lumberjack!james x you’re so dark by arctic monkeys….especially “i want you down on all fours cause you’re so dark baby”…he gives me such pet play vibes i can’t
oh my god nonnie…. you can’t do this to me…..
the concept of being in the woods with him and you’re on your knees as he stands a little away from you chopping up wood. when he’s done, he’d click his fingers, commanding “come here” and you’re then made to crawl to him on the dirty woodland floor…. oh and then maybe licking up the wooden handle of his axe…. or bringing him another tool with your teeth in a little wicked game of fetch for him…. in return for head pats and coos of praise after you do what he wants… 😵💫😵💫
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Tree’s the Charm - Lumberjack!James Potter x Fem!Reader
WC: 1.1K / navi
Summary: Your kids are eager to get the construction of their new treehouse underway, and your husband is eager to make a mess.
Notes: Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! I’d love to hear what you think of this :) Also not me naming this as a pun about my first fic on this account
"Mason," James chided, one hand reaching behind his back to pry the child off of him, "Y'know you can't mess around when I'm cuttin' stuff."
"But Papa," Mason whined, little legs finally reaching the ground as James lowered his worn sneakers back into the dirt, "I wanna climb the tree!"
"Then climb the tree," You stepped onto the porch, giving your son a stern glance, "But don't use your Papa as a ladder. Just because he's building you one doesn't mean he's a stand-in until it's finished."
The mention of James's current project had Mason bouncing on the balls of his feet, "Papa, how big is the treehouse gonna be?!"
"I dunno, Mace," James was fixedly staring at the wood he sawed, "As big as the tree, I s’pose."
"Yes!" The baby in your arms squirmed at her brother's excited outburst, reaching eagerly for the ground as Mason ran excited laps around the tree. You gently lowered Sophie to the ground, letting her little feet rest in the tall, uncut weeds that invaded your quaint grassy garden, keeping one of your fingers in each of her hands as she toddled around the yard.
“Mama,” You heard Mimi’s soft voice from behind you, her hair falling messily over her eyes much like her father’s did, “‘S the treehouse done yet?”
“Does it look finished to you, pumpkin?” James raised an eyebrow at your middle child, one hand still holding a rung of the ladder while the other held the saw, “I think it’s a bit short.”
Mimi giggled at her father’s words, skipping out through the yard and dodging a puppy that came for her ankles, “When can we build the house?”
“When we can get up there,” James reasoned with her, “I’ve gotta put the ladder up there first! Unless you can fly?”
“I can fly!” Mimi’s three year old brain was whirring, her chin sticking out defiantly as she insisted upon her abilities being recognized, “Papa always says I’m his fairy, ‘n fairies can fly!”
“That’s right,” James grinned, setting the saw safely back on his workbench before beelining for Mimi, carefully avoiding you and the baby with his clunky work boots. He scooped her up, a smile glowing on his face as bright as the sun beating down on all of you, “My little fairy, show me how you fly!”
Mimi squealed gleefully, her arms spread out like fairy wings as James held her up, weaving her through the air. You crouched down, your hands winding around Sophie’s baby belly and pointing up at the two of them.
“Look Sophie,” You crooned, “Sissy’s flyin’!”
Sophie offered nothing but a coo back to you, a tiny, chubby finger pointed at your husband and your child.
“I know! Sissy’s a little fairy,” You pinched Sophie’s cheeks lightly, helping her pluck a stray dandelion from the grass. She wasn’t sure how to blow it, but she was excellent at shaking it around vigorously and spreading the seeds everywhere, the puffs quickly taken by the wind and blown around your yard.
One blew into Mason’s face, landing perfectly on his nose as he came to a stop from the laps he’d been running. He stared at it, eyes crossed comically to try and focus on the fluff attached to his face. James finally put Mimi down, congratulating the pixie on her fabulous flying efforts, reaching down to brush the fuzz off of Mason’s nose.
“Hope y’made a wish, Mace,” James grinned cheekily, “That’s whatcha do with a dandelion.”
