To See the Summer Sky is Poetry

But the rockstar of your dreams is praising you, telling you how pretty you look as a messy little slut on your knees for him. So you do your best to suffer through it, to breathe through your nose while he skull-fucks your mouth. You can almost pretend you’re having as much fun as he clearly is—and anyway, it’s his birthday. You just want him to have a good time, and you’re still grateful he chose you.

Before he can cum down your throat, Steve pulls out of your mouth and picks you up, tossing you onto the bed. You’re gasping for breath and before you can say a word, he’s on top of you, tearing your clothes off your body and sinking his cock, dripping wet with your spit, into your barely ready pussy. 

It stings a little, and you wince, but Steve only laughs in your ear, amused at your pain and groaning at how tight you feel around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, already moving his hips in a rolling motion that, despite the ache in your core, starts to feel good. The rockstar teases you for being such a tight little slut for him, moaning loudly when your cunt clenches around his cock.

It’s only then that you realize Steve didn’t put on a condom, and you consider asking him to pull out and put one on, but then he’s bottoming out in you again, grinding the base of his cock against your clit. Between the pleasure, the delicious stretch of his cock in your cunt, and the drinks you’d had and the weed you smoked, your thoughts about protection are lost in the ether. 

Steve fucks you hard and fast, emptying his balls inside you before you even have a hope of coming—but he’s not done with you. He hauls you up, arranging the two of you so he’s sitting against the headboard with you perched on his cock, using your pussy to keep his half-hard length warm while you drink and smoke some more. 

He shotguns twice as much weed smoke into your mouth, until you’re floating and so hazy, you barely know what’s going on. It helps make everything feel good, though, including the way his big dick stretches your pussy nearly to its limit, and the way his hands grab your tits roughly, pinching your nipples and slapping the soft mounds with the flat of his palm. 

You don’t know how much time passes like that, but sometime later, Steve is fucking you again, bouncing you on his cock while you giggle like a dumb little ditz, your bare body on full display for the rockstar. He doesn’t leave any part of you untouched, sucking hickeys into your skin, groping your tits and hips hard enough to leave bruises behind. It’s rough, but you’re so high that everything feels good.

You cum on Steve’s cock like that, and he groans when he feels your cunt gripping him tight, following you over the edge with his face buried in your tits. His cock throbs in your pussy, spilling a second load in your body, his cum starting to leak out around where he’s plugging you full. 

The rockstar rewards you for making him cum again with more drinks and more weed, shotgunning even more smoke into your mouth until you black out. One of the last thoughts you have before your mind slips into darkness is how happy you are that you got to spend the night with your favorite rockstar on his birthday. 

But if you think that’s all Steve Rogers has planned for you, you discover you’re very, very wrong.

For the rest of the night, you’re barely aware of your surroundings, coming in and out of consciousness to find Steve fucking you again—wait, no, not Steve. That’s Bucky Barnes behind you, pounding ruthlessly into your cunt while Steve’s cock is stuffed deep in your mouth. You can taste yourself on the rockstar’s dick, and you can feel an ache in your throat from how hard he’s thrusting, fucking your mouth like it’s a pussy.

Your head spins from lack of air and alcohol and weed, and you black out again. The next time you come to, you’re on your back, Sam Wilson above you, fucking into your aching cunt with slow, deep strokes. His thumb brushes your clit, and his lips whisper praise, calling you a sweet slut, making you cum hard enough that you lose consciousness again.

Bucky is on top of you again, rutting into your messy pussy while he sucks a hickey into the sensitive skin on your throat. You moan, the sound part pleasure and part pain, and Bucky chuckles meanly, telling you to be a good groupie whore and take his cock without complaint. You were made for this after all, isn’t that why you wanted to be chosen by Steve so badly?

Impossibly, you cum again at Bucky’s mean words and his even meaner fucking, your body shaking uncontrollably as pleasure tears ruthlessly through your exhausted body. It’s a relief when the darkness welcomes you back into its waiting arms, and you sink into it happily.

