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strang3lov3 · 3 months ago

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Scrub Daddy

QZ Joel visits you for a bath and a little extra (4.7k)

Tags - smut, dom!joel, mean!joel if you squint and I mean really squint because he does in fact fuck you with a certain kindness in his heart. dirty talking you through it. Ah, fuck it. Who am I kidding. pervy!joel too. dubcon, coercion, unprotected PIV, hand job, nyasty QZ joel eats it from the back, ass play and a tasteful amount of ass eating, nipple play, come shot, sex work, takes place in a brothel, JOEL SOUP (bathing that old man), Joel Miller hog reveal (it’s gargantuan, ludicrously capacious if you will), Joel Miller enjoys the finer things in life ie. pussy, Joel Miller tummy. Joel Miller's broad shoulders come with their own warning. Fic help - @beefrobeefcal @noxturnalnymph @endlessthxxghts Thank you all for your brains and eyeballs! A/N - MONTHS AND MONTHS LATE BUUUUT this is for my sweetheart @merz-8 who so generously streams herself playing TLOU and red dead for me 🩷 this fic is inspired by the many times she bathes Arthur. Mercy I love you!!!!!

Joel turns the tap on his shower and with his eyebrows raised, waits quietly to hear the sound of water rushing through the pipes in the wall. Nothing. “God bless it,” he mutters. The water’s been shut off for the past month or so in his apartment complex. He pays extra to have it but alas, nothing fucking works in the QZ. Everything’s broken down, falling apart, or will fall apart - it’s just a matter of time.

Joel’s got limited options. He could visit the showers downtown, get hosed down like a dog with cold water that feels like knives in his skin, although the showers don’t open until 5AM tomorrow morning. He could wait it out, though he’s pretty fucking rank; he needs a shower yesterday. He could also rinse off at the sink with a damp rag.

He thinks to himself, hands on his hips and biting his cheeks, weighing his options. Damp rag it is. Joel opens his linen closet and takes his ratty, stringy old rag with him to the kitchen. He wets it with the water from the five gallon jug allotted for drinking, then reaches for the FEDRA issued bar soap that’s meant to be used for everything - hand washing, dishes, laundry, et cetera, et cetera. Joel takes off his shirt and then lathers the bar soap in the rag, the clean and flowery smell permeating the air. He loves this scent - he doesn’t always get this specific one when he picks up his hygiene supplies once a month. God, when did he smell this last? Feels like deja vu. It’s so familiar, it couldn't have been too long ago…

Then the memory hits him: the whorehouse over at the old hotel. That’s where he smelled this soap last. It’s in the men’s rooms but more pertinent to Joel at this moment, it’s the soap used in the bathing rooms - different from the men’s rooms. Joel scoffs and puts the soap and rag on the kitchen counter. Yeah, he smirks to himself, that’s where he’ll catch a bath tonight. He puts his denim shirt back on, stuffs some clean clothes into his leather backpack and heads off into the night for the hotel.

Joel’s strategic in how he gets there. Curfew’s at six, and it’s eight right now. FEDRA’s not too kind to those out after hours. He moves stealthily through alleyways, avoiding the harsh, white light of the soldier’s flashlights shining from above. Once at the old hotel, Joel knocks in a particular pattern on the side door. On the other side, a man peers through the peephole and verifies Joel’s identity, then opens the door just enough for Joel to slide on through, his belly rubbing against the edge of the doorframe.

It’s dingy on the inside, dark and lit sparingly only by some candles. Joel makes his way to the front room where a different man sits at a table. Joel reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his ration cards, flipping through the notes with a practiced flick of his thumb. “M’in need of a shower,” he says, laying the cards down on the table. He scans the room, recognizes a few familiar faces.

The man covers the notes with his hand and slides them toward himself, then counts the cards through and nods. “Fourth floor, third door on the right.”

Wordlessly, Joel heads up the staircase, knees cracking on about every other step. God, he’s getting old. Once at the fourth floor, Joel heads for that third door on the right and pushes it open with one hand, unbuttoning his denim shirt with ease using the other.