“I did,” Mason made his way back over to the tree James had been working on, pointing accusatorily at the saw, “I wished for the treehouse to be finished already!”
James let out an astonished chuckle at his son’s bold nature, striding back over to the tree, “Alright, alright, no more playtime then! I’ll finish the ladder soon. But first,” He plucked the sanded piece of wood off of the table, walking over to you and crushing another stray dandelion beneath his boots as he did so, “Y’wanna paint it, Sophie?”
Sophie giggled excitedly at James’s offer, reaching for the plank with her chubby little hands. He held her upright while you fetched a jar of red paint, uncapping it carefully and mourning the soon-to-be-loss of Sophie’s pretty purple dress.
“Alright baby,” You gushed, letting her dip her hands into the paint, “Go!”
She flapped her hands excitedly at your tone, slapping them onto the plank and smearing crimson paint over the wood. You and James cheered her on, only riling her up more and causing more messy strokes across the rung.
“Good job,” James offered the baby a high-five, only realizing his mistake when a red baby-handprint was splattered onto his palm. He laughed incredulously, not bothering to think twice before he ran a hand across the scruff on his face, subsequently smearing the paint there.
“Oh,” You snorted, quickly lifting the baby and offering her to James who fumbled to take her, “Paint Papa’s face, baby! Yeah,” You gushed, watching her excitedly smack his cheeks with her rouge digits, “Get him!”
“Y/N,” James groaned, a smile on his face revealing his true feelings even if he was trying to conceal them, “Why would you do this to me?”
“You did this to yourself,” You gestured accusatorily to his hand, still stained red from the high-five, “I just made it a little bit worse.”
“Little bit,” James hissed teasingly, setting Sophie down in the grass to roam the yard, “Little bit?!” He lunged for you, his painted hand marking up your white apron, his face rubbing incessantly into yours as he smothered you in kisses, “Does that look like a little bit?!”
You screeched in disapproval, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but he was only egged on further, spinning you in his arms and trapping you against his chest. You knew you must have looked a sight, face smeared in splotchy red paint if the massacre of James’s face was anything to go by. He looked adoringly down at you, a smear of paint on his nose, “Y’still look pretty, y’know? Even if you’ve got paint everywhere.”
You grinned shyly, eyes staring into James’s own warm, brown ones, “Stooop.”
“No! No, I won’t stop,” James teased you, face inches away from your own, “Y’need to know how beautiful you are!” He finally leaned in, closing the gap between you two and pressing a searing kiss to your lips, that tasted only faintly of paint.
You lost yourself in his embrace, the feeling of the grass around your ankles and the sun on your skin disappearing for just a moment as you kissed your husband. Then, all too soon, the two of you were separated by a shrill cry from Mason, the sound bringing an exasperated smile to James’s messy face.
okay also, 'I need coffee in an IV' please??? could you make us a little lumberjack!james moodboard pretty please :') i want to see our life with him!! orrr if that doesn't strike you, maybe one that's hopper themed?? hnngh need that big hairy man <3
He'd take classes to learn how to make brushes for you and he'd be so happy to give you the first one he makes. It's a little odd shaped BUT u love it and he's so proud when u use it and :((((((
yes!! or he watches youtube videos on it and you can hear him grumbling at the lady he's watching because 'she's goin' so bloody fast' and 'can't fuckin' keep up with'er' and he's struggling to carve the paintbrushes and whittle them down nicely and finally he gets it and presents them to you and they're kinda lopsided but you love them, and you use that one as your primary brush no matter how inconvenient it is :((((
he looks over your shoulder when you're painting with it like 'look bird! 's so pretty, the brush works good. and you! and you, 'f course, you work good too.'
I just saw a video of a guy using an angle grinder to shave off the burned bottom of a pizza and it immediately gave me thoughts of lumberjack!James 🪵🍕
today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)
BABY I GOOGLED THAT AND FOUND A VIDEO AND IDK IF IT WAS THE SAME ONE BUT YOU'RE RIGHT IT'S TOTALLY LUMBERJACK!JAMES
--
James hears your defeated sob from the kitchen, practically tripping over his own feet as he rushes to find you.
