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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years ago

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Outside the Lines 4

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 know it was a Tony-filled week so this one is for the Stucky hoes.

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 leads you upstairs. He keeps a hand on your arm as if you’ll run. You might if he didn’t. You walk a little off kilter without the weight of the cuff on your ankle. Only one night and you’d grown so used to that sensation.

He turns you through a door, the space finished with walnut and brass. There’s a large mirror over a long counter with two sinks, a toilet with a fuzzy cover, and a deep tub beneath a high showerhead. He lets you go as you cautiously take in every facet.

It’s much nicer than the cramped bathroom in your apartment. If you weren’t trapped here with these weirdos, it would make a nice vacation. This isn’t that.

You carefully place your feet within the lines of the floor, certain not to step outside the straight edges of the planks. Steve watches you quietly. You don’t have to look up to see the look on his face. It’s just what happens. People can’t help but stop and stare at the weirdo.

He brushes by and shuts the door. You turn at the click and open your eyes wide. He faces you again as you rub your palms together nervously.

“One, two, three,” you bounce with each number nervously.

“It’s alright, sweetie, okay?” He goes to the narrow closet beside the sink and flips open the door. He takes out a plush towel and crosses to the counter to set it down. You watch his feet as they land on every line. “You just get your clothes off,” he rounds you and reaches over the tub. He cranks on the showerhead and pulls the curtain shut, “and you can get all cleaned up.”

You stay as you are. Frozen and fixated on the door. It’s not very far. You could run right now. You might get far enough to–

“Sweetie,” Steve nudges your arm and you wince. You step away from him and swivel. You place your hand over where he touched you. “Come on, you said you wanted a shower.”

You frown and seal your lips tight. You peek at the shower then the door. You peer down at your feet.

“I can’t…”

“Sweetie, please, you should clean up, right? You’re all dirty from the car ride.”

“Yes, I know but…” you tug your lip and sway, “you… you’re…” you pause and give another pointed look to the door. “I…” you drop your hands and clutch the front of your shirt.

“I… I can’t leave you. I have to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

“What? I wouldn’t do that–”

“You could slip and hit your head. Hmm? I don’t want that. I only want you safe and comfortable, alright?”

“But…” you twist the hem of your shirt, “I never… you can’t… see me…”

“Is that what it is?” He chuckles softly, “you’re shy? Aw, sweetie, you know I won’t judge you.”

“It’s not… that,” you choke out, “please.”

“I have to stay. That’s the deal. You don’t wanna make Bucky mad, do you? He doesn’t like when rules are broken.”

“N-no, no!” You cry out, “b-b-but…” You sniff and shake your head, “I don’t want a shower now.”

“You need one.”

“I’m fine. Really. I’ll… go back.”

He sighs and pushes his hair back from his head, combing his fingers through the thick locks as he leans his head back. The tendons in his neck bulge and his chest seems even bigger than before. He’s a very large man. Gigantic.

“How about this?” He sets his sights on your again, his hands drifting down to the top of his pajama pants, “I’ll get naked first and–”

“No!” You shriek and reach to grab his wrists before he can touch the top of his pants. “No,” you squeeze him then quickly recoil as you recall yourself. You clutch your hands together before your chest, “please, I don’t… I don’t want to see that. Please.”

His eyes narrow and you look away. You’re embarrassed. He spreads his fingers wide and runs them over the fabric of his pajamas. He bends his arms as he frames his hips with his hands.

“I… I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t think… you’re a pretty girl, I just thought that you would…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you murmur as your cheeks scorch.

“We can’t go back out there without you showering, alright? So, how about I will look away and you can hop in, huh? I’ll cover my eyes.”

You don’t have much of a choice. If you keep arguing, he might not be so patient. It’s better than nothing but still untenable. You press your mouth against your clenched fists and nod. He nods and turns slowly. You stare at his broad shoulders and waver on your feet.

You turn away from him and near the tub. You stop on the mat and peek over your shoulder. He’s not looking. You jitter as you undress, looking back after each piece of clothing. When at last you’re naked, you quickly scurry towards the tub and climb over the side.

You hide behind the curtain and gasp as the shower head sprays down on you. You cross your arms, shielding yourself from the downpour as your skin pricks. It’s all too much; the heat of the water, the cold porcelain, the presence on the other side of the curtain. You don’t think you can do this. You would almost rather they get rid of you, just like the ones they mentioned before.

That idea makes your heart pump. Those are bad thoughts. Dr. Makira says you shouldn’t think like that. Even when things are hard, you should be negative.

“Make sure you get cleaned up, sweetie,” Steve calls to you.

You can see his shadow through the curtain, a hazy silhouette through the green plaid. He moves slowly around the room. You look around at the shelves and read each label. The peach scented soap must be for you. Or at least, it looks the nicest.

You take the bottle and start your ritual. You unhook a loufa from the hook and add the soap. You scrub yourself meticulously. From top to bottom. Each inch gets close attention, almost until the skin is raw.

The thought of getting out is startling. The towel is all the way on the counter. You have no way to hide. What if he turns around and–

“You okay in there?” Steve’s suddenly at the other side of the curtain. You squeak and your teeth chatter.

“Yes, I’m okay,” you say, “I need… the towel…”

“One sec, sweetheart,” he stalks off as you shiver, just beyond the spray of the shower.

He nears again and slips the towel past the curtain. You take it from his floating hand and quickly wrap yourself in it. You step out onto the mat, a bit too close to him.

“All done?” He asks.

“Yep,” you tuck your chin down.

“Great,” he shifts and pokes his fingers under the elastic of his pants, “my turn.”

He shoves them down and you quickly flit away from him. You cower by the counter as you see his blurred figure from the corner of your eye. He pulls aside the curtain and steps through. You stare at the countertop.

“Have a seat, sweetie,” Steve calls over his shoulder as the curtain rings chime against the rod.

You warily peek over at the door. You lean on your foot. You can make it. You don’t know how far you would get in just a towel but this might be your chance.

“Door’s locked,” Steve warns and you spin to face him as he sticks his head out around the curtain, “I’ve been patient. Don’t push it.”

You lower your head and go to the toilet. You sit on the closed lid and hug yourself through the towel. He disappears behind the curtain again and you gulp.

“One,” you whisper as you pick at the corner of the towel, “two. Three.”

🌲

You stare at yourself in the mirror. You tug on the bottom of the dress. It’s too short. You feel exposed. The underwear are tight and tiny too, peeking out from beneath the loose hem. Most uncomfortable, you have no bra and you can see clearly the online of your nipples through the fabric.

You wiggle as you try to lengthen the garment by sheer will. Your fruitless struggle is interrupted by a knock. Three short taps. You count under your breath as you face the door.

Steve inches the door open. He’s dressed now but your memory flashes with the vision of his bare skin. Your eyes round as you focus on the red plaid buttoned up his chest. There’s a loose hair by the collar. A detail that makes you fidget.

“Oh, sweetie, you look… cute,” he praises as he hooks a thumb in his jeans pocket.

“Steve, um, Captain,” you recall his real title. You keep thinking of how he’s supposed to be a hero. It makes it even more difficult to understand why he’s doing this.

He tilts his chin down as you feel his gaze bore into you, “what’s wrong?”

“Can I…” you keep your hands clutched around the skirt’s edge, “Can I have a sweater, please?”

“Hm? It’s pretty warm today,” he counters.

“But… okay.”

“I can keep you warm,” he reaches to touch your arm and you flinch.

“No thank you,” you shrug him away.

He sighs. He lets his hand fall down to yours and he clasps it tight. He turns and drags you into the hall. You drag your feet as he leads you to the staircase. You look down the steps and back at him, tracing the length of his arm to your hand.

“I didn’t do anything,” you say.

“What?” He pauses before he can start his descent.

“I didn’t do anything so why am I here? I’m not a bad person.”

He faces you and pokes his tongue out between his lips. He has a tick in his cheek that suggests he’s weighing his words. The way many people do with you.

“Look, sweetie,” he brings your hand up and pets it gently, “this isn’t because you’re bad. It’s because you need this. You’re not well and we’re just trying to help you.”

“But… I was getting help. Dr. Makira was helping me–”

He gives a bittersweet smile and squeezes your hand. He clings to it as he lowers it to hang between the two of you. He steps closer and gently caresses your cheek.

“This is what she wanted, sweetie. She said you need this. You need order. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Huh?” Your lips part in shock, “she… told you to take me?”

“Please, this is like a medical retreat. You like things in a certain way. You like to stay inside the lines. So we have rules, right? Rules are good. You follow the rules and everything is good.”

“I don’t…” you shake your head, “I don’t know.”

“You can ask Bucky. You know he works with Dr. Makira.”

“He…” you pout as your thoughts turn unruly. You just can’t connect the loose pieces.

“You didn’t think he was a patient, did you?”

“He’s not?”

“Sweetie, he’s an avenger. He’s trained in crisis work. This is his job, to help lost people like you.”

You stare at his chest. Once more, your eyes find that golden hair stuck to his collar. You chew your lip as you try to understand. Why wouldn’t Dr. Makira say something? Why isn’t she here?

“She’s worried about you. She wanted us to keep an eye out, to keep you safe.”

“Oh,” you utter.

You squirm and try to free yourself from your grasp. He doesn’t let you go. You scratch your neck with your free hand but without a thought, you reach for him. Your mind can’t forget that hair! You pluck away the strand from the plaid and hold it up. He looks down curiously and gives a small chuckle.

“Sorry,” you let go of the hair, “sorry, that was… bugging me.”

“That’s okay,” he assures you, “thanks.”

You pull your hand back and clutch the skirt as you shift on your feet. You swing his arm and count, one two three. He squeezes your hand tighter and you bite your lip as you stop yourself.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he touches your chin, cradling your face, “you see, this is why you need us.”

