you whole. So he checks in, constantly: “Do I make things harder?” The first time you say, “No, Bob, you make things softer,” he stares at you like you just gave him a new reason to live.

He remembers every story you tell him. One day you mention a bakery your grandmother used to take you to, and weeks later he drives you two towns over just to get their cinnamon bread. “You said the smell reminded you of her.” He doesn’t just listen — he cataloguesyou like you’re sacred.

He’s got a crooked, beautiful sense of humor. Your favorite thing is when he cracks a joke mid-breakdown — deadpan, absurd, perfect. He never uses humor to deflect — he uses it to lighten, to remind you both you’re still here, still real, still together.

He’s sensitive to your emotional cues. If your voice changes even a little, he tilts his head and asks, “Did something happen?” He doesn’t press, but always leaves a door open. And on the nights you can’t find the words, he’ll just hold you until they come. Or until they don’t. Either way, you’re not alone.

He likes doing puzzles and crosswords. You start helping him with the ones he saves just for you. Sundays become your puzzle mornings, coffee steaming, knees brushing. He teaches you the clues he loves best — the wordplay ones. You start looking forward to the quiet click of answers falling into place with him beside you.

He’s big on pet names but never the usual ones.You’ll be brushing your teeth and he’ll come up behind you and say, “What’s the world’s luckiest creature doing this morning?” Sometimes you laugh. Sometimes you get teary. Because he says it like he means it — like you’re the miracle he gets to keep.

He doesn’t like mirrors. So when you’re getting ready, he’ll often stand behind you and just look at you. Not the mirror. Just you. You start to notice how often he compliments how you see him — not how he sees himself.

He buys weird stuff when he shops alone. You come home to find a lava lamp, a taxidermy owl, and a tiny bonsai tree one day. He shrugs: “They looked like they needed us.” It becomes a game. You fill your space with beautiful, odd little rescues — like him. Like each other.

He gives quiet but heartfelt compliments. He doesn’t shout his affection. He slips it in while handing you a cup of tea: “No one has a smile like yours.” Or whispers it in the dark after a nightmare: “You are the reason I come back.” You learn to listen closely — his love is laced into the silence.

He loves you deliberately.With Bob, there’s no autopilot. He loves you like a man who had to relearn how to live — and decided you were worth it. Every morning he reaches for you like a prayer. Every night he holds you like an answer.

He thrives on consistency, even in the smallest ways. Bob loves knowing your routines. If you like tea at 4PM, he’ll start setting the mug beside the kettle at 3:59, every day without fail. He never makes a show of it — he just remembers, quietly turning your comfort into a rhythm he honors with care.

He teaches you how to be patient with yourself. Being with Bob makes you slower in the best way. He doesn’t rush conversations, apologies, or healing. So when you’re harsh on yourself, he’ll just say, “Give yourself the same grace you give me.” And you do, eventually, because he leads by example.

He doesn't laugh often — but when he does, it's everything. It’s sudden, usually low and breathless, like it startles even him. You make it your life’s mission to earn those laughs. And the first time you make him wheeze-laugh until he’s crying? He looks at you like you’re the first light he’s seen in years.

He has entire playlists for you. Not just “your song” — full playlists, carefully ordered, titled weird things like “If I Could Speak in Color” or “You, When You’re Sleeping.” He plays them when you cook together, or during road trips, smiling quietly as the lyrics say what he sometimes can’t.

He talks in metaphors when he’s overwhelmed. Sometimes it’s easier for him to say, “It feels like the sky is pressing down,” than to say “I’m anxious.” You learn the language he uses to describe his mind. And instead of asking “What’s wrong?” you begin to ask, “Where are you today?” And he always answers.

He can’t fall asleep without hearing your voice. If you’re apart for a few days, he calls you just to hear you breathe while you talk about your day. If you’re home together, he waits for your voice to anchor him — murmured thoughts in the dark, even just soft humming. Silence used to be scary. With you, it’s just peace.

He notices your moods before you do. “You okay?” he’ll ask on a day when you haven’t said anything yet. When you blink at him in surprise, he shrugs. “Your eyes don’t crinkle the same when you smile.” He doesn’t push — he offers. And you realize what a gift it is to be seen like that. 

He lets you in on the hard stuff, eventually. There are things he doesn't say right away — his past, his fears, the guilt he still carries. But when he does open up, it's never dramatic. He just says it simply, like he's handing you a piece of his armor. You never try to fix it. You just hold it — and stay.

He gives love the way a survivor does: carefully, but completely. Bob doesn’t love with fireworks. He loves like a storm survivor building a cottage on the shore — every nail steady, every wall built to keep you safe. When he says “I love you,” it doesn’t feel like a confession. It feels like a vow.