You're not bleeding, on fire, or dead, as he'd feared, so some of his worry fades. However, you're still crying, and he's not happy about that.
"What's wrong, m'love?" He ushers you into his arms, rocking you gently back and forth as you sob into his chest, "Tell me what's the trouble, lemme help you, yeah?"
"I can't even cook frozen pizza!" You wail, one hand gesturing vaguely towards the oven, "It's all burnt on the bottom!"
James coos softly at you, pressing kisses into the crown of your head until your sobs have been reduced to weak sniffles. He uses the sleeve of his flannel to wipe at your eyes, drying the tear stains that decorate your face.
"Now, let's see what happened here. I'm sure it's not that bad." James opens the oven, the pizza inside looking absolutely delicious, cheese bubbling and crust golden brown.
"Well I don't see what the problem is, sweet girl," James chides, "It's perfect!"
"I said the bottom was burnt," You sniffle weakly, "Use the spatula to lift it up."
He does, and the bottom is... less appealing than the top. A strong layer of blackened crust rests against the pizza stone, leaving shadowy marks on the stone and the spatula.
"See? I'm useless in the kitchen," You sigh defeatedly, voice breaking, "I can't handle anything."
"That's not true," James huffs, abandoning the pizza and striding past you to the door, "I can fix it!"
You watch bewildered as he strides into his shed, glancing back disdainfully at the pizza. He returns with a heavy tool in his hand, an impressive lack of sawdust coating the blade considering his line of work.
"This is an angle grinder, sweets." James sets it on the counter, "I'm gonna use it to get the burnt part off, okay?"
You watch as he spreads foil over your kitchen table, flipping the pizza upside down on top of it so that none of the toppings spill out. He gets to work right away, the tool making a horrendous noise as he gently grazes it against the pizza.
The burnt crust is gone in a second. Well, from the pizza, that is. The miniscule particles of blackened pizza crust are actually flying around the entire room, dusting your table, chairs, dress, oven, and floors. You screech indignantly and James sees the table, watches as charred pizza crust falls like snow.
He turns sheepishly around to face you, holding the tool at his side in defeat, "Okay, so it's gonna get a bit messy."
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daisy!! I had this thought about lumberjack!james getting splinters in his hands and the reader has to get them out of his hands. and reader kisses the places where the splinters were after they finished.
today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)
first off you called me daisy!! marry me!! second :(( omg :(( baby that's so cute i swear lumberjack!james owns me mind body and soul
--
"Jus' one more, y'big baby." You're cooing patronizingly at James, his coarse hand clutched tightly in your own. His palm is facing up, showcasing the red slashes across his skin where slivers of wood had sliced through his skin.
"It hurts," He grumbles, frown set deep on his face, "Be gentle."
"I am being gentle," You remind your husband, tweezers trembling slightly as you focus on the miniscule shard of wood in his hand, "Maybe if you were more gentle with your work, you wouldn't have had twelve splinters in your hand when you came home today."
"It was not twelve!" James huffs, "You're being dramatic."
"Count them, then," You gesture with one hand to the flecks of wood scattered around the table you're working on, watching his eyes flit from piece to piece until eleven were counted.
"This one makes twelve," You grin matter-of-factly, leaving him even more pouty than when you'd found him.
"Well that's a new record then," James perks up, his hand twitching slightly in your grip and displacing the tweezers yet again, "Aren't you proud?"
I am thirsty. And I am ready to drink at the fountain of lumberjack!James 🙏 New thoughts: imagine living in a cozy log cabin, waking up early to find that James isn’t in bed, walking to the window and seeing him just goin at it chopping wood in his pyjamas bc he gotta get the firewood ready before you wake up 🥴
Today is multiverse monday! Send me any au you can think of :)
BRO. FUCK. it's official i'm lumberjack!james's whore now. it's me.
