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navybrat817 · 1 year

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First Mother's Day

Summary: Steve and Bucky want to give you the perfect Mother's Day.

Pairings: Lumberjack!Steve Rogers x Female Reader, Woodworker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: Over 2.2k Warnings: Fluff, established relationships, slight insecurities, parenthood, pet names, canon divergent, feels (it's me), Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes (yep, they are warnings) A/N: Happy Mother's Day from our Into the Woods boys.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Dividers by @firefly-graphics. Bucky edit by Nix. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Beefcake and Tippy

When Steve asked what you wanted for your first Mother’s Day, you didn’t have an answer for him. After a few seconds of silence and an eyebrow raise, you said you didn’t want anything. A touch of sadness filled the former Captain’s blue eyes when he asked you why. You shrugged a little. That answer wasn’t good enough for him.

Truthfully, you weren’t sure what to say. You knew he wanted to make the day special for you, but wasn’t it just another day? Peanut would be too young to remember it. Then again, you and Steve would be able to keep the memories close to your hearts. But it felt selfish to ask for anything, even if the day was meant to be about you.

And wasn’t that part of being a mom, willing to give, but not wanting to ask for anything in return?

“Steve, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something for me,” you said, even if a small part of you wanted him to.

“It’s your day. I have to do something.”

“What did I just say? You don’t have to do anything,” you argued.

“Wrong choice of words,” he said, pulling you close. “I want to. Please.”

While some likely expected Steve to want a more “traditional” wife and mother to his kids, thanks to when he was born, he was a hands-on dad. Expecting you to do everything was unrealistic and unfair in his eyes. He invested time and energy into raising his child and made sure to balance responsibilities. Not only that, he took the time to acknowledge your hard work as you balanced writing and motherhood. You consider yourself lucky to have Steve as a partner and father to your son.

He makes me feel seen and appreciated.

Maybe it was the pleading look in his eyes that got to you. Or the slight pout on his handsome face. You didn’t want much. You really didn’t. So was it really selfish to ask?

“Okay. You know what I want?” you asked, not giving him a chance to respond. “I want to sleep in a little. I want breakfast in bed and I don’t care if that’s cliche. I want an uninterrupted nap in the afternoon with a warm blanket. And I want to watch a cheesy rom-com before bed with buttered popcorn.”

“From that shop in the city?” he smiled, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Yes, that one,” you smiled back. “With extra butter.”

“And that’s it?” he questioned, making sure you weren’t leaving anything out.

“That’s it,” you replied. “A simple, quiet day with the two of you. I don’t think that’s asking for too much and it’ll make me happy. My day, my rules, right?”

Steve chuckled and nodded. “Whatever you say.”

When Sunday rolled around, you didn’t wake up to the sound of Steve’s alarm like you expected. Instead, you opened your eyes to the sight of him carrying a tray with a delicious smelling breakfast. He smiled gently as he waited for you to sit up and stretch before he set the food down. He was dressed for the day, a red plaid shirt stretched across his broad chest. Handsome as ever and you probably looked like the walking dead rising from your slumber.

And Peanut was close by in the pack ‘n play, sound asleep. You noticed his onesie matched Steve’s shirt. A mini-me in the making and you couldn’t be happier.

“Good morning,” Steve said, sitting on the bed. “Already fed and changed him so you could sleep in.”

First thing on my list.

“Thank you, Steve,” you smiled, your stomach grumbling as you looked over the large breakfast. Second thing on my list. “I may be hungry, but you know you’ll have to help me eat this, right?”

“That was the plan,” he teased, uncaring of your morning breath as he leaned over to kiss you. “Would you like your present before or after breakfast?”

“You got me a present?” you asked, shaking your head as he leaned down and pulled out a large package from under the bed. “Okay, I have to open it now. How did you manage to hide that from me?”

“Because you didn’t look under the bed,” he winked, moving the tray so you could take the gift. “Thank god you didn’t because we both know I’m a terrible liar and I would’ve told you immediately what was inside.”

True.

You almost felt bad ruining the pretty wrapping paper, but you felt giddy with anticipation as you opened the box, especially since you hadn’t expected anything. Your smile widened when you saw the large bag of buttered popcorn from your favorite shop that sat on top of a soft blanket. Beside it sat a framed photo of you holding your son the day he was finally home.

“For your uninterrupted nap this afternoon and for our rom-com movie tonight,” he smiled. Third and fourth items on my list. “I thought the photo would be nice for your desk.”

The day the hospital released your son was one of the happiest days of your life. He carried so much strength in his tiny body, a reminder that hope and resilience came in all shapes and sizes. The heart of a warrior and the light of your life.

“These are wonderful. Thank you,” you said, pointing at one more small box. “But what’s this?”

“Something I had Jewel make,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed nervous about this one. “I, um, hope you like it.”

You gasped when you opened the box. Bucky’s wife was a gifted jewelry maker and she had once again outdone herself. A sparkling ring with three stones shined up at you, immediately recognizing that they represented birthstones for you, Steve, and Peanut. As you took out the ring with tearful eyes, you caught a small inscription inside the band.

Faith. Hope. Love.

“Happy Mother's Day,” Steve whispered, taking the ring and slipping it onto your right ring finger. “And here’s to many more.”