This room is different from the others at this brothel. It has no bed, no carpeting, no soft surfaces of any kind that would be typical for activities performed in a place such as this. This room has just one large bath tub in the middle with a small table next to it, and in the corner is a small lamp, covering the room with a low golden glow. Once-green peeling paint covers the walls instead of torn floral wallpaper and cracks cover every tile on the floor below. Joel peels his clothes off and wraps a faded pink towel around his waist, his tummy bulging over the edge. He waits patiently next to the tub for a knock at the door.

Your hands are wobbling in the dressing room. There’s really not much to dress yourself with, no makeup or anything like that. One of the girls suggested melting a colored pencil with some hot water or a lighter and then using that to paint your lips and cheeks, but she wouldn’t share her own with you. In the mirror, you fix your hair and straighten your borrowed dress, breathing deeply to try and calm your nerves. It’s your first night working here at the brothel, and you’re really not sure what to expect.

Your boss, Jim, knocks on the dressing room door as a courtesy, but doesn’t wait to make sure everyone is decent. He just waltzes right in and announces to you all that there’s a client in room three waiting for bath assistance.

“Do you know who it is?” one of the girls asks Jim.

“Yeah,” Jim answers. “Joel Miller. Who’s taking him?”

The girl who gave you the tip on the colored pencils turns to her friends and whispers, then turns back to you. “You should take him,” she tells you. “You’ll love Joel, he’s nice. Very gentle with his girls. A real lover.”

Her smile feels disingenuous, and it doesn’t help that her friends are laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” she lies. “And here–” She pulls out her lighter and a bubblegum pink colored pencil that’s stained black from repeated burning, and lights the end of the pencil on fire so that it melts a bit. She drips it onto her fingertips, then harshly smudges it onto your lips, biting down on a facetious smile. “Yeah. Joel will love you.”

She doesn’t let you check your appearance in the mirror before ushering you to the bathing room, her hands on your lower back as she pushes you to the door. She slaps your ass, then heads back to the dressing room with the other girls, barely concealing a giggle in her wake.

You inhale and exhale deeply, then knock on the door. The man - Joel - opens it for you and guides you inside, then locks the door behind you. Clad in nothing but a towel, he crosses his arms as he looks you up and down with a slow scan of his eyes, which makes you feel a bit uncomfortable. His brow is pinched together, he’s biting his inner cheek. His expression turns from studious to curious.

The first thing you notice is how handsome he is, you can’t even help yourself. His crossed arms strain his big, thick biceps. He has a full head of curly, graying hair, and a full set of teeth. Tall. He’s towering over you with a hulking form. His top lip sports a big, thick mustache, and his face is covered in a perfectly patchy beard. Sharp. He’s got a sharp nose, sharp jaw, and a sharp look in his inky dark brown eyes. You don’t know what you expected, but it certainly wasn’t him.

“Name’s Joel,” he says. “Your turn.”

You tell him your name, and Joel reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips. “S’that your real name?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

Fuck. “N-no,” you lie.

Joel chuckles. “So you’re the new girl, huh?”

“Mhm.”

Joel laughs again.

You squeeze past him to get to the tub, then twist the knobs of the bathtub, twisting them quicker when the water doesn’t come out. Joel watches you struggle for a minute, then comes up behind you and puts his strong hand on your lower back, fingers pressing against your ass. “Y’got it all wrong. Do it like this,” he instructs quietly, pulling up on the knobs, causing the water to come pouring out of the spout. He twists the handles himself, holding his hand under the running water to test the temperature. “See?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Learn somethin’ new everyday, don’tcha?”

Joel rounds the tub, then pulls out the tucked in end of the towel on his waist. You quickly turn your head in the opposite direction, garnering another chuckle from him. Every time he laughs at you, you feel worse. “No point in lookin’ away,” he tells you. “You’re gonna see it whether you wanna or not. Jus’ the nature of these things.”

Joel hands you his towel, then steps into the long tub. From here, you get a good look at his naked form. He’s muscled beneath his softness, no doubt stronger than an ox. He’s broad, with vast shoulders and a relatively slim waist in comparison. His member is substantially sized, even soft, as it is now. His balls are even bigger, heavier.