You frown and keep your eyes down. You really are messed up. You thought you were doing better but no, Dr. Makira still thinks you’re crazy, even if she’d never say it. Just like everyone else.

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rookthorne · 1 year ago

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it's coming up to my personal favourite event of the year, Hot Bucky Summer, as run by the mods over at @buckybarnesevents!

in order to gear up for the chaos that will ensue (no doubt) from this event within my collections, I have compiled my personal top 10 Bucky collections into a poll. and here is where I will ask for your help — I would like to gather as much information as possible to determine where most of my focus will go.

to be clear, it is very likely that all of my collections will be given love and attention through this event (now that I have confidence to write smut) once I know the prompts, but I am asking who I should prioritise from my favourites. I will also disclose that there are AUs yet to be announced that will be very prominent... 🤭

to refresh memories, I have put below the cut the afforementioned collections! otherwise, the link is hyperlinked above, or easily accessed by the first link in my bio (my navigation).

thank you in advance for your help, my chaos kittens. 💗

— 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬

The 107th motorcycle club has been the protector of their collective hometown for many, many years - shouldering all the bloodshed and loss that came with it. Little did you know, you’d become the President’s own twisted version of an angel on his shoulder; the tips of your angelic wings tinged red by your own demons.

— 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐚 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐤𝐨𝐯

A pack of wolves looked out for one another, strengthened each other and battled to keep one another safe – it was the natural order of things, the way things worked. Being between the two most dangerous and possessive of them all meant you sat on your throne with pride; just how they wanted it.

— 𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲

Like a moth to a flame, you were drawn to them and their irresistible charm – their job, as firemen, was to put out fires and infernos, but you could only hope they’d let the fire they started in the depth of your soul, consume you whole.

— 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐧𝐤

The world of body art and botany had always been beautiful to you; each pencil stroke and each flower petal amounted to a masterpiece of creation. It wasn’t until the day that a chance meeting left you reeling amongst the artful blooms of your store, you wondered if that was what heaven truly felt like.

— 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞

The depths of Hell had lost an asset, all thanks to you - no God could save you from his sights, or his clutches. Being consumed by fire was one way to go, you supposed, if it came in the form of one smug, hellish bastard.

— 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Life in your small town could not have gotten any better, you had sworn. That was until you started to call a handsome, brooding lumberjack your best friend, and you developed butterflies at any mention of his name, or thought of him. Sure, it was going to be fine, you could do this. What could go wrong?

— 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

Cars were all the same to you – classics, imports, you name it, they were all the same.

Well, they were, until you were nonetheless forced to visit your local mechanic and saw the man that would pique your interest in not only every single make and model of classic car, but his charming smile; the air of righteous arrogance that flowed from his tattoos, and that damned cheeky glint in his bright eyes.

— 𝐀 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨

Fate had a funny way of working. There you were, in the hospital again, and there was your favourite nurse; tall, broad, devilishly handsome, and not to mention soft, kind, and caring. Your stay, and consequently your life, just got infinitely more interesting.

— 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭

A powerful alpha had locked his sights onto you; a wolf to its prey. On the contrary, you were the fox that showed its belly to a predator – a mutual respect, the only thing keeping the wolf’s fangs from piercing the delicate flesh. You knew playing with his food was something he loved to do, and you would happily be the plaything for your mate.

— 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲

Softness was a trait you unwittingly carried - the wings of a dove taking you higher and higher, elevating you in the eyes of the devil. And that devil did not want to wait any longer. It was time to collect.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes poll #I need the ASSISTANCE PLS #I am an indecisive writer #Lana's rambles #Lana's polls #HBS

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bookgeekgrrl · 11 days ago

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My media this week (22-28 Dec 2024)

my fave joke in the whole movie

📚 STUFF I READ 📚

😊 And Four To Go (Nero Wolfe #30) (Rex Stout, author; Michael Prichard, narrator)

🥰 Champagne For One (Nero Wolfe #31) (Rex Stout, author; Michael Prichard, narrator)

🥰 Plot It Yourself (Nero Wolfe #32) (Rex Stout, author; Michael Prichard, narrator)

😊Homicide Trinity (Nero Wolfe #36) (Rex Stout, author; Michael Prichard, narrator)

🥰 Gambit (Nero Wolfe #37) (Rex Stout, author; Michael Prichard, narrator)

😍 Like Real People Do (2bestfriends) - 67K, shrunkyclunks - seasonal reread of the 'the "Lumberjack Steve/Twink Bucky" fic of our hearts'

😍 The Moon's Gonna Follow Me Home (turningterrific) - 82K, sterek canon-divergent, derek leaves BH & builds a life for himself - reread, forever fave. sort of seasonal (in that xmas happens & they celebrate it LOL)

💖💖 +420K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖

Keep a candle burning (dharmashark) - MCU: stucky, 19K - solid 2nd chance romance set over Hannukah - stucky, no powers modern AU with smol steve

Knit One, Purl Two (mollus) - MCU: stucky, 32K - seasonal reread, forever fave, fluffy WS recovery fic featuring the geriatric knitting group

Kiss me under the mistletoe, just for show (rainbow_nerds) - MCU: stucky, 20K - xmastime soulmates fic

dear santa (bring me a man this christmas) (cicer) - James Bond (Craig Movies): 00Q, 10K - short & fluffy

from now on our troubles will be out of sight (cicer) - James Bond (Craig Movies): 00Q, 5K - 00Q retirement fic with a seasonal setting

I got that good thing for you (canistakahari) - MCU: stucky, 5K - absolute classic with accompanying art, forever fave

Here Comes Santa Claus (AidaRonan) - MCU: stucky, 6K - recovering ws!bucky meets hot-snarky-pirate-santa!steve & they fuck in the sleigh. Seasonal forever fave!

A Second Home (AidaRonan) - MCU: shrunkyclunks, 8K - seasonal reread, forever fave, the other 'tree farmer bucky' fic that I love

have I got a deal for you, sweetheart (canistakahari) - MCU: stucky, 4K - absolutely hilarious, inspired by the Esquire summer 2020 photoshoot - "natasha: that’s what bothers you? not that he looks like he crawled right out of a used car lot in the middle of the night and he’s going to try to sell you a lemon? bucky: no that part does it for me" 😂😂😂

welcome to snowflake hollow (aringofsalt) - 9-1-1: bucktommy, 18K - super cute & fluffy seasonal AU

Demonique (BetteNoire (WeAreWolves)) - MCU: stucky, 39K - what if the serum didn't work but instead Erskine made a deal with something. (it's a demon!bucky with a LOT of tentacles. that steve likes. A Lot.)

HEY! I'm trying to have a vacation over here! (SmutLover) - MCU: background stucky, 7K - incredibly delightful outsider POV on the epilogue of Demonique

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

Would I Lie to You - Christmas 2024

Handsome Holibobs Extravaganza

Handsome - Pretty Little Episode #19

Handsome - Handsome's Greatest Hits!

Elementary - s7, e1-2

D20: Coffin Run - s14, e1-4

D20: Adventuring Party - s9, e1-4

Red One

Hot Frosty

D20: Time Quangle - "The Wrong Kids" (s1, e5)

D20: Time Quangle - "A New York Quangle" (s1, e6)

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

Wait Wait… Don't Tell Me! - Melissa McCarthy and Ben Falcone

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - The Portland Treasure Map

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - The Timbuktu Manuscripts

The Curious History of Your Home - The Medicine Cabinet

Pop Culture Happy Hour - Nosferatu

Shedunnit - Notes & Queries

⭐ 99% Invisible - New Year, New Neighborhood

Pop Culture Happy Hour - A Complete Unknown and What's Making Us Happy

Short Wave - Why These Squirrels Are Eating Meat

It's Been a Minute - Ranking the best and worst of 2024: Moo Deng, Drake & Crashing Out

Hit Parade - The Bridge: Slate Music Club 2024

🎶 MUSIC 🎶

Punk Rock Christmas

Wrapped In Red [Kelly Clarkson] {2013}

When Christmas Comes Around… Again [Kelly Clarkson] {2024}

Christmas (Deluxe Edition) [Cher] {2024}

Christmas Collection [The Carpenters] {1984}

christmas lofi radio 🎄cozy beats to get festive to [Lofi Girl]

Barbara Lynn

Hozier

Chill House

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buckybarnesevents · 2 years ago

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𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞-𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭

𝐎𝐍𝐄 |�� 𝐓𝐖𝐎 | 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 | 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 | 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 | 𝐒𝐈𝐗 | 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

C4001 ⋆｡°✩ ROOKTHORNE

@rookthorne

⭑⋆⭑ Perseverance of Love

C1 | Death AU | Grim Reaper!Bucky Barnes x Gifted!F!Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ Go Baby, Go

C2 | Mechanic AU | Mechanic!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ Jacks and Sunshine

C3 | Tattoo AU | Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ We’re Starvin’, Darlin’

C4 | First Responder AU | Firemen!Stucky x F!Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ I’m Gunnin’ For You

C1 + C2 + C3 + C4 | Drifter AU | Drifter!Bucky Barnes x Drifter!F!Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ Honeyed Words of a She Wolf

C1 | Sculptor AU | Artist!Bucky Barnes x Mafia!F!Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ Butterfly’s Wingbeat

C2 | Personal Trainer AU | Personal Trainer!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ Barnes Bed and Breakfast

C3 | Bed & Breakfast AU

TUMBLR

⭑⋆⭑ A Brush of Confidence

C4 | Makeup Artist AU | Bucky Barnes x Makeup Artist!F!Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ Mischief