A tear fell as you framed his face to kiss him. Not only did he give you exactly what you asked for, but he went above and beyond to make you feel special. The way he did each day with faith, hope, and love.

But the greatest of these is love.

Hunk and Jewel

You didn’t have to be a genius to figure out how nervous Bucky was for your first Mother’s Day. He circled the day on the calendar with a lopsided heart and a question mark in the space. You also caught him reading an article on unique gifts, which you pretended not to see. You could’ve dropped hints here and there for him if you wished, but there wasn’t anything specific that you wanted.

You did your own research and found that some moms wanted space on Mother’s Day, like a spa or pampering day. Others liked homemade and sentimental gifts. A general consensus was that they didn’t want to do any work. Bucky already handled more than his share of chores though when it came to your home and daughter and you knew he wouldn’t let you lift a finger when that Sunday arrived.

Could you ask for anything more?

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked your daughter as he paced around the room, cuddling her against his chest. “She made Tippy a ring. A ring. How do I even top that? Not that it’s a competition. It’s not.”

You covered your mouth so you wouldn’t laugh. It was almost endearing how he had the tendency to overthink when it came to gifts for you. You assured him that no matter what he decided to get you, for whatever occasion, that you’d love it. A small bouquet of flowers would've satisfied you.

“You know I love your mama, right? Love you both so much,” he continued, kissing the top of her head. “I just want her to feel special. She works so hard and she puts up with me.”

I adore him.

Jellybean giggled as she tugged on her dad’s hair, your heart melting at the sight. Your baby girl loved you, there was no doubt about that, but she was also very much a daddy’s girl. Not that you blamed her. Bucky was a loving, protective father, always there to soothe and care for her. He’d always have a special place in her heart.

“We love you, too,” you said, finally letting out a laugh when he turned with wide eyes and saw you in the doorway. “Your super soldier senses didn’t pick up on me standing here?”

“And I thought I had stealth,” he mumbled with a small smile. “You know how I get when it comes to your gifts.”

“I do, but I don’t understand why you do, Jamie. You have nothing to worry about,” you said, smiling when you saw how content your daughter was in his arms. “I’m sure you already have a special engraved stone for me,” you pointed out, something to carry on the tradition he created. You kept the small growing collection in a jeweled box and looked forward to getting them for each holiday and special day.

“But you’re expecting that and I want to surprise you,” he said, sighing before Jellybean giggled again. “I think she’s laughing at me.”

“Oh, she is,” you teased, rubbing her back. You weren’t a perfect mother, but she was a happy, healthy baby and that was what mattered to you. “Do you remember the first time we heard her giggle? It was such a happy sound. I wish I knew what went on in her mind when she did that.”

Bucky gave you a thoughtful stare, like something clicked in his mind. “I remember,” he said, gently putting your daughter in your arms. “I need to make a call.”

“Okay,” you said, watching as he rushed out of the room. “I think your dada got an idea.”

You were right.

Bucky was much more relaxed after that afternoon. You had to admit, you were curious about what gift he had in mind. You went through a list of things in your mind before you decided not to dwell on it. As much as you wanted to ask for hints, you didn’t want to spoil the surprise.

That day you woke up to a bouquet of your favorite flowers on the nightstand. Beside it was a smaller vase with a single flower. The scent brought a smile to your face as you sat up. They were beautiful.

“She picked the flowers and chose the prettiest one for her vase” Bucky smiled, carrying your daughter with one hand and balancing a gift in the other. “We have breakfast waiting for you, but she wants you to open your gift first.”

Liar.

“Of course she did. She has good taste,” you smiled, booping her on the nose as Bucky sat her down on the bed.

Bucky gazed at you expectantly as you unwrapped the present. As expected, a heart shaped rock engraved with “Mother” awaited you on top. Fitting for a mother of pearl stone. Beneath it was a wooden bath tray that you knew Bucky made himself.

“It has room for a book or tablet, your phone, a place for your wine glass, and it extends if you want to add more stuff,” he explained, kissing your forehead. “You deserve to relax.”

I don’t deserve him.

“Beautiful and thoughtful,” you smiled, making Bucky smile in return. He knew how much you liked to relax whenever you could. “Thank you.”

“There’s one more thing,” he said, urging you to look under the tray.

“A book?” you asked, picking it up to look at the cover.

Mama, I Love You!

“That call I made? I got some help from Tippy,” he explained, clearing his throat. “So you know what's on Jellybean's mind."

You were almost afraid to open it because you knew you’d cry. Tippy was extremely talented, her words drawing a range of emotions from the reader. And with help from Bucky, you knew this one was extra special.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

You sniffled as you opened it and turned the pages. Each page had a date, drawings of the three of you, or message of love and memories. From the day you found out you were pregnant, to the day you brought your daughter home, to her first smile, and more. It was as if Jellybean was telling you the story of her life with you so far. And letting you know that you were doing the best that you could.

By the time you got to the last page, you openly sobbed.

“Thank you for loving me, Mama.”

This was one of the reasons you loved Bucky. Jellybean couldn’t tell you through words yet how she felt being your daughter, so her father did so. At the end of the day, you wanted to be the best mother for her. This gift would help ease your insecurities if you ever doubted yourself.