The next time you wake, you search for Steve. He’s sitting in a chair beside the bed, smoking, drinking and chatting with Bucky and Sam while he strums idly on an acoustic guitar. Slowly, you become aware of more men on top of you, but if Bucky and Sam are with Steve, who’s fucking you now? 

It takes you a long moment to turn your head and focus your eyes enough to find two roadies on top of you—John Walker and Joaquín Torres. Their names surface from the dark depths of your mind. Steve had introduced them to you when you’d first gotten on the bus. 

You’re too tired to do anything but lay in the soiled bed at the back of the band’s tour bus and take the cocks John and Joaquín are giving you—alternately thrusting into your pussy. You cling to the meager pleasure they offer, coming weakly once more before they pull out and jerk their cocks until they’re coating your bare skin with their seed.

Finally, you slip into a deep sleep, and you don’t wake again for many, many hours.

It’s early afternoon by the time you’re woken by the gentle rumble of the bus, and you take quick stock of your situation. You’re alone, surrounded only by the thick stench of sex, the sheets of the bed tangled around your naked limbs. 

Your entire body aches, the pounding headache of a hangover beating against your skull, and it takes a very long time before you’re able to wrench your eyes open. When you do, your stomach sinks to see the landscape passing by the windows in the back room, taking you away from your home city where you saw the band play.

Steve enters the room, and you watch him warily. He doesn’t bother to close the door behind him as he rounds the bed and drops an unopened bottle of water and a couple painkillers on the side table built into the back wall. When you don’t move, he leans over and slaps your ass hard, making you jump and let out a tortured groan. 

Distantly, you hear the laughter of a group of men at the front of the bus and your mind is inundated with flashes of vivid memories of how Steve had let his friends fuck you all night. A shiver races down your spine, something between fear and excitement filling your gut as your pussy flutters, cum leaking out of your well-used hole.

“Thanks for the birthday fuck, sweetheart. I had fun,” Steve says with an all-too-charming grin. He sits down on the edge of the bed, watching you roll over onto your back so you can sit up. 

You take the ibuprofen and chug half the bottle of water, watching the rockstar. You want to ask Steve where the bus is going, already knowing it’s left your city behind, but your throat hurts. He must suspect what you want to ask because he volunteers the information.

“We’re headed to the next stop on the tour,” Steve explains, one of his hands settling lightly on your thigh. “If you want, we can drop you off there, and you can find your own way home…” He trails off, his hand skating up your leg until his fingers are teasing the entrance to your thoroughly fucked pussy. “Or you can stick around and keep having fun with us—all of us.”

Steve’s pretty blue eyes glitter like he hopes you’ll choose the second option. The tip of his finger circles your clit and just that little bit of pleasure has your body melting into the pillows at your back, your legs falling open. Steve’s grin widens, brightening so much, he’s almost too handsome to look at. You feel like a flower unfurling beneath the sun.

Even with the ache in your body, you think it might be worth it to stay on the bus, just to earn more praise from your favorite rockstar. So what if he lets his friends fuck you while you’re passed out, getting to belong to Steve Rogers is all you’ve ever wanted. 

Besides, it’s not like you can afford to get yourself home. If the band leaves you at the next stop, you’ll have no way of getting back to your city. You only really have one option, so you might as well make the best of it. Steve, Bucky, Sam, John and Joaquín are handsome and they can make you cum, you’d be stupid to pass up the chance to be their free use fuck toy. 

At least, that’s what you tell yourself to rationalize the only choice you have.

“I’ll stay,” you murmur. 

You catch sight of Steve’s eager, feral grin before your eyes slip closed, and you will the ibuprofen to take effect. You lay limply in the bed as the rockstar climbs on top of you, his hands already pulling his dick out of his jeans. 

“I hoped you’d say that,” Steve rumbles in your ear, sinking into your dripping pussy, not seeming to care that it’s his friends’ cum that’s making the slide so easy. 

The stretch has you letting out a helpless moan, and you can feel the man on top of you chuckling against your cheek. He pulls his hips back, thrusting forward with punishing fierceness, clearly not caring about your comfort as he uses your cunt to get himself off.

“Be a good cock slave,” your favorite rockstar, Steve Rogers, tells you. “Let me fuck you like every night is my birthday, and I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart.”