C1 | Kitsune AU

TUMBLR

⭑⋆⭑ Blue Sprite

C2 | Gamer AU

TUMBLR

⭑⋆⭑ Doctor’s Orders

C3 | Doctor AU

TUMBLR

⭑⋆⭑ Fit For A King

C4 | Regency AU

TUMBLR

⭑⋆⭑ Pure of Heart

C1 | Lumberjack AU | Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ Insatiable Innocence Pt. 1

C2 | Pornstar AU | Pornstar!Bucky Barnes x Innocent!F!Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ Old Fashioned

C3 | Writer AU | Barista!Bucky Barnes x Writer!F!Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ Lachrymose

C4 | Fantasy AU | Dragon Rider!Bucky Barnes x Dragon Rider!F!Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

C4002 ⋆｡°✩ BUCKYISMYBICYCLE

@buckyismybicycle

⭑⋆⭑ swim for the music that saves you (when you're not so sure you'll survive)

C1 | Social Media AU | Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ ruin me

C2 | Dom/sub AU | Bucky Barnes x Joaquín Torres

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ i'm the furthest thing from heaven, but the closest to home

C3 | Guardian Angel AU | Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ bulletproof

C4 | Bodyguard AU | Bucky Barnes x Sebastian Stan

TUMBLR | AO3

C4003 ⋆｡°✩ CABLE-KNIT-SWEATER

@cable-knit-sweater

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺. ♡

C4004 ⋆｡°✩ SIVAN325

@sivan325

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺. ♡

C4005 ⋆｡°✩ STAR

@angrythingstarlight

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺. ♡

C4006 ⋆｡°✩ SGT-SEABASS

@sgt-seabass

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺. ♡

C4007 ⋆｡°✩ NAVYBRAT817

@navybrat817

⭑⋆⭑ What Dreams Are Made Of

C1 | Tattoo Shop AU | Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader

TUMBLR

⭑⋆⭑ In His Hands

C2 | Modern AU | Woodworker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

⭑⋆⭑ Epinephrine

C3 | Adrenaline AU | Motocross!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

TUMBLR

⭑⋆⭑ The Animal Within

C4 | Myth AU | Shifter!Bucky Barnes x Shifter!Female Reader

TUMBLR | AO3

C4008 ⋆｡°✩ PURPLEICEDTEAS

@purpleicedteas

⭑⋆⭑ At Last I See

C1 | Police AU | Bucky Barnes x Tony Stark

AO3

⭑⋆⭑ UNTITLED

C2 | Soulmates AU | Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

TUMBLR

⭑⋆⭑ I Want Daddy

C3 | Music AU | Bucky Barnes x Tony Stark

AO3

C4009 ⋆｡°✩ LATE-TO-THE-PARTY-81

@late-to-the-party-81

⭑⋆⭑ Apparently words can hurt me

C1 + C3 + C4 | Modern + Bookstore + Medical | Bookstore Owner!Bucky Barnes x Doctor!Steve Rogers

TUMBLR

⭑⋆⭑ Dark Protector

C2 | Bogeyman AU | Bogeyman!Bucky Barnes x Reader

TUMBLR

C4010 ⋆｡°✩ DEMONANGELSWORLD

@demonangelsworld

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺. ♡

Graphics & Masterlist made by @rookthorne / @rookthornesartistry

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x steve rogers #bucky barnes x tony stark #winteriron #stucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes event #bucky barnes fanart #bbe #alternate juneiverse 2023 #alternate juneiverse #connect4au #bucky barnes events

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sarahowritesostucky · 10 months ago

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Writing Original Characters is just not the same...

The heartache of knowing that nobody cares about your OCs that you crafted and love more than life itself 😭Trust me: NOBODY. CARES.

Nobody cares that Verne is a super big, burly, grumpy, and slightly chauvinistic survivalist alpha werewolf

Nobody cares that Lucas is a creative sweetheart who's taking care of Verne (and trying to convince him to not kill Bo)

Nobody cares that Bo is being held hostage in their cabin until she stops lying that she's not a werewolf

And nobody understands them, goddammit! They don't know how unique and special and perfect and imperfect they are.

They don't know about Verne's trauma growing up on a Louisiana rez,

Or Bo's failed attempts to live that influencer life,

Or the really great and totally original plotline you've thought up,

Or the super hot gay lumberjack werewolf sex Lucas and his husband are always getting up to!

They don't know all the little details and headcanons and meta you've worked out in your head at 3AM on the bedroom ceiling.

They don't get it, that these are the bestest characters ever and the best worldbuilding and the best e-book written that's still not for sale but will totally be for sale in October 2025.

Love them! Please! Love them like I love them! 😩😩😩

*Keeps writing Stucky fanfic to fulfill the urgent and unrelenting need for praise*

#writing fanfiction #stucky #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #aspiring author #my ocs #Nobody cares about your OCs I promise #original fiction #m/f/m romance #romance novels #fanfiction vs original fiction #worldbuilding #character meta #headcanon

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themculibrary · 2 years ago

Text

Valentine’s Day Masterlist 3

part one, part two, part four

All you need is love and more chocolate (ao3) - Mimisempai steve/bucky G, 818

Summary: Sam and Bucky are fighting for the first time since they moved in together... and it's on Valentine's Day... but they say chocolate sweetens the mood...

Anniversary (ao3) - NotEvenCloseToStraight bucky/tony E, 4k

Summary: Bucky plans out Valentines Day and Anniversary gifts.

Tony offers his butt in some pretty lingerie.

Bears and Mountains and Lumberjacks Oh My! (ao3) - justanotherrollingstony (adoctoraday) steve/tony E, 11k

Summary: It was supposed to be easy--go meet the reclusive artist and buy some art. And then came the broken down car.

And the snowstorm.

And the lumberjack with a face like a greek god.

So yea, Tony is stuck in a cabin in the woods with a hot lumberjack till the storm clears.

Could be worse.

Boys, Books & Butterbeer (ao3) - Booksinvolved steve/bucky G, 6k

Summary: Super fluffy fic about Quidditch try outs, detention, and cute dates on Valentine's.

Break my Baby (Valentine's Day Edition) (ao3) - justanotherrollingstony (adoctoraday) steve/tony E, 5k

Summary: Steve has a very special gift for Tony on Valentine's Day; his submission, and whatever Tony would like to do with it, and him.

Crushes, Capitalism, and Confidence (ao3) - Ebony10 mj/peter, betty/ned G, 1k

Summary: Valentine's Day and love as chaotic good (neutral)? Just a small oneshot about Peter navigating the capitalistic holiday of love with a crush on MJ...with unexpected good results for Ned Leeds as a bonus.

Devil's Day (ao3) - ChuckleVoodoos matt/foggy T, 12k

Summary: Foggy buys Matt a hundred Valentines to celebrate a holiday that doesn't exist.

Heart Emoji (ao3) - NotEvenCloseToStraight bucky/tony M, 15k

Summary: It's Valentines Day and our favorites are back to their group texting shenanigans

Tony has a very romantic night planned for Bucky, Clint is cranky because Natasha hasn't been around to give him that good lovin', Steve asks for some help with a *specific* Vday present for Thor and Sam and Bruce have been whispering and scheming and honestly, no one knows what those two are up to.

Buckle up for tooth rotting fluff, TMI about Clintasha's bedroom habits, a shopping trip that leaves Steve scandalized, smooshy lovey dovey conversations, and a reminder that Valentines Day is also for non nekkid/ non romantic things too.

How Do You Fondue? (ao3) - gwyneth rhys (gwyneth) steve/bucky M, 4k

Summary: Steve orders cocktails called The Lover and Bucky’s heart rate rockets out of control. It’s not so bad, he tells himself. The next level. It’s just dinner. At the top of the menu it asks, “How do you fondue?” and at the bottom a slogan proclaims, “We hope you enjoy experiencing all that fondue has to offer.” Bucky nearly swallows his tongue.

I'd like to look around, but Honey, all I see is you (ao3) - orphan_account steve/bucky T, 2k

Summary: Bucky takes Valentine's Day very seriously.

No, not like that. Even Steve likes the day-long date he plans out...

Loki's Hearts (ao3) - Selysin loki/tony T, 1k

Summary: Loki causes a little mischief on Valentine's Day.

more than pretend (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor steve/bucky T, 2k

Summary: Bucky's family is having their usual family dinner like they always do on Valentine's Day, but this time he's decided to ask Steve to be his 'fake boyfriend' so his mother will stop bugging him about bringing a date home. Steve says yes, despite the fact that he has very real feelings for Bucky and doesn't want this to be 'just pretend'.

My Funny Valentine (ao3) - PumpkinDoodles darcy/brock M, 10k

Summary: Tasked with baby-sitting Brock Rumlow on Valentine's Day, Darcy thinks it'll be an interesting way to make some overtime money. She just doesn't know how interesting. Thank God she has Foggy Nelson on speed dial.

Stucky Valentine's Ficlets (ao3) - SpecialHell steve/bucky, sam/bucky G, 4k

Summary: 4 unrelated ficlets featuring Steve and Bucky being in love

The Loveliness of Loving You (ao3) - ElisabethMonroe sam/bucky E, 4k

Summary:

Staring SamBucky, featuring: Valentine's Day ✔️ Baking Cookies ✔️ Lingerie ✔️ Mutual Pining By Friends With Benefits ✔️ And They Were Roommates ✔️

Truly, Madly, Deeply (ao3) - PumpkinDoodles darcy/brock M, 32k

Summary: With a gentle shove from Jane, Darcy decides to celebrate being single on Valentine's Day by being an aspiring domestic goddess again.

Tulips (ao3) - thatdamneddame clint/phil G, 1k

Summary: There are tulips, pink and white, sitting in a vase on Phil’s desk when he gets back from lunch.