“Thank you for loving us,” Bucky whispered, wiping away your tears with a tender touch before he kissed you. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

Thank you both for loving me.

I think Tippy and Jewel having a hand in the gifts make them extra special. I also know this day isn't easy for many and my heart goes out to each of you lovelies. Happy Mother's Day. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ KoFi

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Outside the Lines 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsessive compulsive behaviour, kidnapping, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader has her routine and her fellow patient gets in the way of those.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, (lumberjack AU)

Note: I'm feeling it so why not.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Steve takes you downstairs. You marvel at the large kitchen, finished with dark walnut and brass. Bucky sits, dragging his fingertips over the island, leaning as he stares grimly at the wall. His eyes drift to you slowly and you flinch, cowering and shifting to hide partly behind Steve.

“She calm down?” He asks brusquely as he taps his metal fingers on the wood.

“Buck, she just needed to settle in, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Steve reaches back blindly and grabs your arm, drawing you forward, “she’s going to apologise.”

You look at him. You can’t hide your surprise at his declaration. Apologise. For what? They lied to you. How could you know any better? But you suppose you should’ve listened. You nod and Steve lets you go.

You face Bucky and step closer, folding one hand over the other.

“Bucky,” you begin.

“Sweetheart,” Steve hovers behind you, “you call him sergeant.”

Your lips part and you look down at your feet. You place them within the lines of the hardwood and count to three. You’d been standing right on the lines. That's bad luck!

You look up again and bring your hands over your chest.

“Sergeant,” you voice quavers and you swallow to steady it, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But I know now and I’ll be good because I know you’re just trying to help me.” Your eyes well as you remember his angry voice, “I’m real sorry about throwing the tea at you. I was only afraid.” You touch your cheeks and sway back and forth, “I’m not a mean person.”

His blue eyes are icy and his jaw set. He arches a brow and peeks at Steve. He raises his chin and lets his expression soften as he turns to you fully. He tilts his head as he grips his hip.

“Doll,” he says softly, “I forgive you. But I won’t a second time. Got it?”

“Yes,” you pout.

“We talked,” Steve says, “she understands now.”

“Ah,” Bucky hums, “good.”

You nod and look from one to the other. Steve touches the small of your back as he steps up beside you. You slouch and shy away from him.

“Why don’t you show the sergeant how sorry you are and make him a nice breakfast?” Steve suggests, “you know what they say about men.”

You shake your head. Who is they and what do they say?

“The way to his heart is through his stomach,” Steve chuckles.

“Oh,” you bat your lashes, “so… um, what should I make?”

“Coffee,” Bucky grumbles as he rubs his eyes.

“There’s bacon and eggs in the fridge, can you cook that?”

“Yes! Yes, I can cook,” you proclaim, “I know how.”

“Of course, honey,” Steve drags his fingertips up your arm, “you can do so much. I know you can. A lot more than you think. And we just want to help you learn how to do more.”

You don’t want to seem ungrateful. It’s only confusing. You did overreact. You didn’t even let them explain. It’s no wonder they got a bit pushy.

“Thank you,” you chirp, “you’re so nice.” You look at his hand as he caresses above your elbow, “and this is a very nice house. I’ve never been to a cabin before. It’s so nice you would bring me here.”

“Ha, yeah, you know, me and Bucky built it,” Steve explains.

“You did?” You round your eyes and take another look around. You can’t imagine all that work. “Wow!”

"Coffee," Bucky grits as he leans his chin in his hand.

"Oh, yes," you twiddle your fingers and flutter around, watching your feet as you step between the trim of the hardwood slats of the floor, "I can make... coffee. I don't drink it you know, just tea. Coffee makes me... hyper!"

You spin cluelessly. Not knowing where to begin. You have no idea where everything is. There are no labels like your apartment. Every shelf, every cupboard has the precise contents listed on the outside, just like you like. So everything is in order. You hate chaos.

Bucky grumbles and Steve lets out a soft breath, "sweetheart, one step at a time," he girds.

Steve comes forward as you step back to watch him open a cupboard. He pulls down a bag of coffee, burlap with print stamped across it. The smell of its contents seep into your nose. Comforting even if its too bitter for your taste.

"Oh, thanks," you step forward carefully and hug the bag with your hands.

"Grinder is here," he points, "and the press."

You look between both and try to hide your confusion. Oh. You don't know how to do all that. You chew your lip and loosen the drawstring at the top of the bag. You stare inside tenuously.

He opens a drawer and takes out a metal measuring cup. He offers it to you.

"One scoop."

You take it and scoop out the beans. Then you just stand there with it. You look at him and cringe.

"In the grinder," he directs gently as he pulls forward the little square machine and pops the top.

You pour the beans inside, the rattle of them making a small rhythm that carries in your head. You bop your head, trying to follow it as your nerves get the better of you. You can't help but make up little nonsensical songs in your head when you feel so lost.

He shuts the lid and steps back.

"Press the button."

You obey and press the button. There's a short whir then the machine quiets again.

He stifles a laugh, "hold it down."

You push and keep your finger jammed. You watch the blade turn the beans to powder and he gestures for you to stop. He slides over the press and pulls a spoon out of the open drawer. You reach over to shut it without thinking. He hesitates but says nothing about it.