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

GENERAL EVENT DETAILS

When: August 15-18 *Writing challenge submissions will be accepted through the end of August (or later if needed).

How to Participate: 

🎁 Birthday Gifts aka the writing challenge 🎉 Party Favors aka Submit Your Superior AI Custom Order

🎁 BIRTHDAY GIFTS (AKA THE WRITING CHALLENGE) 🎁

Rules for Fic Entries:

500 word minimum, 5,000 word max. (Please put your story under a cut after 150 words.)

Original works only. If your story is part of a series, it must be able to be read as a standalone piece.

Please tag me @stargazingfangirl18 when posting your story.

Include the tag #happy birthday siri 2026 on the original post of your fic (not on reblogs or reblog replies, please.)

Any genre accepted! Can be fluff, angst, smut, comedy, AU, dark, soft!dark, whatever you want.

Please stick to the CE characters listed below, and no RPF.

Reader insert stories only. LGBTQ+, BIPOC, & interracial stories are welcome and encouraged!

No toilet stuff, no necrophilia, no snuff, or bestiality. Non-con and dub-con must fall within commonly posted dark fics. (FYI: I personally don’t read daddy kink, mommy kink, spit kink, lactation kink, harsh degradation, dumbification, or anything focusing on health/illnesses/medical details/scenarios.) 

Please include warnings as needed for explicit language, explicit sexual content, non-con, dub-con, dark fic, trigger warnings, 18+, etc.

Odds & Ends:

Each writer can submit a maximum of 3 stories.

Writers DO NOT need to claim prompts.

Smut writers and characters must be 18+.

Writers can also submit a Superior AI Custom Order but please keep it to one submission per person.

You do not need to write smut, I know it’s not everyone’s jam. 

I reserve the right to not read or reblog anything that makes me uncomfortable.

Writing Challenge Babes & Prompts

BABES

Andy Barber

Ari Levinson

Bryce Langley

Cole Turner

Curtis Everett

Frank Adler

Jake Jensen

Lloyd Hansen

Pete Brenner

Ransom Drysdale

Reverend Drew

Robert Pronge (aka Mr. Freezy)

Steve Rogers

PROMPTS

Pick at least 1 prompt. You can pick more than 1, and you don’t need to claim prompts:

SCENARIOS:

Being a predatory babe’s prey (in a sexy way, not a hungry way lolll)

Sweet and/or Vulnerable!Reader x Scary!Hot!Babe

Being blackmailed by someone unlikely 

Scary babe is only soft with you

Commitment phobe!babe is high key obsessed with you

A titillating encounter with a monster!babe

You’re an actual human disaster, but soft!dark babe finds it charming

Emotional constipation

Making a deal with the devil

Meet!oops or fail

Sacrificing yourself to a dangerous babe to save someone else

Being betrayed by someone you trust

DIALOGUE:

“I was just going to punish you, but now? Now I’m going to annihilate you.”

“Oh my god, how can someone be so fucking oblivious?!”

“You have no idea what your scent does to me.”

“That’s it! I’m done! No more adulting, no more responsibilities, no more anything! We’re just going to lay here and cuddle and hide from the rest of the world.”

 “You picked the wrong man to steal from.”

“I have no idea what the future holds, but what I do know is that I want you by my side for every second of it.”

“I’ve never had someone so innocent, but by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be as corrupted as me.”

“Did you just… propose to me?”

“You know I reward loyalty and good work, and I thought she would make such a sweet, pretty gift.”

“Please, just give me one more chance. I know I can be better, for you. I would do anything for you.”

“The only thing you have to offer that’s of any interest to me is that sweet, warm place between your legs. So strip and show me just how badly you need my help.”

“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now, but we really need to talk.” 