The bathwater moves as Joel’s weight sinks in, rocking back and forth in the tub. He sits down and stretches his legs out, the water running over his feet. You keep your distance as you fold Joel’s towel while waiting for the tub to fill the rest of the way, familiarizing yourself with the toiletries nearby. Washrag, shampoo, bar soap, plastic cup, a tub of petroleum jelly, a glass, and a bottle of whiskey. When the tub is filled, you shut off the water.

Joel pours himself a large bit of the whiskey into the glass, “Quiet one, ain’tcha?” Joel says to you, then downs his drink. He pours another, then sips it.

You shrug, unsure of how to respond to the man. You’re not really sure if you’re supposed to talk and if so, what you should say. You move to the end of the bathtub where Joel rests his head, then reach for the cup and fill it with Joel’s bathwater, then wet his graying curls. Little ringlets still form around his neck.

Shampoo comes next, so you take the small bottle from the table. With wet hands you twist the cap, but it doesn’t come off. Joel waits patiently as you dry your hands on your dress and try again.

“What’s goin’ on back there?”

“The uh, the shampoo,” you say. “I can’t get the cap off.”

Joel reaches behind himself, “I’ll give ya a hand,” he says, and you put the bottle into his palm. He unscrews it with ease, then hands it back to you as he tells you that you seem nervous. “Wait a second,” he says, “C’mere,” and taps the edge of the tub with his right hand.

“There?”

“Yeah, sit down.”

Bottle in hand, you sit at the edge of the tub. “Closer.” Joel tugs you by the arm. “Ain’t gonna bite ya.”

You pour a bit of shampoo into your palm, then Joel takes the bottle and sets it on the little table. You reach forward and scrub the soap into his hair, quickly working it into a lather. Joel watches your face closely, how you avoid looking him in the eye. He dips his hand into his bathwater then reaches for your face, his steaming hand on your jaw as he uses his wet thumb to wipe away the colored pencil that was hastily rubbed on your lips. You’re stunned, and Joel watches you with dark and hungry eyes, a little bloodshot too. “Pretty one, aren’t you? A girl like you shouldn’t be workin’ here.”

You ignore him and continue washing his hair, tangling your fingers in the sudsy, thick curls. Joel holds your chin tighter and forces you to look him in the eyes. “You’re not givin’ me the silent treatment, honey, s’posed to talk to your clients. Make a man feel human. Answer me.” You’re intimidated immediately. If he is who the girls call nice, then…

“Wasn’t my first choice of a job,” you admit quietly.

“How’d you end up here?”

“I needed money,” you whisper. “And the other girls said they wanted someone on bath duty. But that I wouldn’t have to-”

Joel laughs loudly, cutting you off. “Oh, bless your fuckin’ heart. No, you’ll have to put out,” he says. “Job ain’t just washin’ dirty old men, sweetheart, that’s what a nursing home’s for. Those girls were fuckin’ with you. Sorry.” Joel gestures for you to continue.

Your blood goes cold. You feel sick, even more nervous than before. Looking through the water, you see that Joel’s already hard for you as well.

“Go on. Speak.”

You swallow thickly. “They also said you’re nice. Gentle.”

Joel nods, then sips on his drink. “That’s some wishful fuckin’ thinkin’. Not me, darlin’. Think they’re hazin’ you. But-” Joel sets his drink back down, “-I’ll behave myself, be a gentleman for ya. Scout’s honor.”

He says it so earnestly that you feel inclined to believe him. “You promise?”

“Cross my heart,” he says. “I’ll break ya in real nice,” he adds under his breath. His little comment - or rather, what feels like a threat, has you flinching. “Relax, relax.” Joel holds his hand to your waist, keeping you close to him. “You’re fine. I treat all my girls nice. I told you I wouldn’t bite. You’re fine,” he repeats. Joel reaches for the plastic cup and fills it with his bathwater, then gives it to you to rinse his hair with. He closes his eyes, groaning softly. You’ll hear those same groans escaping his lips later when he fucks you, eats you alive.

You admire his profile, that sharp slope of his aquiline nose, pouty lips and dark eyelashes. Water cascades down his thick neck and the broad planes of his freckled chest, landing into the pool of suds. After rinsing his hair, Joel takes the rag and the bar of soap and wets both, then hands them to you. You lather the soap on the rag, then Joel takes the soap back. You scoot closer to him and begin washing his neck and the muscles surrounding, scrubbing the rag into his skin.