"So, six table spoons. Open it up."

You try to flip the top of the machine open like he did but it won't budge. You grab it firmly and try to force it open. He moves forward.

"You gotta hit the switch--"

Suddenly the compartment detaches from the rest of the machine and the lid opens, dusting you and the floor with coffee grinds. You stand in stunned silence as a growl rolls up Bucky's throat.

"Steve, just make the coffee, I'm dying here."

"I'm sorry," you push your lip out, "I made a mess."

You look around at the smatter of grinds all around you and littered across your dress. You shake it off and shiver. You glance between the men.

"I'm very sorry," you apologise again, "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. Don't be mad."

"It's fine, sweetheart," Steve reaches to touch your shoulder and you flinch, "get the broom out of the closet. Clean it up."

"Uh, uh, alright," you shake off the front of your dress before turning on your heel.

You go to the closet, the weight of Bucky's gaze following you. You open the door and find a broom, taking it out with the dustpan. You shut it and look past it to the doorway that gives a peak of another; a door with windows that look out on a leafy yard.

"Doll," Bucky warns from behind you.

"Sorry, was just looking," you spin and nearly trip over the bristles.

"Can't go outside until we can trust you," he adds.

"You don't trust me," you stand dumbly with the broom and pan. "Why not?"

He gives you a look. Your lips form an O. Yeah, the tea. Fair.

"Sorry," you repeat.

You set to sweeping up the grinds and Steve shows you where the bin is. Then he goes about making the coffee himself as you watch. He peeks over and smiles.

"Bacon and eggs are in the fridge."

You nod and go to the large fridge, a wooden front that makes it blend in with the rest of the decor. You open it and find the eggs easily but can't figure which paper packet is bacon. Not until you see the scribble sharpy scrawled on the other side.

You go back to the counter and peer around. Just as clueless as ever. Steve directs you to the pots and pans and you take out what you need. He tells you to put the kettle on and you stop to do that as he stands back and watches you. It suddenly feels like a test.

You struggle to catch the gas burner, making yourself dizzy as the flame doesn't light.

"She's gonna burn this place down," Bucky snarls.

"Relax," Steve steps forward and gets the burner going for you. "There."

"She can't do anything on her own."

Steve retreats and points at Bucky. You don't look back as he approaches the other man and you hear the scratch of a whisper between them. You put the kettle on the lit burner, then lay the skillet on another. You focus and repeat what Steve did, managing to light the second.

"I did it!"

Bucky sighs as Steve praises you, "good girl."

You could smile. You're good. You can do things.

You turn on the oven, that's easier. You lay out bacon on a sheet and wait for it to preheat as you add oil to the pan. You search the cupboard and find a bowl to mix the eggs. You examine the spice rack, taking your pick of the many containers.

You shake your head and seal your lips as you have to smell them to see which is which. Steve hums before he speaks.

"What's wrong?"

You shrug, "nothing..."

He arches his brow and lifts his chin slightly. You clutch the oregano and gulp.

"Captain," you clear your throat, "in my apartment, I label stuff so I know. I can't find anything without the labels."

"Labels?" He repeats thoughtfully.

"Use your head. Remember," Bucky scoffs and receives a nudge from Steve.

"Labels, how about we make that your first project. Bucky can go in to town and get you a nice label maker of your own," Steve looks at his companion, "won't you?"

Bucky scowls, "if I don't get coffee soon, I'm not doing shit."

You widen your eyes and cover your mouth. Steve tuts, "Buck, watch your mouth."

"She's an adult, she can handle it."

"You're an adult too so stop being a brat," Steve warns, "sweetheart, keep going. I'll get his coffee."

He nears and pulls down a mug from yet another cupboard. He fills it and holds it up, "the sergeant takes his black, I don't mind a bit of cream. Okay?"

"Black," you nod at Bucky, "cream," you look back at Steve, "I'll try to remember."

"I know," he winks before he walks away.

He hands over the mug to Bucky and comes back to pour his own but you're there first. You put down the oregano and reach up to grab a red mug. You shut the cupboard and fill it, scurrying around Steve to grab the cream from the fridge. You add a little and offer him the cup. A grin slowly spread across his face.

"You're so sweet, thank you," he takes it, "you're a good learner, you know that?"

"I am?" You smile.

"Very smart girl," he raises the cup, blowing across it before taking a sip, "perfect. You got it just right."

You clap your hands together proudly, "see," you face Bucky, "I can do it, sergeant."

He squints at you over his own steaming mug and says nothing as he drinks. His blue eyes pierce you coldly. Your face falls and you tuck your chin down, turning back to take the oregano and you go back to the bowl of eggs.

You can do this. You're not going to burn the eggs. Or the bacon.

"Do you have a timer?" You ask. That's the only way you ever get anything done but you don't have your phone anymore, which means all your alarms are useless.

"Yep," Steve grabs a small apple shaped timer from the corner of the counter and places it by the stove, "just twist."

"Thank you, Captain," you take it and look at the numbers.

He leans in and lowers his voice, "he'll come around. You'll show him, I know you will, sweetheart."

You bite down your lip and look at him. His eyes fall to your mouth as it curves, just a little, your cheeks burning.

"I'm trying," you eke out.