KINKS:

Breeding kink (non-pregnancy version)

Size kink

Praise kink

Somnophilia

Prone bone

Squirting

Manhandling

Oral sex (f receiving)

Anal play/sex

Overstimulation 

Monster fucking 

Creampie

TROPES:

Omegaverse

Mob AU

Good girl x bad boy

Biker AU

Delulu babe or Reader

Mercenary AU

Human disaster!Reader or babe

Conqueror AU

Friends to lovers

Sugar daddy/baby AU

Guard dog!Babe

CEO AU

🎉 PARTY FAVORS (AKA SUBMIT YOUR SUPERIOR AI CUSTOM ORDER) 🎉

Rules for Submission:

Submissions will only be accepted during the event dates of August 15-18. Those sent before or after those dates will be discarded. 

You must submit your order by sending me an ask that answers the questions below.

There is a limit of 1 submission per person (please respect this limit, even if you request on anon; I don’t want to be overwhelmed or stressed).

Odds & Ends:

If you’re new to my Superior AI verse, you can check it out here.

Even if your babe of choice isn’t an AI in my verse, you can still request them for your custom order. Think of these resulting drabbles as AU :) 

I may not get to every submission within the event timeframe, but I’ll try my best to answer all of them eventually, so please be patient.

Submit Your Superior AI Custom Order Form

Send me an ask with the following info, and I will write a (likely AU) Superior AI verse drabble starring the CE!babe of your choice! I’ve written these questions in one paragraph to make it easier for you to copy/paste, but you can space them out when you send your ask. Thank you! 

Superior AI Custom Order Request: 1) Your CE!babe of choice (If you’d rather I pick the babe for you, let me know). 2) What are the top 3 reasons why you are ordering an AI? 3) Soft, soft!dark, or dark? 4) Smut or no smut?

Thank youuu. But also, happy birthday to me 🫠 lolll.

—

Tagging some fellow hoes who may be interested or want to signal boost the event, no pressure though! (Sorry if I forgot anyone, I’m awful at tagging lol.) ❤️

You whirled yourself around, liner clattering amongst the mess of the vanity. “Chanel?” You gawked, a grin breaking out.

Andy had a habit of showing up with gifts; clothes, jewellery, flowers, whatever he could think of for his favourite girl of the week, but you had managed to keep his undivided attention for well over a month now. Had he been any other man in the club, you would’ve already propositioned him, offering yourself for a night, but he was too close with Pete; although the more attention he gave, the more you found yourself toying with the risk.

“For me?” You feigned surprise, “I could never— Gimme, gimme, gimme—“

Andy chuckled as he strolled over, bag outstretched towards your grabby hands and pressed a soft, brief kiss to the top of your head. You leaned up as you shook the box open, grinning and letting your lips ghost against his— the closest you had ever gotten to kissing him before. Each gift, each kind word, each longing look; every new tale you heard from the girls about how attentive he was in bed, how calling him ‘Daddy’ kept him hard for hours, how he rambled filth when he was close… it all just kept shoving you past a line you were trying desperately not to toe.

“You know I love spoiling you,” Andy said softly, pulling the chair from the neighbouring vanity closer so he could perch next to you as you pulled out the small, intricately designed black bag. “I chose something simple, didn’t know exactly what you would like—“

“Bullshit,” You giggled, cutting him off which resulted in a bashful smile spreading across his face. “You knew I’d love it.”

“Yeah, I did,” Andy laughed, placing the roses on your vanity and reaching for your hand, thumb rubbing over the dainty diamond ring he had gotten you the week before.

“I love it,” You told him honestly, placing the bag back in the box and carefully placing it down on the floor. “And I love the roses, you always know exactly what to get me.”

“Think I’ve earned a little one on one?” Andy asked, hands moving to your hips as you got up, resting your hands on his shoulders for a moment before letting them cross behind his neck, hand bending up to card through his hair.

“Pete doesn’t let me in VIP, and… I don’t really feel comfortable—“

“Oh! No! Not that,” Andy quickly cut in, eyes wild with fear that he’d caused you any kind of discomfort. He slid his hand up and down your back while the other massaged the meat of your hip. “Not that I wouldn’t want— Ah, fuck. I know that’s not your thing. I just wanted some time with you. What about after—“

“I can’t,” You replied woefully, wanting nothing more than to disappear into the deep red of the VIP rooms. “Pete doesn’t allow it. I’m sorry.”

“What? I can’t even buy you dinner? In your free time?”