“Feel tense, don’t I?”

You’re not sure how to answer. “I guess, yeah,” you mumble.

“Yeah, you’ll fix that. Get me right.”

Joel leans forward and tilts his head down, sighing as you scrub his broad shoulders, leaving little tracks of soap suds on his body. “Lil’ harder, sweetheart,” he groans. “Put some muscle into it.”

You rub harder into his skin with the rag, massaging those tight muscles in his back and shoulders before lifting his heavy bicep to scrub his arm. Joel lifts his free arm and reaches for you, then tugs the front of your dress down, exposing your cleavage. “S’posed to show me a little skin, darlin’,” he murmurs, his hand lingering on your breast as he rubs his thumb left and right over your skin. “Gotta earn them tips somehow, right?” It makes your face heat up and your heart beat harder, faster. His fingers feel like electricity on your skin as he dips his hand lower, catching your nipple with his fingertips. He rubs the bud until it’s pebbled, then twists it between two fingers, causing you to gasp in pleasure. Joel smiles at that.

Flustered by both his words and his actions, you pull his hand out of your dress, and Joel wears a crooked smirk. He outstretches that arm for you to wash, and you scrub his limb with the rag, speeding through the activity out of uneasiness and nerves. You drop his arms and quickly pat your hands off on your towel, then get up to leave.

“Nuh-uh.” Joel grabs your arm and pulls you back down so that you’re sitting on the ledge of the bathtub again, the water splashing a bit when you land. “You ain’t finished yet. Legs need washin’, don’t they?”

“Umm…”

“Think you’re forgettin’ somethin’ important too,” Joel mutters under his breath. He props his leg up next to you, and you can see his heavy balls and his thick cock standing at full mast beneath the water. With the rag, you scrub up to his knee.

“Higher.”

About halfway past his knee.

“I said, higher.”

You scrub his upper thigh beneath the water’s surface now, washing right where his leg meets his hip. Impatient, Joel pulls the rag from your hand and holds your wrist, then guides your hand to that space between his thighs, wrapping your fingers around his shaft. “Right here,” he instructs you. “I’d reckon a man’s member certainly needs washin’ too, don’t it? ‘Less you like it dirty. Some of us do.”

You quickly stroke Joel’s shaft, just a quick slide of your hand up and down. Joel holds your hand under the water, “Keep goin’,” he mutters. You move your hand and down again, though your back aches from the angle and you have a difficult time reaching him. Joel notices your struggle. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“I can’t like- you’re too far-”

“Mm. I getcha,” Joel says, nodding in understanding. “Stand up for a minute.”

You stand up off of the ledge of the bathtub and Joel shifts in the tub, the water sloshing with his movements. He puts both of his dripping hands on your waist and then turns you where he wants you, then begins bunching up the fabric of your dress. “You do the rest,” he tells you. You pull the dress off of your body, feeling insecure under Joel’s watchful gaze as you fold the garment. “Panties too.”

You shimmy your panties down your legs and tuck them beneath your folded dress, which amuses Joel. So modest, so bashful. Those qualities of yours won’t last long here in the brothel.

After setting the clothes down near Joel’s belongings, you make your way back to him. He’s holding out his large, masculine hand for you to take. “C’mon in, there’s plenty ‘a room for us both. Watch your step,” he warns, using his strength to guide you into the tub. “Attagirl.”

You lower yourself into the bath, the hot water making your skin tingle. “Yeah, the water feels nice, don’t it?”

“It feels good,” you agree. You’ve always loved a hot bath, a rare luxury in the world you live in.

“Now, where were we?”

Joel pulls you through the water so that you’re straddling his thick thighs, the head of his cock nudges against your pussy which sends a flutter through your stomach. You wrap one arm around Joel’s shoulders to stabilize yourself, your other hand staying below the water’s surface as you once again find his cock. This isn’t so terrible.

You pump Joel’s cock, memorizing every vein on his shaft with the palm of your hand. He tilts his head back in pleasure, brows knit together as he sighs deeply.