"I know," he reaches to rub your arm, dragging his hand up around your shoulder and playing with the sleeve of your dress, "did I tell you how nice you look?"

"Thank you," you preen.

"Doesn't she look nice, Bucky?" He steps back and crosses to the island where Bucky nurses his cup.

"Not bad," Bucky says, not quite a compliment but not as bad as you expect.

You'll just have to do better. Put all those tools that Dr. Makira gave you to work.

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nickfowlerrr · 1 year

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@nicestgirlonline: moodboard request: the old gods of the forest, cabin in the woods, lumberjack steve rogers!

#steve rogers moodboard #lumberjack!steve rogers #my moods #i was unsure what old gods of the forest was so i just searched that aesthetic lol #i hope this fits your vision 🫣#steve rogers #lumberjack steve rogers

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biteofcherry · 1 year

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lumberjack!Steve Rogers x reader

🍁🍁🍁

Mulled wine hitting your head a little faster than usual (which was surprising, considering all the delicious food you managed to eat at the event), you stumbled as your boot got stuck in the mud again. A muscular arm wound around you, preventing your fall and helping you regain balance. You saw dark ink resembling wildlife weave up the man's forearm to disappear beneath the rolled up sleeve of a plaid shirt. When you straightened and turned around to thank him, you were met with a pair of brilliant blue eyes, shining with soft mischief as he looked down at you from beneath eyelashes. The same blue eyes you've been meeting constantly throughout the day. Because you've been checking him out every few moments, unable to stop yourself. You've seen bearded men in the city. You've seen men with charming smiles and nice physique. Somehow, they couldn't compare to the effect a lumberjack from some small town had on your... well, on your everything. From your head, to your fluttering heart, down to your ovaries who suddenly awoke with really disturbing needs. Worst part, every time you glanced his way, he caught you looking. And now his arm was around you, still. He was smiling at you. You had to tilt your head, because he was so much taller. Broader, too. Never before had you felt so tiny compared to a man. It was surprisingly thrilling. Your mind instantly replayed flashes of the lumberjack competition that your friend brought you to see, where he - Steve Rogers, you were intently listening to every bit of information that was spoken about him around - showed skill and strength that made your thighs clench. Thankfully, though mulled wine made you less coordinated, it didn't completely ruin your self control. Otherwise you could've spluttered Split me in two, the way you begged in your head as you watched Steve chop wood earlier.

based on this autumn aesthetic poll

🍂 all autumn aesthetic moodboards 🍂

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers imagine #lumberjack!steve rogers #autumn aesthetic #autumn aesthetic moodboard #moodboard

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treatbuckywkisses · 2 years

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—inspired by sweet nothing ; taylor swift

—for @sweetascanbee I adore you<3

#fayths moodboard #chris evans #steve rogers #moodboard #soft!lumberjack!steve #soft!biker!steve

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blogfullofemos · 5 months

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I Have a Concept... Are You Down??

You better prepare because after finally finishing the whole series of Stranger Things (it took me a WHILE to get into it when it was popular). Steve Harrington been heavy on my mind (even though I'm an Eddie and Billy girl).

BUT LUMBERJACK STEVE HARRINGTON!!! 🥴

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington concept #im so excited #but first I must research #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington stranger things #lumberjack Steve harrington

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years

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Fix it Friday!!

I've got a thing for lumberjack!Steve. Steve and his girl live in a cabin somewhere up the mountain, a tiny village with a handful of population. So it's natural that a storm wrecked the roof of Steve's barn (?) and Steve tells his girl not to worry and he will fix it.

His girl makes a cup of tea and watches him work from the porch, while Steve wears an undershirt and swing an ax to chop off the wood, accidentally flexing his strong muscles in the process😍😍 When he climbs up the ladder to fix the roof, his sweat glistening in the sunlight, as if radiating gold shimmer from his body😍😍😍

“Dragons are dangerous, deadly creatures. They’re vile and evil, they’ll rip humans limb from limb.”

“You don’t need to be afraid of me.” It wasn’t the dragon within the man that made you fearful, it was the men that discarded you in the woods like you were trash that frightened you. “I’ll take good care of you.”

“You’re strong,” you observe him as he swings the axe above him head in a fluid motion and chop the wood clean in two, “even for a beast.”

“I have to be strong.” He huffs, puffs out a hot blast of air as he tosses the wood to the side and rests the handle of the axe on his shoulder. “I need to make this place safe for you, sweet human.”

He is both beast and woodsman; inexplicably wild and deliriously soft.

“Are you sure you don’t need help fixing the barn?” You ask and he raises an eyebrow in your direction, his lips tugged into a half-smirk that makes you aware that just hours before he was splitting you in two with his cock.

“I don’t think you have the energy, tender heart.” Steve speaks the truth, you are worn and exhausted. “My dragon fire-“

“It was a rut, like a bull elk fighting another-“

“-my rut,” Steve’s smirk widens, “wore you out. Why don’t you go inside and make some tea? I can handle things out here.”

Steve waits until you turn and head back into the cabin before he throws a few logs over his shoulder and start stalling toward the barn. The storm that came through was more than anyone expected, it was enough to scare his animals, and after he’d gotten them calmed he could look at the damage.