What happens on Valentine's day? (ao3) - winterfalconwarrior sam/bucky N/R, 2k

Summary: “I’m so sorry baby, but we gotta suit up,” he says while he puts one arm into one sleeve of the suit, “I had it all planned out but I guess the bad guys have other plans for us this morning. I’m sorry Bucky, I really am,” he rambles on while he goes to grab the shield. “We will get to all of those plans later. This won’t take long because I’m gonna kick their ass for taking this day from me.” Before Bucky can even ask what’s so special about this day, Sam is out of the door again and Bucky hurries to the wardrobe to catch up.

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #valentines day #valentines day masterlist #holidays #masterlists

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widowsofchaos · 3 years ago

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Cabin Fever, i

summary: A mysterious drifter waltz into your homey life, asking for help. He seems kind, and generous. But what if he’s more than he lets on? pairing: dark!stucky x black!fem!reader warnings: Stockholm syndrome, eerie prophetic signs, kidnapping, dub-non con smut. Bearded lumberjack Stucky (a warning itself, woof.) a/n: A submission for @imanuglywombat & @nellblazer ‘s Lumberjack Challenge. Reading @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s submission motivated me to flesh out this idea I’ve had for the longest. P.s. Thanks to Roo for helping me with the title. You always come up with the best titles! Also, thank you for beta!! I love you more than anything.<3 ao3 // series masterlist do not repost my works

The sky was a murky canvas of clouded cinereal hue, shrouding the sleepy town in an aura of dreary yet comforting gloom.

Nestled in the secluded Canadian woodlands, tucked miles away from bustling cities, acres of breath-taking crisp landscapes; dense back-country for stylites, eremites, aging harvesters, rural families, naturalists -- retired veterans who seek a life of peace from raging wars in foreign lands, and politics.

A location that is often skimmed over on maps, too small but not entirely invisible to the passerby’s eye. A lone route that directs to major cities, and a dingy welcome sign are the only inklings to this inhabited territory.

A gritty hamlet --- a diamond in the rough. A pale tree rooted at the heart of the town. Streets built around it, proudly stood high, and mighty for centuries -- like a looming deity over generations; a reminder for aging residents of their mortality. A natural order surpassing their own existence.

The inevitable is merely out of mortal’s control.

Cadence of gruff murmuring fishermen loading nets full of fresh floundering fish, sluicing chilled water beats, and cradles against the boats floating near the coastal shore, high-pitched giggles of children dashing down the streets; youngsters who just got dismissed from school.

Howlin’ is a dive-bar on the main road --- a commune for burly beasts of men --- fisherman, mechanics, lumbers, less than a handful of deputies, and former militants; the livelihoods that are the veins of this tiny county.

Manitou is the only remnant of the town’s origins, named by the Aboriginal Canadian founders of this whistle-stop.

It’s an inn now for curious city folks, sparse tourists who parade with fake smiles, clicking cameras, and over-joyful admiration for “discovering this new little world.”

Local residents internally praise the heavens, sniffing tourists is a blue-moon occurrence.

This town was a device, a lurring hole of placid ease -- a festpool -- everyone has a past. A rabbit-hole to escape, and be free.

A gentle fury, stirring anxiously underneath his cavity, twisting around his heart. Brows indented, a menacing twist.

Nose flared wide like a furious bull, one palm perched tightly on the steering wheel, and the other clutching the map -- beyond wrinkled with fold lines.

A man of tradition -- too stubborn to install a modern GPS to help navigate his travels; or even get with the times.

Sweat now beads at his brows, a slight sheen now glistens on his bald dome, wiping his forehead by the back of his palm -- deep rich umber, or how his daughter jokingly dubs him ‘a milk dud’.

Nick Fury never admits it, but the memory of that affectionate tease eases him, a small smile curling at his mouth. It helps him relax in distressing times.

Murmuring low ‘fucks’ and ‘shit’ as shifty eyes scan over the map once more. Blues lines, and red printed letterings of route numbers, city lines -- unfamiliar directions of a country he has no ties. Red ink arrows scribbled around the unknown forest region.

This planned one-man trip is already hay-wire. All his traveling preparations have been once pristine, but now turned disoriented.

Faded Chevy truck --- chipped turquoise --- in dire need of a paint-job. A sigh of relief escapes Nick as he’s driving languidly towards a silva shielded entrance pathway.

The low static of the radio fluctuated into white noise, and low murmurs of out-of-the-way stations. Driving into this town, down the road passing by bars, the pier --- observing the walks of life passing by.

His calloused fingers dive into his backpack that was slumped in the passenger seat, fiddling through the contents for the tattered box of smokes; as he drives for the haven of a hostel.

A few days on the road was weighing down on his shoulders, his spine curving and achingly hunched over. Stewing in his aviator jacket, the luke-warm heat weighing on his bones.

Quizzical faces distort, glancing at the car, just a few curious glimpses at the foreign traveler. Flickering the zippo in his hands, the silver adorned with scratches -- a souvenir back from Vietnam, the only inklings of one of his fallen brothers. A wasteland of memories he doesn’t want to indulge.

Driving through the seemingly quiet streets, driving around the curb, a red brick building peers at the distance; motorbikes parked out front, a dismal aura. Murky fluttering yellow tubing “Howlin’ Boys” hangs high, and proud.

Parched throat, Nick wets his bottom lip -- he could use a drink. Just one, maybe. If his kid was here, she would scold him until her face turns blue for noon drinking; her absence is not rubbing him right. Loneliness seeping deep in his marrow, his companion during stress was always the sauce.

With swift precision, Nick serves a bit to park on the bar’s curb. Stretching his limbs a bit, a wail of satisfaction slips from his lips, trailing into a yawn.

Groaning with the back of his palms rubbing his eyes a bit, he retrieved his cigarettes. Caging just the cherry tip between his canines, with a flick of his thumb, the lid pops open, and a quick spark of flame ignites.

Inhaling deeply as nicotine surges through his lungs, hollow cheeks puff out, white smoke emits from his nose. The leaden sky clears, a vibrant surge of sun beams -- mindless eyes scan the bar, Nick notices a butterfly with wings painted with inky black and bright sunshine yellow.

Fluttering flight of its dainty flaps as it descends in the air, a placid smile curls at his lips as the cigarette dangles.

A peaceful fleet towards his truck --- it was an unforgiving flash, a hasty dash, a blur of nyx feathers violently hit against his vehicle. A shrill of a squawk jolts Nick, flinching back in his seat.

The blue paint of his hood now grated with claw marks. A couple of black feathers, and torn fragments of a butterfly wing trail behind on the crime scene.

Shouting ‘what the fuck?’ Dropping his burning smoke, collapsing on his denim, the heat burning through his skin creating a small burnt hole. Growling colorful profanities under his breath. Hurried hands smudging the ash off of him, a quick glance up, and he flinches.

Beyond in the distance, his vision clearing up a bit, there’s a glaring figure. Nick gulps, clearing in his perspective, startled as panic rises in his cavity -- a feminie figure standing a few feet away from the car.

Staring, glaring --- leering at him.

Nick peers behind his driver seat, twisting his head over his shoulder, out his window to catch if she’s gawking at anyone else but him. Slowly he steadies himself in his seat, facing back ahead of him, hues of greenery burning holes in his skull.

A woman, small yet stands with her chin out, with a maturity visage that graces her oval face. In her small frame, she embodies an essence of daunting, and yet tempting.

With burnished fiery tresses wisping in the wind, half-covering her cheeks, adding to the frightening allure --- a dark crimson jacket, that amples her milky breasts. The leather burns bright under the sunlight, there was a stretch of the jacket, a few buttons open --- a small bump.

Narrowing green eyes as if she’s piercing through his soul. Her trimmed brow arching, eerily ever so slowly cocking her head as if there was some glimmer of familiarity in her eyes --- as if she was privy to something he wasn’t.

Tightly wrapping around her slender legs was a little girl, her doe eyes too unwavering, and intense. Pouty cherub cheeks ensnared in wild chocolate curls, heart-shaped lips, and precious slope of a button-nose.

Clinging onto the woman’s hand, chubby fingers interlocked with slender spidery ones.

Nick's breath hitches in his throat, as the unknown woman’s lips move --- a frightful sight, her brows furrowed, a hungry curl of a smirk --- as if she was spewing an ancient hex under her breath.

Nick swore it’s as if she was condemning his entire blood-line --- from the graves of his ancestors to the unborn wombs of future descendants.

How ghastly the sun shining warps the greenery in her pupils. For a moment, he could’ve sworn her eyes revamped into a hellish maroon --- Nick harshly rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands for a moment. His tired lids refusing to steer away, his head light in a daze --- he just can’t stop staring.

Sharp pain punches in his ear, hissing, and wincing; white-noise pitching higher and higher. His brain felt as if a million wasps were urticating's within his skull by the tips of their stingers, penetrating through cartilage and bone.

Nick’s head hits against his car seat, banging mercilessly --- anything for the pain to stop. Praying to God, almighty to make it end. He couldn’t move, his limbs were numb yet forced to be still; frozen in his seat.

Gripping on the steering wheel, till the melanin of his knuckles shades straining white. Nick’s eyes peel open, more trails of sweat perspire, drenching down his dome. The pain vanishes as if the hellish migraine never engulfed him. A broken crack of a sigh leaves him.

Deja vu bewilders him, confused as if that was a day-dream or simply reality?

A blur, but a sour taste dawdles on his heavy tongue.

She was still there, but her lips stopped roving. The stare down ensues, but was interrupted by a slurring shout, a disheveled man was thrashed by the feet out the door of the bar; distracting Nick.

A drunk now cradled himself on the pavement, blubbering incoherent slurs. Man-handled by a man of similar dark complexion, who now shouted for the drunk to scram; hunching over, slanted squinted eyes.