“Am I doing okay?”

“Doin’ just fine, hon’,” Joel mumbles. “All the way up, all the way down. Jus’ like that.”

On the next pass, starting from the thick tip of Joel’s dick, you squeeze him on your way down, down, until you reach his balls. You give them the kindest of squeezes, earning a moan from Joel. “S’perfect. Fuckin’ A,” he hisses.

And all the way up again. You increase in speed, though to avoid splashing, you don’t work him too quickly. You can feel him pulsing under your touch, a sensation that has your core throbbing. He’s breathing heavier, surely getting close now. You squeeze him harder and incorporate a twist of your wrist into your movements, coaxing his release along.

Just as you find your groove, Joel stops you. “Yeah, nice try, kid. I ain’t payin’ for a fuckin’ handjob. Could do that shit myself for free.”

Joel spins you in the direction opposite of himself, then nudges you forward. He puts the items sitting on the wooden end table on the cracked floral tile below, then pushes the table over to your end of the bath, the wood creaking and groaning.

He lifts you up and leans you over the edge of the bathtub, having you rest on the table, the cool air on your wet skin causing goosebumps to erupt. From here, you can see all the cracks in the wood, the swelling from the water damage. “Spread them legs, sweetheart. Make room.”

The water splashes behind you as Joel moves into position and you brace yourself for the inevitable pain of Joel’s cock splitting you open.

Only, it doesn’t come. You feel Joel’s thumb sliding through your folds before he spreads you wide, exposing your asshole and your pussy to himself, a picture perfect view.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he whispers. “A fuckin’ shame it’ll get ruined.”

Joel presses a kiss to your asshole, then kisses his way down to your warm center, before finally dipping his tongue into your warm entrance. He groans at your taste, how sweet on his tongue you are with his face between your cheeks. He kisses his way up, up again, then spits on your tight hole. He circles the muscle with his tongue, tracing round and round before forcing his tongue inside. It’s fucking filthy, what he’s doing to you. All salacious and obscene. But you love it, god do you fucking love it.

“Yeah, old Joel ain’t so bad, is he?” Joel murmurs tauntingly into your flesh. He kisses his way down again, all sloppy and messy. He loves the sweet little sigh of relief you breathe out when he reaches your clit, the area you need him most. He moves his lips slowly against you, loving how you grow slicker and slicker. How your soft cunt feels against his face. Joel breathes you in deeply, taking in the scent of your arousal. No chance in hell he’s washing his face after this. Your musk will live in his facial hair for days, acting as somewhat of a comfort to him. Or perhaps a trophy.

With his tongue pointed, Joel traces along your folds before plunging into your slick hole once more. He could spend forever between your thighs, that soft, sweet, most private of places. The momentary reprieve could last eternally, if he were so lucky.

Joel savors all of you. Your hot, wet cunt, how your hips twist and turn as you chase your own pleasure. When he sucks your clit, he can feel your thighs twitch around his skull. Perfect, you’re so fucking perfect. He has half a mind to take you back to his apartment when he’s done with you, keep you all to himself. Leave you lying naked in his bed, be his little slice of heaven in such a cruel, fucked up world.

Joel circles your clit with his tongue, finding that perfect pleasure that has you moaning his name. Steadily, steadily, he keeps you like this until you’re coming for him, gushing all over his face as he fucks you through your release with his tongue.

You’re left breathing heavily on the table, trying to collect yourself. Joel leans over you and wears a cocky grin. “What’d I tell you, huh?” he asks. “Told you I take good care of pussy. Shoot, look at ya, all fucked out.”

You can’t help but smile at him. Joel moves behind you once more, spreading your legs wide and slotting himself between them.

“But,” he says, “Fair’s fair. My turn now, sweet girl.”

Joel tugs on his cock, as it’s softened a bit without any stimulation. God, he’s getting old. Once at full mast again, Joel drags the blunt head of his cock through your folds, all slick and slippery with your wetness. “Ready?” he says, notching himself inside you. It’s already a painful stretch.

“Mhm,” you hum, uncertainty lacing your tone.