--
The sheets were cozy and warm, but not cozy or warm enough. You awoke with a disgruntled groan, peering over at the other side of the bed to chide your husband for stealing all the covers. Except, he hadn't.
The blankets were all wrapped snugly around you, bundling you up to protect you from the harsh winds outside. What was missing was your husband, and you blearily rose from your sheets to try and find him.
"Jamie?" You wandered out into the hallway, rubbing your eyes tiredly, the dim lights illuminating your house amidst the raging snowstorm outside.
Worry blossomed in your chest when you determined that James was not in the house, peering hazily outside into the flurry to see if you could spot him.
You managed to make out a blurry figure by James's workshop, and through closer examination you were relieved to recognize your husband. Axe in hand and flannel pajamas donning his lower half, you watched as he swung hard at a log in front of him, cleanly splitting the wood in half. You marveled at his strength, knowing full well he was talented, but still shocked any time you saw his skills in action.
You quickly stepped out onto the front porch, squinting through the blizzard to keep him in your sights. You called out to him blearily, a gruff, 'Jamie?' echoing through the storm, making him swing on his heel to stare at you incredulously.
He dropped the axe, fresh powder already falling onto the tool as he jogged forwards, snow sticking to his hair and pajamas.
"Bug, whatcha doin' up?"
"Couldn't sleep without you," You mumbled, hands tugging gently at his near-frozen hands, "What are you doing out here?"
"We needed more firewood," James gestured out to the log he'd been splitting, "So I came to chop us some more."
"Oh," You cooed, "You're so thoughtful, Jamie."
"Can't have my little bug freezin'er ass off, now can we?"
"Hm, thoughtful and eloquent, then." You teased, pinching his cheek, the skin turning red under your touch.
"Some of my many talents," James bent into a deep bow, grandiose and dramatic, "Now madam, I must retire to my post, for if I do not, thou shalt freeze thine nipples off."
Lumberjack!James being a massive teddy bear most of the time. All hugs, total sub. UNTIL you come home crying one day and he’s already grabbing his axe. Not to actually hurt anyone, but it sure does look scary when he’s coming at ya with it and nobody’s going to be bothering you after that. Heeere’s Johnny JAMIE!
Today is multiverse monday! Send me any au you can think of :)
lumberjack!james is here to cut not only trees, but bitches too.
--
You're barely able to see the front door from where you're running towards your house, the handle proving extra difficult to navigate in your teary state. You push open the door with a choked sob, James's attention immediately on you from where he stands in front of the stove.
Somehow, you ignore the red frilly apron on his chest, a large arrow pointing downwards below the words harvest my firewood. You'd have to tell his friends not to buy him christmas gifts anymore.
He rushes forwards to wrap you in a hug, brow already lacing together in a deep set frown, "What'sa matter, bug?"
"Jamie," You sob, his broad shoulder the perfect pillow as you cry, "Jamie, they said my pie was terrible!"
The pie in question, half still sitting on the counter, was in fact, terrible. James had choked it down the night prior with a grateful grin, reminding himself to burn the recipe when you weren't looking. But that didn't mean anyone got to tell you that!
"Who said that, darling?" His long, smooth strokes against your back brought you down from your spiral, until you were sniffling meekly, enough to answer his questions.
"The ladies at the diner," You whimpered, rubbing your eyes pitifully, "'N that Olsen lady said she'd rather eat dirt!"
"Then she will," James spat, parting from the hug to reach for his axe, placed right by the stove despite your continuous protests on the matter, "I'll show her what happens to people who insult my wife."
"James, no!" You rushed to grab his arm, ashamed to admit that you were more focused on feeling his muscles beneath your fingertips than you were on protecting Mrs. Olsen from death by axe murder.
"Relax, baby," James cooed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, "'M not gonna kill'er. Just gonna scare the shit out of her."
You let out an involuntary giggle at the image of Mrs. Olsen, the batty bitch, shrieking in horror at your axe wielding husband, "Fine. But you gotta take a picture of how scared she gets, y'promise?"
James let out an incredulous laugh at your animosity towards the old woman, "Promise, y'little devil."