“Sweet human,” Steve hums under his breath, watching you stand in the kitchen working on making tea like he sent you too, “you tease me relentless, now its my turn.”

Steve is purposeful as he started ripping off layers, leaving him in a thin shirt that shows the extent of his muscular bulk. He gives you an unobstructed view of his thick stature as he works away at fixing the holes.

Only once does he turn and look your way, feeling the striking bolt of your desire through the bond.

“I’ll be in soon, sweet girl!”

#dragon!Steve Rogers #lumberjack!dragon!Steve Rogers #dragon!lumberjack!Steve Rogers #fix it friday #fix it Friday drabble

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onsunnyside · 2 years

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As the winter months roll in, i've been thinking a lot about lumberjack!steve (nomad steve ofc). Works in a small, snowy northern town. And reader moves in to teach at the local elementary school. Shes a big city girl looking for a calmer life. Great with the kids - truly a talented teacher but wow is she a ditz in most other aspects of life. Steve helps her dealing with snow, her fireplace, and that old tree branch dangling precariously over her new house. He complains all the time she needs to get someone to cut it down before it falls and she gets hurt. He's huge and beefy and grumpy but so protective of her. And just wants to ruin her honestly

🫲🥹🫱 BEAUTIFUL !! Steve grew up in that town and knows all the spots for the best pastries and hot chocolate 😌 he offers to take you out for some, but you’re too busy with work and prep for your students !! no problem if you need an extra hand in the classroom, steve is the first to offer his services, and when the students ask if you’re dating 🤓 me thinks steve doesn’t say no but rather: “I’m trying, but she keeps turning me down because she only has time for all of you” and the kids vow to be the best students to get Steve his princess 🫶 bc yes they see him as a golden haired prince

#lumberjack steve au #sonnysprompts

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f10werfae · 1 year

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send in some ideas for any au for some short drabbles!! Feeling creative this week 🫶

#lumberjack!henry cavill #sugar daddy!pedro #alpha!ari levinson x omega!reader #dad!ransom drysdale #steve rogers x bimbo!reader #ari levinson x bimbo!reader

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ghostlyfleur · 1 year

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💭 hawkins is both a lake and a mountain town and our boy steve harrington works as a barista with robin at a coffee shop owned by joyce plus lumberjack during colder months.

thoughts?

#fairy writes #daydreamin’#steve harrington (harmo’s version)#*hums* i’m world-building #stranger things au #barista!steve #lumberjack!steve

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navybrat817 · 9 months

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Navy how's our lumber snack doing with Christmas around the corner? Are they snuggled up by the fire with hot cocoa?

That's exactly what he's doing, nonnie!

By the Fireplace

Pairing: Lumberjack!Steve Rogers x Female Reader Summary: Steve is exactly where he needs to be. Word Count: Over 500 Warnings: Fluff, Steve experiencing peace, established relationship, Steve Rogers (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: Tiny ficlet for Beefcake and Tippy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The fireplace glowed with radiant flames as Steve took a seat on the floor beside you. He had added a couple of logs before he made the hot chocolate, the sweet scent of the warm beverage drifting to his nostrils before he took a sip. Soft music filled the air and he couldn’t help but smile when he caught you humming along. Like him, you didn’t want anything over-the-top for the holidays.

Just the pleasure of being with each other was more than enough.

“Don’t worry. I won’t damage your ears by singing,” you teased as you stretched a blanket over the two of you to share.

He chuckled as he wrapped a pair of strong arms around you. “It would take a lot more than your singing to damage my ears,” he teased back, brushing his beard along your cheek to make you giggle, the sound soft and pleasant. “So sing as much as you’d like.”

“I think I’ll just stick to writing,” you smiled, leaning into him with a gentle sigh. “Steve?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

You didn’t say anything right away, but you did place a hand over his. “This is enough for you, right? This life?”

“It’s more than enough,” he answered without hesitation, hoping he hadn’t done or said something to make you think otherwise. He loved the home and life the two of you made together. If he did something to make you think otherwise, he’d have to remedy that immediately.

“Are you sure? There isn’t a small part of you that wishes you were fighting tonight?” You asked, tilting your head so you could stare into his eyes.

You once told Steve that you liked looking into people’s eyes because they always told the truth when some often weaved lies with their words. You chose to listen to the unspoken gazes. The eyes also conveyed so much emotion, the very windows to the soul because you could see right through them.

And he had nothing to hide from you.

He understood why you asked though. Deep down he was still the man of action who couldn’t turn a blind eye when things pointed south. But you were the one of the reasons he still occasionally fought. He had a home to defend and someone to come back to. Something to fight for.

You were his home.

“No. Not tonight,” he replied with an unwavering tone and stare so you’d know how serious he was. “This is exactly where I’m meant to be. Right by our fireplace with hot chocolate nearby and you in my arms.”

With soft eyes full of love, you brought your lips to his. It ignited a flame inside him almost as warm and bright as the crackling fire feet away. The pieces of his heart that he struggled to put together after the ice connected the moment the two of you met. You were his glue and strength.

And like the winter holiday encouraged, he felt a sense of love and peace by being in the moment.