With one hand guiding his cock inside, Joel has the other on your hip. He squeezes you comfortingly as he inches his way inside. He can see that you’re squeezing your eyes shut, wincing in pain. “Oh, I know, I know, I know,” he coos. “S’a tight fit, I know. Take a deep breath, breathe through it. You got it,” he says. “You are a professional after all, hm?” Joel teases.

You inhale and exhale deeply, your walls stretching and aching as Joel’s thick cock pushes deeper and deeper inside you.

“Halfway there,” he tells you. “S’easier f’ya let me rip the bandaid off.” He’s not asking your opinion, it’s a warning of what’s to come. A courtesy, perhaps.

Joel pushes inside you all the way, the slide inside your body has him groaning and throwing his head back. The intrusion of his cock is so sharp it shatters you and scrambles every thought inside your head and you feel impossibly full, every other sensation disappearing as your mind focuses only on what you feel between your legs.

Joel pulls out of you slowly, then pushes back in. He repeats the motion until your expression has softened, until you’re not biting your lips and your brows relax into a natural position. “There she is,” Joel praises you. “What a good girl. Knew you had it in ya. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He builds a steady pace, quickening it to his liking in time. His thrusts are fluid, deep, and intentional; he fucks you perfectly, with consideration for both you and himself. This, this was not what you were expecting. You feel both of his strong hands squeezing your middle, and Joel watches how your flesh bulges between his fingers.

“Joel,” you whimper. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, feels good. Goddamn, you feel good.”

The water sloshes as Joel slams his hips into yours, not that he gives a shit. He fucks you harder, faster, building that pleasure deep in his gut. Joel leans over you and finds your clit with his hand, pulling back the hood before rubbing tight little circles into the sensitive part. “Gimme another,” he breathes. “One for the road. M’gonna miss this pussy.”

Joel pounds into you, the tip of his cock hitting that special place inside you that feels so good, a primal sort of pleasure. All you can do is lay there and take it, let him guide your orgasm along with his measured thrusts and skilled fingers. It’s only a little longer of him drawing in and out of you, and then you’re coming all over again. It’s a hot and intense, all-consuming sort of pleasure. A sensation you’ve never known before now, before Joel. Fucking nothing compares.

“Oh, fuck. Christ almighty,” Joel groans, feeling your cunt squeeze around his shaft in non-rhythm. He looks down at where his body meets yours, the creamy rings of arousal you’ve painted onto his cock. Joel quickens his pace even further, hips stuttering as he frenetically pounds into you. You groan at the loss of him pulling out of you, but your displeasure is swiftly soothed by the feeling of his hot spend painting your backside. Rope after rope of his come, all warm and sticky.

It’s quiet, save for the splashing of water. Joel searches for the rag and the soap from before and lathers both, then scrubs his come off of your skin, which tickles you. “See?” he says. “What’d I tell ya. M’a gentleman. Somethin’ like it, at least.”

Joel steps out of the tub and dries his hair, turning it into a fluffy mess. He pats his body down next, and in your blissful, fucked-out state, you get a perfect view of his plump ass before he dresses himself. He combs his hair back with his fingers, then reaches into his pocket for some ration cards.

“Let’s see here,” he murmurs, licking his thumb before flicking through the notes. He pulls out a generous amount, then slaps the cards down on the end table where you rest your head. “Think we’re square. You come and find me if I’m short, though, yeah?”

“Okay,” you whisper, barely lucid.

Joel pushes some hair out of your face and bends down to kiss your cheek. “Until next time,” he says. “Keep outta trouble.”

IF YOU ENJOYED PLEAE TELL ME SO! I love talking to you guys, and I love how you make this blog feel like a community. Reblogs, comments, ASKS!!! Are all so appreciated. Mwah. Have a safe week, everyone 🩷

Extra kitty pics cuz I love ya.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #tlou smut #tlou hbo

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buckysfaveplum · 27 days ago

Text

man of the house

summary: without each other, bucky and you wouldn’t know how to be

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 5k

warnings: descriptions of the reader having breasts etc, bucky’s trauma, fighting, super super SUPER SOFT SMUT, (like not even but mentions) 18+!! (MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE!)

a/n: soooo this one is differentttt, and idk lmk if you like. I love Rachel's new song for Romeo + Juliet and it made me think of Bucky sooooo here we are

masterlist | send requests

How sweet

You're the man of the house to me

Water beads streamed down your back as you stood beneath the shower head. Your hair clung to you in clumps as you soaked in the calm within the tile room. Steam slowly overtook the bathroom, leaving you with smooth breaths and serenity as you scrubbed at your scalp.