Nick tore his gaze from the display, compelling his eyes to focus back. Turning his head to face the odd stranger once more --- but she was gone.

Disappearing without a trace, as if she was never there to begin with, a mere shadow. Hurriedly Nick snatched the keys out of the ignition, ungracefully dumping the keys in the pocket of his trench coat.

A flick of his wrist on taking his bag, and slinging it on his shoulder, he got out of the car. Stretching his limbs, Nick pats his chest by his open palm. A poor attempt at alleviating his beating heart. Not even an hour in this town, and weird shit is getting to him.

Nick inspected the hood, fingertips tracing the horrid skid marks, whispering ‘mother-fucker’. Four sloppy jagged lines, unable to miss. He groaned, his head lolling back, with a heavy sigh.

Waving off feathers, his thumb straining against the inside of his sleeve to wipe clean of tiny blood spots. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Nick’s arm limped, and dully slapped the meat of his thigh in defeat.

Turning his head to face the bar establishment, contemplating if it was a good idea to drink right now. He can’t afford it, bad timing --- no, it’s not a drink he wants. ‘Just ask for a nearby motel. That’s all I need. All I need.’ Nick muses to himself, a self-reminder; chastising tone.

Nick treks up to the bar, impressed by the parked Harleys that twinkle and shine underneath the mellow sun, parked in a row at the lot.

The autumn breeze appeases against his moist skin, caressing the nape of his neck, but the chilling air only adds to the shimmer down the crevices of his spine.

Still a bit jittery from those piercing daggers. Damn that bitch --- he’s not the type of man to be spooked. Nerves of cold-steel, trained, and built to handle any obstacle thrown at him.

His breath was easing slower now, air flowing easier too. Nick rubs his face by the cup of his palm, scowling --- to get a fucking grip, man.

Nick’s calloused fingers hook onto the silver metal handle, the front-door is painted black, but chipping at the edges --- worn out from changing elements of weather.

A quick haul of the door, Nick enters with a plods that is both placid and tenacious. Rugged habitués densely survey this stranger waltz in with a purpose, a natural aptitude to command the space he inhabits.

Few grunts, and hmmpfs in response, but it trails back into silence --- shifty eyes observing. The establishment has a wafting scent of ale, and a bit of sandal-wood. Waves of musky dew fogs his airways. The walls were wooden, and seemed a bit worn over time.

“May I help you?” A gruff timbre lingers beside Nick, turning his gaze over his left shoulder. Steady eyes trail over the bar counter, sinking in it’s dull color schemes, brown woodening that glistens with fresh polish --- he can smell the lemon pledge --- steady stools, and the wall organized with rows of tame bottles of spirits to the most rugged of firewater.

Leisure pose, Nick’s steps now tepid, his shoulder roll and shift under the subtle leather of his trench-coat. An attempt to ease his nerves; a tick in his neck, as a sense of a hot gaze radiates upon his body.

Seated by the corner is a red-head, smoldering green hues, and a dirty blonde male tucked to her side donning a rich lavender long-sleeved shirt, hovering over her as a loyal dog; but her pose is strong, brows furrowed --- she doesn’t need a guard to protect her.

A wave of heat beats upon his back, the leather of his jacket now weighs heavier --- the skin of his dome tingles.

As if his coat is his only sense of armor, a lone man in an unknown land. The tall-tale of his intuition on high-alert, his sense activated from the odd encounter that occurred outside with that weird creature of a woman.

“Yeah --- I just came in to ask for directions.” Nick twirls his feet by the soles with a repose, a friendly smile, his eyes falling upon a dark-skinned man, the very man who throttled the sloppy drunk out the establishment.

A clean-cut man, a neatly trimmed goatee, smooth skin, and toned. The grey cotton of his shirt strains just a bit against his biceps, as he cleans the inside of a glass with a white rag --- his stare unwavering.

“Alright, where to?” There was a quick pause, a flicker of a smirk, a cocky down tilt of his head. “If ya’ gonna ask which way is to Toronto, or Ontario --- don’t bother, ya’ way far past it.”

A teasing snicker, as if an inside joke Nick couldn’t catch nor privy to. A cautious smile falters just a bit upon Nick’s face, a chuckle through his nose, tucking his chin to his chest, eyes casted down.

“Nah, just back-packing, really. Got any good spots around in Canada to enjoy?” Nick’s fingers rap playfully on the bar counter, an ease in his tone, graceful movement, as if an olive branch of friendliness. A soft smile twitches at the corners of the man’s face, almost as if kind.

“My name’s Sam.” Sam places the cleaned glass mug gingerly on the bar top, tucking his chin to chest, “And to answer your question, yes.” His lips carve a somber smile, peering through his lashes, gesturing to an empty stool by a nod of his head.

Nick mutters a ‘thanks’ under his breath, his palm grips the withered counter, leaning down on the stool --- plush emerald green seats.

“There’s a few spots nearby, but not much,” Sam leans his hands on the bar, arms out-stretched, as his spine reclines outwards, his head tilts back with a sigh, deep in thought as he stares at the wall adjacent, “There’s --- uh, Dawson City, a bit small, but not too small. It’s beautiful, you’ll like it.”

He shrugs playfully, “Also, Prince Edward Island ---” Sam snickers, his head hangs low, shoulders shake with laughter, “Now, that’s small, about seventy-four locals, but when it’s summer, tourists flood.” His eyes rolled exasperatedly, with a curl of the lip, baring his teeth.

Nick hums a chuckle, “Sounds good, thank you. Dawson City is perfect.” Fingertips rap against the wood, as his eyes glimpse at the wall beyond him, a hitch of energy chills his skin --- an odd feeling warms his chest, bitter-sweet twinge heavy on his tongue, jagged memories cling to the tail-end of his mind.

Nick’s eyes catch displays of hung medals --- military earned. Each medal tells a story of honor, hung behind a sheen glass plated next to the wall of liquor, one in particular catches his eye, a blue silk ribbon, with thirteen gold stars, a gold medal of an engraved star, with the emboldened name, Wilson.

“Air-force, huh? Great metals.” His voice an air of praise, but his eyes sheen a bit, as if another story could be told.

“Yeah --- retired pararescue airman. You?” A placid, but tired smile, Sam’s head cocks to the side, admiring his honor, but his eyes fall downcast, pursing his lips --- as if he knows something.

“Me?” Nick’s brow arches, quizzly. Taken back, assuming to be a lucky guess, but an itch, a voice at the back of his head screams at him, an instinct that perhaps this stranger is more clever than he lets on.

“I can sniff out a soldier a mile away.” Sam chuckles, his eyes unwavering.

“How so?” Nick challenges with a curled smirk, enjoying this little game, his head tilted back. “It’s the mannerisms. How you talk ---” Sam trails off, shrugs nonchalantly, “you walk with a certain stride. You’re not a bullshitter, you remind me of my old man.” The tension that once occupied the space has now fizzled into ease, but a guard is still up --- testing each other out.

“Good eye. I’m a retired Colonel.” Nick’s lips stretch into a placid smile, his chest is a bit warm, but his tongue is heavy upon the words. A Colonel --- it seems to be a lifetime ago. Sam’s eyes widened, impressed --- thoroughly so.

A low whistle blows through his puckered lips, “What brings you here to this small town?” Curiosity shifts in the air, but the walls still stand guarded.

“Just searching for some peace. Backpacking in a different country was always a goal for me.” Nick groans a bit, as the heels of his palms lean against the counter, earning a small whine of the wood; one of his hands rub against the arch of his spine.

“Ah, do you seem like the rugged type to be one with nature.” Nick breathes through his nose, a chuckle, peculiar how this man can read him --- he didn’t know if it was obnoxious, or amusing; Nick wasn’t sure yet.

Murps, and nimble pitter-patters thump against the counter, an orange feline jumps on top of the bar, its shoulders flex with a stride, as if it owns the space.

An orange tabby strolls with sleepy ears. Its tail twirls with a curve, saunters with grace --- sharp soft eyes pours into his, as it nears Nick’s direction.

Sam’s fingers fondles the cat, toying with its tail in the cup of his palm, earning a small bite, and a meow --- its small furry dome rubbing against his inner wrist, as it tilts its head back, a string of meows.

Nick coos, fiddling his fingers playfully towards the cat, cautiously snaking to it --- it pauses, arching its paw, analyzing his hand --- as if processing his scent, it’s pink nose sniffs.

Airy kisses thrown at the cat, in hopes to lure it, to caress it --- reminds Nick of his late cat. It freezes, eyes now dilate to daggers, inky blackness engulf its pupils, growling low at the throat.

“Goose.” Sam warns, narrowing his eyes, “Be nice.” patting the cat’s behind, as if scolding a child.

A blur --- a quick dizzying epoch of time, as if movements ceased only for a second --- Nick jolted back, nearly stumbling over the stool, as he shields his right eye.

Steadying his footing, Nick crosses his arms on the wood, furrowing his brows, his eyes hissing at the crude creature, as Sam firmly pins the animal down by the palms, as it snarls --- the paws curling.

Hoarse chuckles emit from the corner tables --- a redheaded woman, and a mean mugging blonde man huddling together at a booth, nursing over their drinks. “Shut it, thing one and two.” Sam snarks, but a grin shimmies itself at the corner of his mouth; his fingers squeeze the cat in quick jolts.

A loud bang alerts, and echoes throughout the bar --- not even flinching, Nick simply turns over his shoulder, the back door was carelessly thrashed against the wall.

Waltzing through was a woman --- her blonde hair cut short, coiffed to the side, throwing kisses to the seething cat.

“Stop.” She says, as her fingers curl under the slope of the cat’s under belly, kissing her ears; cradling her against her chest. “Sorry about Goose, she’s just a little shit.” Goose meows crankily, the strings of murps sounded as if it was talking back --- like a bratty child.