Just like Bucky, Steve deserves peace, too. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Outside the Lines 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsessive compulsive behaviour, kidnapping, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader has her routine and her fellow patient gets in the way of those.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, (lumberjack AU)

Note: I shouldn’t be posting this. Oops.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You walk on your toes, eyes to the floor as you focus on placing your feet within the edges of the tiled pattern. You can’t touch the cracks! You nearly stumble as the front of your flat mary janes come close to the line. You bite your lip and look ahead to the door at the end of the hall.

The frosted glass window set into walnut beckons you onwards, a beacon of familiarity among the strange. You step over the next line as footsteps clamour behind you. The hurried figure bowls you over as he passes, almost if he doesn’t see you.

Your sole lands across a crack and you gasp as you face the man and he apologises in a dull mutter. He pauses and glances at you, a wrinkle between his brows as you quickly step within the lines. Anxiety thrums in your chest and you step three times back and forth within the square tile.

“Are you… okay?” his deep voice draws your attention back to him as he watches your feet, gaze slowly creeping up your long plaid skirt and baggy peacoat.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you insist in a small wisp as you rub your hands together, “it’s just… I stepped on the line.”

“Um, alright,” he tilts his head as he arches a brow, “I’m sorry, I’m late.”

“It’s… fine,” you turn back and begin your deliberate pace towards the end of the hall.

You feel him watching you. You don’t like it. You don’t like to be looked at. That’s why you stay inside. You only come out for your appointments, otherwise, Dr. Makira would admit you again.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he lingers and you watch his gloved fingers twiddle against his jeans.

“Sure,” you shy away from him as you step diagonally to the next tile, “I don’t want to make you late.”

Your teeth chatter and you close your mouth. You can’t remember the last stranger you spoke to. You only ever gave your name to the secretary, Miranda, then waited your turn with the doctor. You don’t look up and you certainly don’t speak to strangers.

“Mmhm,” he hums and you watch his boots twist on the tile and squeak as he marches away. You wince as he steps on the lines but focus on keeping inside in your own progression towards the office.

His steps fade to nothing and voices carry from the open door. When you get there, he’s nowhere in sight, not that you search for him. You sign in with Miranda and cross to your seat, two to the left of the door. That’s where you sit, every time.

You take off your jacket and fold it neatly over your lap as you sit, smoothing the fabric. You hook one foot behind the other and bounce impatiently. You try to gather your energy for your session but your mind wanders back to the man and how you tread the line. That was bad luck. He must be too.

🌲

He’s there again. You enter the office, a little hop over the threshold onto the carpet. You give your name as you usually do but Miranda knows it. You sanitize after you put down your signature and turn. He’s in your seat. Your chest knots and your hands ball.

You teeter and glance around. There’s several empty seats but not yours. You feel uneasy as you stand beside the row of seats, just beside the door and stand, rocking on your heels. He’s in your seat!

The filmy pages of the magazine flip in his gloved hands and he sighs. You clamp your lips and tap your cheek; one two three.

“Are you going to sit?” he asks flatly.

You stare at the Dr. Makira’s door. You tap your shoulder; one two three. He clears his throat and sniffs.

“Hey, I said, aren’t you going to sit?” he repeats.

Your eyes round and you peek over at him. You shake your head. He grimaces.

“No offense but you’re kinda bothering me just standing there,” he says.

You shrug and look at the door again. You wring your hands and sway, shifting your weight from heel to heel.

“Fine,” he grumbles and tosses the magazine so it slides past the pile.

Your eyes flit over and cling to the disorder he created. You try to resist but you can’t. You go over and straighten the stack, pushing them straight with your fingers. You back up and take out your sanitizer. He clicks his tongue.

“What’s going on?” he snarls as if you’re a gnat buzzing around his head.

You rub your hands together and bare your teeth awkwardly. You take a breath.

“You’re in my seat,” you utter.

“What?” he huffs.

“That’s my seat, I sit there,” you point to the chair, “but it’s alright. I’ll stand.”

“Your…” he grips his thick leg, just above his knee. He stands and you back up, frightened by the sudden movement, “go ahead.”

“No, it’s okay, I–”

“Please, sit,” he says, “I’m here for therapy, not to be driven nuts.”

“Sir,” Miranda warns, there’s a strict policy against that sort of language.

“Sorry,” he mutters and moves to a new chair, “there ya go.”

“Thank you,” You remove your jacket and fold it neatly. You spin and sit, the seat warm from his prior occupation. It doesn’t feel right. You tap three times on the wool and fidget.

“What’s wrong now?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you lie, “nothing wrong.” Your lips continue to move noiselessly, ‘nothing, nothing, nothing…’

He squints and looks away, checking his watch. Just as he drops his hand, the door opens and Dr. Makira emerges, bidding farewell to her previous patient.

“James,” she calls out and the man stands.

“I told you, doc,” he crosses the waiting room, “it’s Bucky.”

The door shuts behind him as she welcomes him in and your eyes linger on it. You sit back, then lean forward again. Something’s off. He messed it all up!

🌲

He passes you again but this time he doesn’t disturb your progress up the tiled floor. You watch his shoulders as he enters ahead of you and put your feet down one at a time. You wait behind him as he chats with Miranda, asking her to reschedule his next appointment. You stand at the door until he finishes.