You watched from through the glass door as he washed his face. His hand moved roughly without pausing as if he thought to be gentle with himself like it wasn’t necessary. He was never like that with you. His hands seemed to melt at your skin, once hard and cold suddenly silky and fragile on your body.

His left side was empty, his arm long removed and in the wash, as he prepared for the night's end. It took you so long to convince him to remove it around you, to give himself a break from the heavy load constantly being lugged on his side. He did it once for a bit. One time led to another and another. Here you were.

He brushed a lush white towel across his face. Placing it back on the counter, he began to undress. The steaming water ran off you as your eyes followed him. His shirt came off quickly, gently being placed in your laundry bin. Through the fog of the glass, you could make out his most prominent scars, scattered across his back in dark browns and reds. Some raised and a light peach, lighter than his skin. He moved to his pants, undoing his waistband and slipping them off; he discarded them the same as his shirt.

Your voyeuristic gaze continued as he took a moment to stare at himself in the mirror. You watched as his eyes roamed over his body, clocking each imperfection that he knew you’d kiss in just a moment. Once finished, he turned to see you watching. A small smile crept on his stoic face as he took in your face through the fogged door.

He took a step closer, standing before you and looking at you through the glass. The warmth of your breath had cleared a soft view of your face through the condensation. You glanced up at him, your brows twitching up in a soft and inviting expression. A kind smile grew as you tilted your head at his gaze. Come in, join me.

You stepped back as he opened the shower door. Steam streamed from the entrance, letting in the biting cold of the outside and flushing the bathroom mirror. Clouding it, blocking any more raging thoughts of his.

He stepped inside making the small tile room shrink. He approached you slowly, stalling his movements as he stood before you undressed. He was always like this in the shower. He had no issues with nudity with you, not anymore. Showers were intimate, however. More intimate than sex for him. He’d first felt vulnerable, trapped. His showers, if you could even call them that, under Hydra more so resembled the way you would've hosed off a dog. Bathing was personal and something he never thought he’d share with someone. Until you.

His eyes were glued to your face, his hand itching to hold you close but freezing just above your hips. His brows furrowed as if pleading with you for permission.

“Hi,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. His hand finally rested on you, firmly gripping at your flesh.

You ducked your head under his chin, resting under him. Your breasts brushed across his chest as you both breathed in the misty air of the room. His hand roamed across your body, up your waist, and to your back, pulling you close. You looked up at him, as he glanced down at you.

“You’re soft,” he said, tightening his grip on your back,

You chuckled and leaned in, beginning to press gentle kisses along his jawline. You lead them further, moving down his neck and below. You paused at the mangled scarring along his left shoulder. You placed a hand tenderly along the tissue, moving slowly across the bumps and ridges of the barrier between his body and the vibranium. As your hand moved, you felt his head press into yours, resting himself on you as you explored his most vulnerable places.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen it or even touched it. You’d seen him undressed so often that you barely spared a glance at it. The scarring was just him, just Bucky. You continued your kisses, placing them meekly along the scarring; before leaving a final kiss on the vibranium of his shoulder.

Your hand moved to hold his cheek and take his gaze. You pulled his face to yours, keeping him close under the hot water of the shower. Hot, never cold. Always hot, steaming the room and peeling the paint along the side of the door. You didn’t mind, you could just repaint it.

His hand slowly moved up, cupping your breast gently as he pulled you close. His lips met yours, soft and never pushing for dominance. He kissed you like he wanted to know you like he was holding a deep conversation in the dead of night when the moon’s light was all that filled the room.

Your hand slipped down his chest, lingering at the curves and dips of his muscles; each time you encountered a scar you simply continued because it was nothing to mull over for you. It never was to you.

“I love you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. It always became rough deeper into the night as his body prepared for rest.

“I love you, Buck,” you said.