“You’re a club client,” You explained, your eyes locked on his. “Pete’s client. I’m not…”

You trailed off, staring at him for a moment. His blue eyes were kept on yours, waiting earnestly for you to continue talking. His white shirt, ruffled from his day stuck in an office, clung to chest; taunting you with the defined muscles that hid underneath. The hands heavy on your body clouded your senses and made the devil on your shoulder jump for joy when the last of your resolve broke.

“Fuck it,” You murmured, more to yourself than to Andy.

You slid yourself into his lap, not giving either of you a second to think, before you slotted your lips against his and immediately melted into him. His hand found the back of your neck, keeping you anchored to him as he slid his tongue against yours, and used his other hand to rock your hips down against his.

“Let Daddy have you, baby, please. I’ll be so good to you,” Andy begged, almost breathlessly against your lips as your eyes flicked towards the door to ensure you were still alone. “Please, pretty baby—“

“Do you know where I’m staying?” You asked, letting a small smile slip when Andy hastily nodded, his hands coming up to cup your face, trying to pull you back against his lips. “Meet me there, park around the back.”

“Can’t wait, Sugar.” Andy sealed your fate with another swift, messy kiss before reluctantly letting you slide off his lap. “I’ll see you on the floor,” He said softly, standing and leaning down to steal a final kiss before rolling out his shoulders and loosening his tie a little as he headed towards the door. “Bye, baby.”

“Bye, Daddy,” You teased.

You’d spot a birthday card half opened on his nightstand as you were tucked into his bed, and soon snug against his chest as he held you tight to sleep. You’d murmur a small “happy birthday” against his chest and earn yourself a slight squeeze and pet to the top of your head.

In the morning, you’d wake him by cautiously peeling yourself out of his arms, wanting to keep him asleep just a little while longer and slide yourself down until you could lay between his legs, head resting on the meat of his inner thigh as you reached up to carefully peel back his boxers, cock springing free and resting heavy on his stomach as if he already knew what to expect.

He’d wake with a sleepy moan, deep in his chest as your tongue massaged the head of his cock, letting spit pooling your mouth before letting it run free down his length. Giving it to him exactly how he’d like, lazy and messy. Soon enough, his eyes would flutter open as his hands found your hair, tangling his fingers up as took your time, letting the tip of your tongue map out every vein, every inch, every spot that would make him buck his hips a little and hiss out a strung out; “fuck, baby, yeah, right there.”

As usual, the second he let go, he’d be rambling away, voice low and thick with sleep, rough and quiet. “So good at taking care of your Daddy, hmm? You love making a mess, don’t you, Sugar?”

Soon enough, spit is pooling at the base of his cock, soaking his balls as you sloppily work your mouth up and down his length, Steve absolutely losing it above you, until he uses the grip on your hair to thrust up into your mouth, using your throat as his own personal toy. “Such a good girl, so fucking hard for you, s’all for you, Sugar. Come on, baby, open wide for me. Let Daddy in, sweet thing. Little deeper, you can do it.” He’d gasp and groan as you swallowed around him, throat constricted around his length.

“Gonna let me use that pretty cunt after? Yeah? Exactly how I want? S’my birthday after all, Sugar. Gotta be nice on my day, gotta be so good for Daddy. You’re always so good for me, fuck, fuck fuck.”

You’d rest your head back on the meat of his thigh after he would guide you off his cock, one of his hands gripped your hair while the other hand fisted his cock, spurts of cum landing on your cheek, your open lips and chin. His head would be thrown back as he chanted your name. You’d clean him up with delicate laps of your tongue, wet eyes peering up at him as he cupped your face, thumb rubbing against your cheek.

The favour is quickly returned, Steve would haul you up, your thighs knees either side of his head, hands gripping your hips as he slides his tongue through your folds. Your hands would grip at the headboard, head falling forward as his tongue lapped at your clit, tip of his tongue catching the sensitive bundle over and over again. He’d eventually guide you to actually sit, shamelessly rocking your hips against his open mouth, your hand gripped in his hair, the other splayed over his large hand pawing at your breast. Blue eyes would lock on yours, wordlessly spurring you on.

