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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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@biteofcherry @poindextersgirlforever can't drop this here and not expect me to melt. 🫠
Just imagine Bucky. Thick torso. Broad shoulders and chest. Big arms. Soft stomach. Visible strength beneath his calm and slightly gruff demeanor. Various parts of his body covered in tattoos and scars that tell stories.
Makes sure you eat, and he's a great cuddler.
His body is a built-in heated blanket and he has the most watchful blue eyes, okay?
Navy, out of curiosity, do you think you'd ever like to write for Matt? No pressure whatsoever!!!
I see the appeal, Stephanie! He's hot, let's be honest, but I love his dualities and more. A Catholic fighting in a Devil costume? A lawyer who fights for justice while breaking the law as a vigilante? Righteous but violent? Confident but vulnerable? He struggles with mental health. He's flawed. He's human.
So never say never! Just need the right idea for my muse.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Apparently, you're too old for your hobby. Bucky disagrees.
Word Count: Over 2k
Warnings: Purely self-indulgent, reader has kids, mention of fanfiction and anon hate, writer positivity, age positivity, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: I had to this, okay? ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You were sitting on the couch, scanning the words on your screen. You read them once. Twice. Part of you wanted to smile at the terrible grammar that dared to grace your inbox, and the rest of you was stunned by the sheer audacity of what you saw.
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 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. ❤️
Never too old! We all deserve to have things that bring us joy. ❤️ And writing brings me joy! Even if I'm petty. 😂
Oh, Bucky would have fun with that.
And as @paperweight91 and I were discussing, had this been Steve, you would've had to jump on his back because he'd want to hunt them down. 😂 Thank you! ❤️
Lovelies, we took the kiddos out for dinner and there were a few craft tents set up. Pens were buy 4 get 1 free. The kiddos each picked 2 pens for themselves.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Apparently, you're too old for your hobby. Bucky disagrees.
Word Count: Over 2k
Warnings: Purely self-indulgent, reader has kids, mention of fanfiction and anon hate, writer positivity, age positivity, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: I had to this, okay? ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You were sitting on the couch, scanning the words on your screen. You read them once. Twice. Part of you wanted to smile at the terrible grammar that dared to grace your inbox, and the rest of you was stunned by the sheer audacity of what you saw.
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 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. ❤️
Attack hug, Chelsea! ❤️ As @targaryenvampireslayer said to me, it's too close to Leo season. 😂 We all deserve a safe space here with life being so crazy. Thank you! ❤️❤️❤️
Playlist Prompt: Come and Get Your Love - Redbone / “What's the matter with you”
Warnings: Jail time for Dex, kind reader, Benjamin Poindexter and his POV (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Day 18 of the June Jukebox Scribbles Challenge by @societynsoelsscribbles . ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Dex never expected to get letters in prison.
The first few weren’t kind.
Go to hell.
You deserve to rot.
What’s the matter with you? Seriously. You have issues.
They didn’t know or understand him. He was a good guy. He was trying to help.
What right did they have to judge him?
And then your letter came.
Dear Dex,
I hope it’s okay that I’m writing to you. I also hope it’s okay that I’m calling you Dex. I was told you prefer that over Benjamin, and I wanted to be respectful of that.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I’m part of a volunteer letter writing program. Believe it or not, this is my first letter! I’m sure it’s obvious. I even wrote this introduction three times. I guess I’m a little nervous.
Not because of you though.
I just didn’t want this to sound insincere or weird.
I know we’re strangers, but I imagine some days aren’t very kind to you. Is that presumptuous of me? I’m sorry if it is. Regardless, I hope this letter brings a little brightness to your day. Even if it’s only for a few minutes.
Is it silly to want that for someone I’ve never met?
You don’t have to write back if you don’t want to. There’s no pressure to do so. But if you’d like, I’d love to hear from you.
Until then, I hope you’re doing well.
He read your name at the bottom of the letter out loud.
Something settled deep in his chest.
He traced your signature with his finger. Nobody wanted to hear from him. No one cared about how his days were or showed him kindness.
But you did.
He’d write you back.
And he’d count the days until he got your next letter.
It's the end of another round here at Writer in a Cryofreeze, and we know that for some of, that chilly A/C is looking mighty good right about now… but sadly, the Cryofreeze can only fit one person, and so it is with a fond adieu and a frosty salute that we bid farewell to:
@navybrat817, author of Overrated
Navy, we were thrilled to have you back for your second go at a Cryofreeze. Every week you delivered a funny, sweet, sexy, and delightful drabble, and we are all the richer for it. Fandom would not exist without people like you in it. And we cannot wait for you to post your drabbles under your own name so that we can lavish them with praise.
But in the meantime, your Cryofreeze is prepped and waiting, with plenty of cool air and frosty treats.
As for our remaining three authors—they'll be battling the heat with the rest of us while they write their next drabbles. Tune in on Thursday to see the new batch!
Had this thought of how terrifying Dex would be if some inmates got a hold of his letters and ripped them to taunt him 👀
I'm so glad you enjoyed Pen Pal, nonnie! A scribble I'd love to build on.
Oh, tearing up a letter you sent Dex would be a death sentence for them. And it's a matter of how quickly he goes after them since he has to get out to get to you.
Summary: Apparently, you're too old for your hobby. Bucky disagrees.
Word Count: Over 2k
Warnings: Purely self-indulgent, reader has kids, mention of fanfiction and anon hate, writer positivity, age positivity, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: I had to this, okay? ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You were sitting on the couch, scanning the words on your screen. You read them once. Twice. Part of you wanted to smile at the terrible grammar that dared to grace your inbox, and the rest of you was stunned by the sheer audacity of what you saw.
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 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. ❤️
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