“S’alright,” Nick waves it off, a force chuckle, “Cats are picky on who they trust --- I’m just a stranger in her space.” A smile, the atmosphere eases, as the blonde laughs, Carol approaches closer, Goose still pinned to her chest by the slope of her arm.

“I’m Carol.” Her hand out-stretches, kindly, “I’m Nick.” A sturdy hand-shake, a fleeting thought crosses Nick’s mind, Is she …? Her palm is strong. Carol’s gait has a certain stride, he’s seen women like her before in boot-camp a few years ago, when he did a favor for a past commarde on training recruits.

Tough tomboys, where a handful enjoys the company of women.

Carol asks questions to Nick, curious about this new face surfacing in this tiny town, chatting up on how it’s not tourist season; with Nick informing her that he’s just traveling for some alone time.

The air doesn’t feel right, the hairs on the nape of Nick’s neck rise, goosebumps pimple on his arms, the sensitive skin skims, and ticklish against the cotton stitching under his jacket sleeve. His sixth sense is itching.

“So, you said Dawson City, right?” It’s time to leave, no space in his schedule to linger about; Nick remains relaxed, but his grogginess is weighing him more now. He has gathered the overall energy of this place --- he doesn’t like it.

“Right, so there’s a back road --- kinda a second entrance to the town’s road, uh,” he pauses, his voice lingers into silence.

Sam looks around, eyes darting behind the bar where note-pads, and coasters are, patting his pockets, fingertips digging; he finds a pen, “Hold on, I’m going to draw you the directions.”

Sam treks to the end of the bar, where multiple maps stacked for patrons, “It’s a bit hard to explain since there aren't really many route signs for this back-way,” he shakes his head, uncapping the blue pen, “It doesn’t help that a lot of Canadian maps still haven’t really printed this place yet either.”

Sam began scribbling with precise arrows, chatting about turns, and how this direction is a faster trail to Dawson City, to a quiet highway, no stops.

Nick sat in high-alert, his institution is high-wired; he can sense eyes are all on him, from his peripheral vision, he can see the red-head, and dirty-blonde mugging him, narrowing eyes.

With just a tiny cock of his head, he turns to his left, seeing another two pairs of eyes gawking at him.

It’s as if a fish out of water, his fingers flex against the wood, preparing himself if someone is feeling antsy, his knuckles thirsty for a brawl -- it doesn’t faze him, it’s just fucking weird. But town hicks have always been weird in their own colors, he grew up in a sleepy town in the south.

But no one doesn’t do anything, don’t even make a move; but their eyes are the loudest.

“Be careful driving down that path. Don’t linger around, just drive straight through.” Sam casually suggested, his lids narrowing a bit. “You’re gonna be passing by owned land. The owners are a bit -- weary of travelers near their area.” A bit of amused caution was entangled in his words. Despite his humorless laugh, his eyes gleam with sternness.

“Why? Are they packing?” Nick gestures jokingly with his fingers of a shooting gun, trying to ease the rising tension. “You can say that. Just be careful.” Once a gap-toothed grin now forms into a tight straight line, his lush lips disappearing; dark hues now shadowed under a tense brow.

A queer shiver runs down the arch of Nick’s back, but he maintains his pose composure; under a passive gaze. “Uh --- sure. I’ll keep an eye out.” He tapped his fingers against the sticky bar counter playfully, glimpsing at Goose, who’s low hissing --- baring little tips of fangs. Paws itching for her missed target.

“Sorry again about her. She’s a cranky little shit to everybody.” Carol smirks, her slim fingers caress the feline’s spine, the orange fur spills through her roving fingers.

Dirty blonde strands kiss her lashes, as her eyes lower down to his boots back to his face --- he wasn’t sure if he was sizing him, or just simply curious.

Curious eyes, curious questions … curious people.

A stretching tension creeps up, he doesn’t even need to speak; the air is thick, the energy emitting from every soul is strong; it’s not an unwelcoming synergy, but they don’t want him here any longer than he needs to be.

Nick nodded his head in a curt goodbye, with a polite smile. That familiar eerie sense sheds off of him as second skin, as he sinks back to himself --- quiet, and reserved.

Itching to leave, his feet lead him to the aging black door, faint whispering ascend behind him --- he compulsively urges himself to turn around, but he won’t.

The curious murmuring drags on his coat-tails, but he refuses to fall for it.

---

The sky is unforgivingly bright.

The sun blares upon him, shielding his eyes by his open-palm, shadowing out the blinding sunshine; it seems brighter than when he went inside the bar. Groaning under his breath, already feeling the musty sensation of sweat smearing on his forehead.

Nick shuffles his shoulder, trying to wiggle the leather jacket off of him, as he treks to his car; mentally memorizing the little road turn to that little inn, to just settle in for the night.

The arch of his spine still aches from the long drive, keys jingling in his palm, as one arm was still caught in his sleeve, and the other is free with the car keys.

A wispy flash of silky inky black, splotches of navy blue and orange dew ---- butterfly wings flutter and dance with a tame frolic, landing on the bridge of his nose causing Nick to go cross-eyed.

A bloom of peace surges at the chest, a small smile curls; within the second moment of placidity, the butterfly flies, and twirls around his dome.

It made a bee-line to a meter that stood next to his car, but it didn’t move … it just looked at him. Nick squints his eyes, tilting his head in confusion, unconsciously he steps forward, and the butterfly flies just an inch above the meter, then right back down.

It awaits.

Another step, the wings edge just a bit.

Another step, another flutter.

His feet begin walking slowly, and the butterfly takes flight; it twirls mindlessly, as if enjoying the soft breeze against it’s little body.

Swings to the left, to the right --- as Nick loses himself into a haze, as he just follows the butterfly. His feet on auto-pilot --- what felt like stretched minutes, was really only five; his shoes scuff against the pavement as the butterfly just aimed up in the air.

His eyes trail after the butterfly, its wings open, and close tenderly as it sits upon a sign --- just a few seconds of just gawking at this butterfly; then it flies away. Deep rich brown eyes regard his surroundings, and vision clear now, a sign proudly towers over him.

Scarlet.

A little shop swaddled within the string of stores, it has an earthy energy --- black framing over the glass window, with little painting art of stars, and a small brown dog with spikey fur, signed in the corner with the blue and red initials: B+T.

Nick hesitates just a bit, but he gains his composure, pressing the heel of his palm against the handle, his fingers gripping; a moment.

He awaits, his brain is befuddled, but his psyche zeros back to reality. Nick tugs the door open, with a gust of air fans against his face.

His body weaves through the door --- it was a cute store with bookshelves, racks of clothing, and many shelves of artifacts; accompanied with green-teal walls.

Nick halts at his feet, tilting his head to the side, hanging upon the green-teal wall is a sign offering timed services of tarot and tea leaves readings, spellwork constellations, and mediumship; it doesn’t faze him.

‘Who would buy this?’ Not trying to be crude, but Nick can’t fully grasp superstition, and religions that involve praying to a desk littered with rocks, and candles; cards can’t simply define fate, nor interpret it.

‘It’s plastic cards, for Christ-sake.’

Frankincense is light upon his senses as it drapes upon the shop, claws of creatures decorate the shelves, boxed tarot cards, oils, crystals --- ambling by customers thrifting clothes, and inspecting the many mystical objects, as if it’s normal.

Miscellaneous collections of books are stacked upon book-shelves --- varying from demonology, herbal medicine, candle magick, folk magick originating from different cultures, on ritualistic runes, to books detailing occults, to myths and lore, poetry, fantasy, cookbooks, and many more.

A necklace catches Nick’s eye, it’s a familiar one.

“I make them myself.” Nick jolts in surprise, shoulders hunched, a silky accent lingers behind him.

The accent is familiar, perhaps Russian --- definitely European. Nick turns on his feet, his polite smile drops a little --- it was that eerie woman from earlier. The very one with those piercing eyes that stared his soul down from his car.

But, he doesn’t bring it up, his eyes trails down to her midriff, and his assumptions from earlier are confirmed … pregnant; there’s no need to stress her out with an argument, but he remains on high-alert. A polite smile against the bearded jaw, in a way, offers a silent olive branch, “This is your shop?” He asks.

“Yes,” her eyes are inquisitive, “my very own business. Quite proud of it.” The way her hues are so intense, stands close, but in an arms-reach, her mannerisms, her speech.

Nick is no stranger to different personalities, she’s ... calculatingly --- she remembers who he is.

“Hmm.” Nick hums to himself, a sound that’s a mix of amusement, and quaint, but it comes off as a murmur, disinterest.

“What?” She chuckles, but with an arched brow. Nick catches her expression, quickly his hands are raised to his chest, shaking his head, “Oh, nothing, it’s just different.”

“By how this town looks, you would think people here wouldn’t be so --- accepting.”

“You would be surprised how many customers I have.” Ode to her truth, customers ranging from different ages, mostly indigenous; but she makes good earnings.

Granted, of course, there are people who whisper hawdy gossip about her, and her family that are evil witches, but she keeps it all in stride.

One time, a child innocently said to her in the supermarket, with an excited pointed finger, that her family is like the Addams family.

“My husband is the bread-winner, but he always encourages me to go for anything I’m passionate about. He even helped fund my shop.” Her cheeks redden to plump cherries, tucking her head to the crock of her shoulder, cupping her belly.

A smile stretched just a bit, it was adorable how she gushed to herself, she looks like a happily married woman; his eyes focus on her left hand, clearly now seeing her wedding ring.

Nick remembers his wife … ex-wife.

“My name is Wanda,” her pristine manicured hand reaches out for him, as one palm remains on her ample bump.