You step up, check-in, and sanitize. He sits to the right of your usual seat. You claim the chair, this time it feels better, and fold your jacket over your lap. You cross your ankles and run your hands over the wool.

You sense him watching you and peek up. His brows lift and his cheek dimples as if amused. You tap your nose three times and correct yourself. You look at the door that says Dr. Makira. You push your lips together and breathe through your nose.

You rock and still yourself, nerves swirling in your stomach. You glance over again. He’s still watching you. Now, he seems really intrigued. It happens. You take the bus and people stare at you there too.

“Please, stop,” you whisper.

“Pardon?” he asks as he leans forward.

“Looking at me,” you eke out a little louder, “stop looking at me.”

“Sorry,” he chuckles and scratches his scruffy jaw, “I wasn’t meaning to stare.”

You harrumph as he finally looks away. You twine your fingers and tap your toe three times. You try not to squirm, try not to go through your routines, but it’s hard. That’s why you come here. To try to fix yourself. Makira says it’s not fixing though, no, it’s understanding, acknowledging, and awareness. You are improving yourself, not fixing.

“Bucky,” Makira gets his name right that time and you realise that you’d been staring at him that time.

You turn away as he stands and goes to her, his voice echoing in your head even after the door closes. Maybe you should change your appointment too.

🌲

You walk across the pavement, the cracks disordered and harder to avoid. The bus stop isn’t far but takes longer as you dodge your fellow pedestrians and the lines around your feet. You peer ahead, just ten more steps.

“Hey,” the voice calls your name and you hear someone jogging behind you. You stop and face the man as he catches up to you. It’s him; Bucky.

You frown and take a step back, looking down to avoid the crack.

“You take the bus?” he asks.

You blink and nod.

“Well, I can’t imagine that’s fun for you,” he says, “I’m just on my way out as well, you want a ride?”

You shake your head frantically. You undo your top button then do it back up nervously.

“Figured I’d offer,” he turns his hands up, “that’s all. Being friendly.”

“Thank you, but…” you croak.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you,” he cups his ear.

“No, thank you,” you say louder, “I don’t talk to strangers.”

“Well, you’re talking to me and I don’t think I’m a stranger,” he argues, “you see me almost every week, you know my name and I know yours. So?”

“I don’t…” your heart races. Are you being rude? Dr. Makira has been trying to help with your social interaction. You try to remember her tips. “How are you?”

“What?” he sputters, confused.

“Oh, I… was trying to be polite so…” you swallow.

“I’m doing fine,” he says, “how are you?”

“I am… good?” you answer.

“Is that a question?” he wonders.

You shy away from his blue eyes. This isn’t going well. A rumble putters down the curb and speeds past the empty stop ahead of you. You let out a disappointed breath and watch your bus turn the corner.

“Shit, was that your bus?” he asks.

You nod and clap three times. He doesn’t seem to notice or if he does, he doesn’t show it.

“Well, then I guess you have no choice, I’m trying to be polite too,” he offers sweetly, his usually stony voice light, “so can I do you a favour and drive you home?”

You look at the sidewalk below your feet. You feel mean saying no. You remember how you made him move from your seat. He could’ve been mean then. He wasn’t. It was just a drive. Twenty minutes at most.

“Okay,” you relent.

“Great, I parked over in that lot,” he points just behind the stop.

You nod and wait for him to lead you. You follow behind him but he slows to meet your pace as you walk between the lines. It takes a bit but you get across the lot as he goes ahead to open the passenger door of a silver car with tinted windows.

“Can I sit in the back?” you ask as you near, “I always sat in the back…” you let your voice drift off.

“Sure,” he closes the door and opens the other, “get in.”

“Thank you,” you near and step past him, looking inside before you go further.

You slide onto the seat and buckle the belt. You sanitize and put the bottle back in the purse strapped across your middle. He gets in the front.

The car smells like his cologne. He fixes the rearview and pushes the button that turns the engine. You’ve never seen that before.

“I like your hat,” he says as he shifts into gear, “it’s cute.”

You reach up and touch the bow along your felt hat. You smile. “Thank you.”

“What’s your address? So I don’t get too lost.”

“Oh,” you stretch your fingers as your hands sweat and recite your address. He types it into the touchscreen that sits where the radio should be.

He steers out of the spot and slowly rolls around the lot.

“Shoot,” he says as the screen lights up with a chirp, “I totally forgot. Do you mind if I pick up a friend on the way?”

“A friend,” you let out a heavy breath, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t have to,” he assures as he flips his blinker on, “but it’s on the way and it would be easier.”

“I… guess,” you feel bad making the rules in his car.

“He’s a good guy,” he says, “don’t worry. If you want, I’ll even tell him not to talk to you.”

“I… I’m sorry,” you hang your head.

“For what?” he asks as he turns out into traffic.

“For being so weird,” you say, “I know I am but I can’t help it.”

“Weird? Not at all, doll,” he replies, “trust me, I’m not much of a people person either.”

“Oh?” you mull his words.

Silence pervades the car as your thoughts take you away. You straighten your hat and tap your cheek, trying to conceal the habitual movement. If he doesn’t like people, why did he go out of his way to offer you a ride?

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #au #lumberjack au #series #outside the lines #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers #winter soldier

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