You’d cum with his name on your lips. “Steve, Steve, Daddy, m’cumming, don’t stop, Daddy. Daddy, fuck.”

The rest of the morning and afternoon would be spent doting on him, despite him whining that he likes taking care of you and that because it’s his birthday he should get to what he wants, and what he wants is to take care of his baby. But you refuse. You tidy up the room, help him shower, change the sheets. You make him coffee while he rattles away on his laptop and perch yourself at his feet, humming happily around his cock that sat heavy on your tongue, whenever his hand cards through your hair.

Later on in the evening, you’d have dinner together. Obviously you can’t go out to a fancy restaurant, so you’d both get all dressed up and have a meal in the dining room which would be scattered in candles and soft, light music. You’d spend the meal with light touches, bumping your foot against his until eventually your hands are bound behind your back, his silk tie in a tight knot around your wrists, his large hand holding your bound wrists as he drives into you. The plates on the table clatter with each thrust, mixing with both of your moans.

“Fucking made for me.” He’d spew, gravel in his voice as he attempted to tame the monster. “Should keep you like this, fuck the others. Keep you ready for me. Daddy’s baby girl, huh? Just mine, yeah? You mine, Sugar? This pussy belongs to Daddy, right? Come on, give me the best present I could ask for, cum on Daddy’s cock, tell me how much you want it.”

As an added bonus: Darker Steve would keep you chained to the bed, bound and gagged. Your legs spread, tied to opposing bed posts for him to use you throughout the day however he wanted. Can’t have you running off, or worse… Running to one of his brothers or uncles. That just won’t do.

He tuts at your attempted retreat from his touch as he comes to a stop in front of you. His fingers catch beneath your chin, not only to tilt your tear-stained face up, forcing you to meet his gaze, but to reel you in closer, too, so you’re only inches away from his pelvis.

“You’ll learn very quickly not to try to run away from me, sweetheart… I don’t take kindly to defiance, no matter how small the act.” His touch was surprisingly gentle as he drew his knuckles down your cheek. “And something tells me that a delicate thing like you wouldn’t be very good at enduring my brand of punishment.”

You shudder at the steel in Steve’s voice, the hard glint in his eyes.

His outright threat.

Your breath hitches on an aborted sob as he drags you even closer to him, until your face is pressed against the growing bulge at the front of his slacks.

But this time, you don’t try to pull away. Swallowing down your tears, you force yourself to go pliant and sink against him even more.

Steve huffs a quiet, delighted laugh, his voice much warmer now as he coos, “Good girl.”

-

Screenshot. Blocked. Done.

Bucky walked in with a mug in his hand and took a seat beside you, which brought a small smile to your face. He liked being close. You were one of the only people he let into his personal space bubble.

“You okay?” he asked when you set your phone down. “You’re being quiet.”

“I’m quiet sometimes,” you tried to tease.

He tilted his head. “No, this is a different kind of quiet. Something happened,” he said because he knew you so well. “And I want to fix it.”

You smiled again. Of course, he wanted to fix it. That was the kind of man he was. 

“Apparently, I’m too old to have hobbies,” you stated.

An adorably confused look crossed his face and you wanted to kiss him for being so cute. “You’re… what?”

“I got some anonymous ask on my blog basically telling me to stop posting fanfiction because I’m too old and I should do something my age,” you explained, showing him the screenshot.

Bucky stared at the screenshot, his fingers twitching before they curled into fists. He didn’t say anything. It didn’t even look like he was breathing.

The cold that filled his blue eyes told you he was about two seconds from somehow climbing into the internet and finding this person.

“And before you asked, I didn’t respond. I blocked them,” you explained, keeping the phone out of his reach. “They’re just trolling or trying to get a reaction.”

One of the wonderful things about your blog was that you could curate it for your own experience. If you didn’t want to respond to rude asks or messages, you didn’t have to. If you wanted to, you could. It was that simple.

A downside of the website was that some people seemed to forget to curate their own experiences, like simply unfollowing or blocking blogs and tags if they didn’t like, agree, or want to see them.