He engulfs her hand, his bigger than hers; dainty, but firm. Before he could reply with his name, she cut him off, “Are you interested in anything you see?” Wanda’s hands lift in air, gesturing to the jewelry beyond the display case.

Nick hums, rubbing his chin with his fingers, there was a particular necklace that stood out; an opal gem encrusted in a golden chain.

The multicolored gemstone has soft iridescence streaks of baby-blue, neon green, and splotches of yellow beating against a dewy red sheen --- as if capturing a tiny warm galaxy, milky, and silky.

Timidly tapping against the glass, “This one.” Nick breathes, his breathing is silently getting heavier, his throat strains as he swallows. “What a beautiful choice, I love opals.” Wanda gleams.

“Yeah,” a soft delay, a tight-lipped smile, “--- so do I.” His heart hammers a little, despite the violence in his mind.

“It’s also one of the prettiest birthstones,” Wanda murmurs as she swirls around the glass counter, with delicate care, her slim fingers plucking the gold necklace from the onyx velvet cushion.

Nick nods, but he looks away, just stares through the painted window pane.

---

Paid in full with the wrinkled bills in his wallet, Wanda lays the necklace in a white box, wrapping it up in a silk teal ribbon; in a finished touch, puts the purchased gift in a small black plastic bag.

Hovering it over to him, Wanda’s open hands lean into the counter, entering his arms-length space, “While you’re here, would you like a reading?”

Nick shakes his head ‘no’, as the bag hangs limp on his wrist, “No thank you.”

“Or maybe, speak to a loved one ---” Her words trail off, as if gesturing to him, trying to lure him in. Her fingers in a lax fist, under her chin, her eyes wide with wonder, and fervent curiosity; but there was an inkling of mischief in her smile.

“Ya’ know, speak to the dead.” Her eyebrows oscillated in merriment, as if enjoying his confusion; as if she was onto something he wasn’t.

“The dead?” Nick repeats in question, “You can speak to the dead?” Uncomfortable with the conversation shifting.

“Yes, all psychics can.” Wanda walks from the counter, taking small steps not to overstimulate herself, as she comes near him, fixing the tousled clothes on the rack, her back to him.

“Psychic?” Nick’s prominent brow arches, his nose flares comically, as he tries to strain his thick lips from laughing. It’s as if she upends him, taking a mental step back.

“In a way, yes. Clairvoyant is the proper term.” Wanda glances over her shoulder with a smile, passionate --- proudly, as she twirls, but her smile wavers into a defensive frown.

“I’m sorry to laugh, but this is all very hard for me to understand.” Nick chuckles, cupping his mouth by his fisted palm, trying to quill his laughter.

Never one for the myths --- or ignorant superstitions, as a man who grew up in a southern household --- he's had enough nutty folks in his life.

Wanda narrows her eyes, tilts her head, “Sometimes there’s things in life we can’t fully grasp. I’ve seen your face before but we never met --- till now.” She said matter-of-factly. Irate by his skepticism, her words sucker-punch him back to reality; his chuckles snuffed into silence.

As Wanda breathes a dry-snicker, lop-sided smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

Wanda waddles closer to him now, cornering him, Nick’s hands rise up to his chest, a gesture of defense --- but how can he defend himself against a pregnant woman? Shove her gently to the nearest seat?

Her eyes are in slits, as if her eyes are hissing at him --- her lips pucker for a second, in amusement.

“The crows will sing their songs, and the dirt will cleanse itself.” Her eyes soften, dainty slim fingers near his face, a natural reflex, he flinches, his eyes become frightened like a child’s.

Wanda’s fingertips flutter over his patch, she hums, “Hmm --- you see life, but not its entirety. Sometimes the bigger picture is not all it seems.”

A pregnant pause.

Her feline eyes, her wan face contorts mischievously --- it’s as if she’s savoring his unsettled state. “Goodbye, Nick.” Her accent slithers from her heart-shaped lips, breathy giggles emit from her throat, her lips slipped shut, walking backwards, as her hands rub on her swollen belly as a crystal ball.

Nick’s head balks from Wanda’s hand, nearly swatting her arm away, his feet stumble, nearly contorting his ankle, murmuring under his breath, ‘Crazy bitch.’ Spitting furiously, as his hand pushes the glass door, too harshly as it whines at the hinges --- striking back in place with an obnoxious crude smack.

Stomps heavy, the hard concrete beats against his feet, his open-palms slaps against his bald head; snarling in boiling frustration, jerking his knees up, trampling as he curses everything under the sun ---- if his daughter was here, she would be trying to hug him, her face squished against the arch of his spine, whispers of trying to quill his bristling temper.

He stiffens --- it’s as time stills itself, white noise rings louder, tiny pins and needles stab and lodge his ear-drums, he winces, nearly staggering to his knees.

His eyes widened owlishly --- he never told her his name.

---

It’s raining tonight.

Heavy droplets of rain soak the window-pane, showering the glass --- the sky is inky, but the dense clouds carpet the sky, weeping over the little town.

The static of the television illuminates throughout the dense darkness, the motel room is engulfed in the mouth of darkness; as a slumped figure sits hunched over, at the edge of the mattress.

His head slumps low, chin to chest, staring blankly into the carpeting, his broad shoulders tense.

Bare chest illumes to a blinding shade of ticonderoga taupe --- a lean cigarette hangs from his lips, as his calloused fingers toys with the lighter, with precision his fingertips clanks the steel lid open, igniting the flame --- to then snuff it with a sharp clank, twirling between his fidgety fingers.

Sleep clings to his eyes, drooping, one eye closes before the other unevenly; his broad nose flares as his mind slowly fries into stinging migraine --- silent screams, mossy bits of grass scatter in chunks from deafening explosions, rancid stench of flesh, and gunpowder haunts him at the dead of nights.

Nick’s hands tremble, his eye-lid twitches, he’s tired --- so damn tired. In nights like this, he thinks of his daughter, as a little girl, she would crawl into his bed, ask for a bedtime story, or ask him to sing; he would tell her jokingly, he sings like a toad, but she wouldn’t care, ‘you’re the prettiest toad, daddy’.

His eyes get water-logged --- inhaling deeply back a wet sniffle, his nose flaring; swallowing harshly, thickly.

Nick went to bed that night --- his chest heaving, swallowed sobs that crack, and strains his esophagus; the outline of his quivering figure trembles under the covers.

---

Faint whispers wisp within the darkness, deafening --- but inaudible. Floating in the mouth of caliginosity, body weight light, limbs flailing ceasingly.

The voices grate against his ear-drums, his eyes shut closed in a wince. His chest stings with hot white pain, as if a knife splits open the flesh underneath the cartilage of his cavity; Nick screams in agony, above his breast-bone, as bloodied wan fingertips slither through the torn seams of skin, a wrist cranks itself through as a punch.

The wrist twirls against the flesh walls of his chest, it’s fingers crocking, it’s index finger gesturing Nick, beckoning him. It arches itself more out, thrashing it, wiggling as a white worm, gripping his throat. Suffocating him, tears flood his eyes, soaking his cheeks --- whimpering under his breath, ‘I’m sorry.’

Over and over again.

A stream of light shines beyond his eyes, nearly blinding him.

Nick opens his eyes again, and the pain no longer cripples his body. He’s back at the inn, seated in the love seat of his room --- glued to it, he can’t move. Sunshine gleams into the window, curtains peeled open.

A feminine figure is seated at his bed, legs crisscrossed; facing him.

A crow at her feet, it’s claws indenting in the mattress. Fear grips his heart at the sight of this woman --- her face is smeared --- smoothed, yet features distorted. Nick’s head slant, and her head follows suit --- copying his movement.

Shivering can be heard, the bird shakes, it’s feathers shuffling, as if the animal is going to combust.

“Where am I?” Nick probes, the crow halts. “A place where it’s always sad.” The crow speaks, it’s voice deep, but it’s voice is askew, as if it speaks backwards.

“Some of your friends are already here.” Wings raise in a stance, showing each individual feather.

“Who are you?” Nick asks, his fingers digging into his kneecaps, his eyes never leaving the faceless woman.

“I feel like I know her, but sometimes my arms bend back.”

“Where we’re from, the birds sing a pretty song. And there’s always music in the air.” The crow speaks once more, his feathers flutter, and shuffle as his wings shudder in every direction.

“She’s the one you seek for.” The crow’s small head tilts, the slope of its neck jerks, retched coughs, as moist soil that smells of the earth yaks itself out.

It’s shiny onyx beak snorts, as it chokes --- the crow’s tiny body convulses, it’s caw wails are hoarse.

Her jaw is mawed, unlocking as it hangs, her teeth grimy, her breathing deeper, but her chest is puffing, as if winding up a doll, tugging on the string of it’s back.

A blood-curdling screech, raw, ripping through her throat --- the veins of her neck bulge against the skin.

Nick cups his ears, but it doesn’t help --- he can still hear it.

A brown eye snapped open ---- his body became frigid, yet his bones melted into the mattress, the broad bridge of nose nuzzled against the lush pillow; stick sweat stains the pillow sheet, damp splotches out-line the shape of his skull.

A bluish, grey ambience blankets over the room --- he feels like he’s floating, his soul descends, his breathing is getting heavier, huffing.

Eyes blurring as a fogged mirror, nose sniffling, her wrists are bent, tucked under her chin; a trickle of blood slips from her bottom lip, staining her teeth cherry-red, spilling over the jut of her chin.

Her mouth stops shaking, in a flashed second, the blood vanishes --- her voice is small, but distorted, as if speaking backwards. “There’s something wrong with the sky.”

A shrill cry of a bird awakens him --- it’s morning.