“I am reacting,” Bucky said in a quiet voice tinged with building rage.

“I noticed,” you said, not flinching when he set the mug down with a little more force than necessary and took a deep breath.

“That… is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot of stuff.”

You almost laughed, but he was dead serious.

“Does this…” He gestured to your phone and flexed his fingers again. “Askhole really thinks that there’s an expiration date on hobbies? Because there isn’t.”

You shifted and tucked your legs underneath you, giving him your full attention.

“That’s so fucking…” He let out a bitter laugh. “People collect baseball cards into their seventies. Eighties. They paint miniature trains. Build model airplanes. Knit. Garden. Fish. Hunt.”

“They do,” you agreed, running your fingers through his hair just because you could.

He closed his eyes at your touch before he continued. “People go to comic cons and cosplay. They play D&D. Video games.” His voice was starting to rise and your nails touched his scalp again. “And what about grown ass men who paint their faces and spend entire weekends yelling at sports games?”

“You sound personally offended.”

He looked at you incredulously. “I am personally offended on your behalf.”

You snuck in a kiss because you couldn’t help yourself. You felt some of the anger leave his body when your lips touched. It meant a lot that he cared so much.

“Don’t distract me,” he whispered.

“I’m not,” you whispered back, smiling when you pulled away. “You just have very kissable lips.”

“So do you,” he said with a smile before he frowned. “But I’m still not happy because they’re acting like people writing stories is somehow less respectable because what? Other people read them online and not from a book?”

You shrugged a little. “It’s fanfiction,” you said softly.

He shrugged, too. “So?”

“So…” You tried to find the words. “Some people think it's an inferior form of writing and a waste of time.”

His brows pinched, something sad filling his eyes. “I think creating something that makes you happy is one of the most adult and superior things you could do.”

You were quiet for a moment. “Really?”

“Really.” He opened his arms for you to move close. “You have two kids who love and adore you and vice versa, and they’re busy with so many activities that you have a calendar to keep it all straight. You make sure they’re never without.”

Your heart swelled. Your babies. No matter how old they got, they would always be your babies. And you wanted them to thrive in life. That was one of the reasons you worked so hard to give them not just a nice home, but a loving one.

“You work 40 hours a week. Sometimes more,” he said, his lips brushing the top of your head. “You pour so much of yourself into that job and your teammates that it wears on you by the end of the week.”

Mist filled your eyes. You did put a lot into your job because your parents taught you the value of hard work. And as frustrating as growth in your job could be, there were perks to your job and you had a great team. That wasn’t easy to come by.

“And when you aren’t pouring yourself into the kids or work, you have a pretty amazing husband who always wants your attention,” he teased, tilting your chin up with a tender smile. “Seriously, I can’t keep my hands off you half the time.”

Heat filled your cheeks and a laugh bubbled up. It amazed you after so many years how your husband still wanted you. Still admired you. He was an amazing partner and father.

You couldn’t ask for anyone better.

“And when you aren’t dealing with a handy husband.” He smirked a little. “You’re paying bills, handling responsibilities, and checking on others. Online and offline.”

Your heart sank a little. Messages sometimes went unanswered. Asks got buried. Comments got late replies. Not on purpose. Never on purpose.

But you felt guilty just the same. It didn’t feel like enough some days. There wasn’t enough time. There wasn’t enough of you to go around. 

“I try,” you said sadly.

“You do your best, and people see that,” he said proudly. “And after all that, you write.”

“Yeah.”

You wished you could write every single day. Life rarely gave you the opportunity to do so. You accepted that.

“I’m in fucking awe of you,” he said so seriously that your mouth fell open. “And not just you, but the community you all have online. They may not have your same kind of life or schedule, but they have their own struggles and they still find the time to create and share. You all help keep fandoms alive.”

Everyone had a life and a story to tell. Everyone had their hardships. That was one of the reasons so many of you gravitated to certain characters and communities. Life was tough enough. Building connections helped.

“I guess we do,” you said, much softer.

“Does that piece of shit askhole realize that your creations have touched people? Helped people?” 

“I haven’t-”

He silenced you with a deep kiss, the words dying in your throat.

“Don’t you dare say that your writing hasn’t touched or helped at least one person because it has,” he said fiercely, cupping your cheek. “Fluff, smut, angst, soft, dark. There’s something for everyone.”

You did your best to provide a variety of stories, and you adored your readers. They were cheerleaders, supporters, and friends. You wanted them to feel loved and cared for. They deserved that. 

“And some coward.” The word tasted bitter in his mouth. “Hiding behind a button doesn’t get to treat you like you don’t belong in your own space because of your age.”

Your eyes burned again. “Bucky…”

“Not to mention, you do this for free in the very limited free time you have.” He brushed his thumb along your cheek. “I’m glad you blocked them. You don’t need that trash in your inbox.”

“I’m glad, too.”

It wasn’t the sort of energy you needed in your space, and blocking them helped take your power back.

“And look at me? I’m over a hundred years old. I’m an old fucking man, and I still have hobbies.” He smiled when you snorted. “Like jumping out of planes.”

“You take after Steve,” you joked. 

That beautiful man could be reckless in the best way.

“I like old records.”

“And we dance in the kitchen while listening to them.”

You always felt cherished when he held you close.

“I read,” he said, nodding to the chair where he usually sat to read.

“I should get you reading glasses,” you mused.

Even if he didn’t need them, he’d look sexy in them.

“I’m a science nerd,” he stated proudly.

“I still want to get your glasses.”

Because nerds were sexy as hell.

“I like fixing motorcycles.”

You sighed dreamily. “And you look good on your bike.”

Maybe he could take you for a ride later… in more ways than one.

“I bake with Sam’s nephews.”

You sighed again because the man looked good with kids. “They do love when you add extra chocolate chips to cookies.”

“Extra chocolate chips make it better.” He winked. “And I’m still saving the world every so often.”

You put your hand over his. “My hero.”

“So, if I can still have hobbies at my age, why can’t you?” he asked rhetorically. “If this person really thinks people should stop once they hit a certain, they’re going to live a sad life. If anything, people get better at their hobbies because they’re getting more experience which happens with age.”

You didn’t disagree.

“I don’t care if you’re in your twenties, thirties, forties, fifties, whatever age,” he promised you. “If it brings you joy? If you love it? Then don’t stop creating. Don’t stop writing your stories.”

You closed your eyes when he kissed your forehead. “Even the self-indulgent ones?”

He smiled against your skin. “Especially the self-indulgent ones.”

“Even if I write about other characters?” 

“I’ll support you,” he promised.

“What if someone else says I’m still too old?” you asked.

“Then I’ll remind them, once again, that I’m over a hundred years old and they can get fucked.”

“You look very good for your age.” You giggled when he playfully growled and managed to grab your phone. “Hey!”

“You look very good for your age.” You giggled when he playfully growled and managed to grab your phone. “Hey!”

“Forget about them,” he ordered, tucking the device away. “And talk to me about one of the next ideas brewing in that beautiful brain of yours.”

An almost shy smile appeared on your face. Almost. He knew better.

“It might be better if I… show you.”

He leaned back against the cushion and helped you straddle him, his eyes dark as his hands settled on your hips. “I like the sound of that.”

You stopped him before he could pull you down for a kiss. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You gazed at the man who brought so much light into your life. He helped you connect to others. He fueled your creativity. 

You felt very lucky.

“Thanks for loving and seeing me,” you whispered.

His eyes softened. “Thanks for loving and seeing me, too,” he said, meeting you halfway. “And if some askhole bothers you again, send them my way.”

“Yes, sir,” you teased, letting him kiss you.

So, yes, you’d keep posting your stories on your blog.

The self-indulgent ones. The ones you struggled to tell. The ones you put your blood, sweat, and tears into.

You’d joke about the writing process. You’d apologize for late updates. You’d keep on doing what you were doing.

Because there was no expiration date on creativity and hobbies.

And anyone who thought there was?

Well, they didn’t need to read your stories. 

Yep. I'm a mom. A wife. A friend. I work. I adult. Fanfiction isn't just fanfiction, lovelies. It's community. Keep doing you. Curate your own experience. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️