#stucky x reader #dark stucky x reader #dark stucky #dark stucky smut #stucky x reader baby #dark marvel #lumberjack bucky barnes #lumberjack steve rogers #nomad stee rogers #nomad steve rogers x reader #nomad bucky barnes #lumberjack stucky #cabin fever series

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bucksangel · 25 days ago

Text

WIP Poll Game!!

Rules: Make a 24 hour poll listing the titles of every WIP you want to work on. (It’s fine if you only have one, still make a poll for the vote count.) Whichever WIP title gets the most votes, write 1 sentence for every vote received.

thanks to @jen-with-a-pen for tagging me!!

as you can see I will forever be on my stucky bullshit

no pressure tags: @vesearlee @holylulusworld @jobean12-blog and anyone else that wants to do this!!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #stucky #stucky imagine #stucky x reader imagine #stucky x reader #polls #tumblr polls #writer polls #my polls

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upallnite2getbucky · 3 years ago

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Ugh I need lumberjack stucky in my life so bad 😭

Joooo have you seen Sebbys dancing story? What am I saying ofc you have!!

But like what if you mixed that and Chris 'awkward dancing tgt?? Like reader waking up to these boys jamming it out while making breakfast on a beautiful Sunday morning ( imagine them trying to twerk😂😂). Or coming home from a long day of work and just admiring the view

😍😍😍

Morning Wood

Pairing: Stucky x reader (Lumberjack AU but they are retired superheroes)

Word Count: 1,405

Summary: You and the boys are enjoying your time paradise. Retirement is good.

Author's Note: Hi love! Thank you so much for this fun and sweet request! It made me smile! I decided to have them living their best life in a beautiful and secluded cabin somewhere amazing! I also thought it would be an amazing excuse to use these gorgeous edits by my friend @thelemonadestxnd 🥰Hope you're having a lovely night and you enjoy this! Hugs! 💕Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by my sweet @firefly-graphics thank you lovely🥰

Warnings: soft and fun fluff, teasing, implied sexy fun, lots of silliness, Alpine

Edits NOT MINE: Credit goes to @thelemonadestxnd for BOTH of these gorgeous pieces!

It isn’t the warm sunshine or the loud twitter of the birds singing outside your window that wakes you from a deep and sated sleep. Even your fluffy white cat, Alpine, has his head up, pointy ears flat against his head and a disgruntled look on his face.

“Alpine,” you mumble. “What in the…?”

The cat meows in response, stretching and kneading at the sheets before curling back into a ball and closing his eyes.

“Yea…” you say in sleepy agreement, “I don’t know either. Back to bed.”

You lift the covers over your shoulder and snuggle back into the pillow, letting your eyelids softly shut until you hear the racket again.

“Whyyyy,” you whine.

With a frustrated huff you beat at the pillow before throwing the sheets off and swinging your legs over the bed. Steve’s large tee shirt falls to your knees and you stomp over to the chair and grab Bucky’s discarded flannel and put it on.

Something round and heavy thumps against your chest and you slip your hand into the breast pocket of Bucky’s flannel. Your fingers wrap around something smooth and slightly pliant. You smile to yourself and gently pat the pocket, whispering, “I’ll save that for later.”

“What the hell are they up to!?” you screech, peeking out the large bedroom window.

You can’t see either one of your boys but you can certainly hear them. You shuffle into the kitchen and see all the necessities for your favorite breakfast ready on the counter as well as a fresh bouquet of the most beautiful wildflowers at the center of the table.

You soften at the sight and slide on your slippers. When you open the large front door of the cabin, the morning air holds a slight chill that the late Spring sun is quickly chasing away and the air is sweet with the fragrance of new growth.

You step out onto the large porch and walk down the steps, making your way to the back of the house and the source of the commotion. With a few more steps you turn the corner of the house and the sight in front of you makes you stop in your tracks.

Both Bucky and Steve are standing near the pile of firewood, shirtless, suspenders hanging freely around their legs, with their axes over their shoulders and their tight jeans clinging to their thick thighs.

You swallow hard as your entire body reacts, goosebumps covering your skin and your thighs clenched.

“Stevie. Come on! America’s ass can do better than that,” Bucky teases.

“I’m trying pal,” Steve shouts as he continues bending and shaking his ass.

Bucky drops his axe and proceeds to show Steve once again how to twerk.

“Look Rogers. Legs shoulder width apart ok? Like you’re gonna do a squat. Really bend those knees.”

You reach into Bucky’s flannel pocket and pull out his hidden treasure, biting into the juicy flesh of the plum while you watch the entertainment unfold. You can’t take your eyes off them as you munch, glad for the small distraction of the fruit.

Steve studies Bucky intently, his eyebrows drawn in with his focused concentration.

“Now, arch your back, you really want your butt to be out there ya know,” Bucky continues.

Steve positions himself the same as Bucky, nodding intently.

“We really need some music,” Bucky sighs. “Alright, hands on your knees and bounce.”

Bucky shakes his ass and you stifle a giggle, not wanting the show to end.

"Ok, ok, lemme try again,” Steve says once Bucky stops.

Bucky straightens and steps back, leaning against the wood pile.

Steve shouts, “I think I got it!”

You let out a snort and Steve’s mid twerk when he goes still while Bucky throws you a knowing smirk.

“Is that my plum?” Bucky asks, sauntering over.

You shrug, the motion purposefully casual as you lick the plum juice from the corner of your mouth.

“Hiya doll face,” Bucky murmurs as he takes you in his arms. “Lemme get some of that.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, sucking gently before pulling away and humming pleasingly at the taste.

Steve walks over with a bright smile, planting his axe on the ground and leaning down to kiss you.

“And is that my shirt?” Bucky asks, fingering his flannel.

“And my tee shirt,” Steve adds.

“Yes, yes and YES!” you huff. “What about it? Couldn’t you two find other shirts to wear this morning?”

The boys stare at you before bursting into chuckles.

“Nah, too much work,” Bucky sings. “Besides, the sun is warm.”

“And what has you up so early sunshine?” Steve asks.

“YOU TWO!” you scold. “Alpine and I were all cozy in bed and then you two started a twerk party.”

“Bucky started it,” Steve states. “We originally came out here to cut the last of the firewood.”

“I just don’t want him going around saying he can do it if he can’t,” Bucky announces.

“But I can now,” Steve responds with a goofy grin.

“Well, I thoroughly enjoyed the show,” you giggle. “It just wasn’t the morning wood I was hoping to wake up to.”

Bucky drops his head, shaking it as he laughs loudly.

“I don’t get it,” Steve says. “What’s so funny about morning wood?

“Oh my gosh Stevie,” you snicker.

You grab Steve’s shoulder and pull his ear down to your lips. When he stands back up his eyes go wide and then his smile follows.

“Oh yea. That happens every morning,” he states. “Then we end up spending most of it in bed…”

Bucky walks by and slaps Steve on the back of his head before scooping you into his arms.

“We’re sorry we woke you doll face,” Bucky croons. “Let’s go have breakfast.”

You look over Bucky’s shoulder and wink at Steve as you finish off the plum. Bucky brings you into the house and sets you down gently on the kitchen island.

“Now, you just relax angel. Me and Stevie are gonna make ya breakfast.”

Steve slides between your legs for a quick kiss before meeting Bucky at the sink to wash his hands. They work in perfect harmony, easily navigating the kitchen space to prepare pancakes, eggs, bacon and a bowl of fresh fruit.

They set the table and smile proudly, matching lopsided grins when you lick your lips.

“Ya hungry doll? Bucky simpers.

“Uh huh,” you breathe out.

You slide off the island into Steve’s waiting arms. Steve sits down and pulls you into his lap and Bucky pulls his chair close.

“I guess getting woken up to watch you two shake your asses and then get a homemade breakfast isn’t the worst thing…” you simper, reaching for the fruit.

Bucky and Steve smile, their mouths stuffed full of pancakes. Alpine finally wanders in from the bedroom with a loud meow.

“Oh, look who has finally decided to grace us with his presence,” you chide. “Get enough beauty rest fluffball?”

The cat slips between Bucky’s spread legs and jumps up onto his thigh, perching himself daintily while he cleans himself.

“Don’t get any ideas cat. That’s my seat!” you say as you narrow your eyes at Alpine.

The cat lifts his tail and nestles closer into Bucky’s side, pawing at the spots of sun dancing over his metal arm.

“I swear he does it on purpose,” you whine.

“Don’t be jealous doll face,” Bucky purrs. “You know I’m all yours.”

You stick your tongue out at the cat and rest your head along Steve’s chest, lightly combing your fingers through the hair that lines his hard muscles.

Alpine watches your every move before tiptoeing across Bucky’s lap and placing one white paw onto Steve’s thigh.

You instantly sit up. “Don’t even think about it cat! THIS SEAT IS ALL MINE!”

The boys laughter is so quick and loud that Alpine jumps down with an unhappy meow and goes to lay in a ray of sun on the floor.

“You two,” Steve starts as syrup drips down his chin.

“So cute,” Bucky finishes with a smirk.

You swipe your thumb across Steve’s chin and then stick it in your mouth to lick it clean.

“Whatever,” you huff, nibbling on some bacon.

“I don’t think we can let our girl get outta bed early anymore Buck,” Steve says.

“You’re right Stevie. From now on any morning wood business stays in bed until she’s happy.”

@book-dragon-13 @christywantspizza @dreamlessinparis @goldylions @hiddles-rose @jhangelface0523 @loricamebackyetagain @lookiamtrying @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @breakablebarnes @seitmai @justile @weekendgothgirl @turbolisedcomet @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @hiddles-and-skittles @loki-laufeyson-1054 @rebel-stardust @peaches1958 @bb-skyrunner

#and their morning wood #daily reblog #lumberjack steve #lumberjack bucky #lumberjack stucky

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