Your movement stalled just at the bottom of his abdomen. The trimmed hairs of his lower half tickled your fingers as you paused and sought his permission. He nodded gently but quickly, leaning further into you as you took him in your hand.

I watch you from the window and I see the good in you

The good in me

That's who you are

And what I need

It's what I need

Your legs stretched before you along the bay window seat as you watched the cars and people pass by on the streets below you. The window was swung open, letting you take in the warm summer air as you sat with your book. Your fingers danced over the pages in your hands, the text inside long forgotten as you watched outside. It had been an hour, he would be home any minute. You always did this, if you could. If you were home and knew he was coming back. You slipped your legs out and rested on the fire escape as you sat on the windowsill.

People continued to pass; laughing friends, businessmen in a rush, couples, and parents chasing their children. You couldn’t help but wonder if one day that would be you and Bucky.

The trees along the street swayed in the wind, petals of the white flowers dotting their bushes flowing in the breeze. The pigeons sat up along the phone lines, flapping and cooing. The loud car horns below flowed into the air, mixing with the other noises around you and creating the music of your neighborhood.

You’d always loved living in Manhattan, you couldn’t imagine leaving. Until you met Bucky. Maybe it took falling in love with a local to fall in love with Brooklyn. Even if this local hadn’t lived there for 90 years. Maybe that’s what did it, seeing the timeless charm and old beauty of the borough from someone who knew it when it was younger.

Your thoughts stilled as you saw him coming down the road. Two full bags of groceries filled his arms as he walked the worn cobblestone streets. His leather jacket was gone, a blue henley and jeans. You remembered last summer when he refused to leave the apartment without it, despite the record heat of the city. It was hard to believe that was a year ago.

His face lit up as he saw you. Sat on the window, smiling and waiting for him. He never thought he’d be there in life. Where he could leave and had to hurry home, where someone would be missing his presence and awaiting his arrival.

You leaned forward out the window, holding the metal of the ladder for support. You gave him a strong wave and giggled as he watched you. You could’ve sworn you saw his pace quicken at the sight of you. You stood on the fire escape, resting on the railing as you watched him approach your building.

“Hello, doll,” he said, smiling up at you.

“How was the grocery store?” you asked.

“Boring, and they didn’t have any broccoli raboni…” he said, struggling to remember the word for the vegetable you had told him you wanted.

“No broccoli rapini??” you said, feigning a gasp and clutching your chest. His subtle laugh slipped out at your acting.

“Think you could help me with the door? I got more than we needed,” he said.

You nodded with a giggle, slipping back through the window and rushing through the apartment. You grabbed your keys and ran down the stairs. He watched you from the window of the apartment door, placing the bags on the floor in preparation for what he knew was coming.

You raced through the door and down the stoop. You jumped into him, wrapping yourself around him. His arms slipped under you, holding you tight as he gave you a little spin. He paced you back to the ground, pressing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“I missed you,” you said, keeping your arms around his neck.

“I was gone an hour, doll,” he said. He loved teasing you; it didn’t matter how long he was gone, he always missed you. It could’ve been an hour, 20 minutes, or a second. He was always missing you.

“So you didn’t miss me?” you asked, pretending to be offended.

“You know I missed you, babydoll,” he said, tightening his grasp on you and pulling you into a hug.

You rested there for a second, relaxing in his hold in the warm New York weather. The sounds of earlier were louder, rushing into your ears and swirling in your head. Your giggles from just seconds ago joined the music, flooding through neighbors' windows just as it did for you.

“You gonna help me with the door?” he said lightly with a small laugh.

You nodded eagerly and reached for one of the bags. You struggled to lift the overflowing reusable bag, huffing up the stoop and opening the door.

“Geez, this shit is so fucking heavy!” you said, cursing your way up the steps. Bucky just chuckled as he passed you, taking the back from you into his spare hand.

“Yeah, I never said to take it,” he said.

Do you have doubts?

I curse your name

It brought me pain and now

Without you, I don't know how to be

Hurts so bad it brings me to my knees

I still believe

The scrapping of Bucky’s hand along the hardwoods woke you from your dreams. The usual warmth you’d find in the comfort of your bed had long been rendered cold and empty. He was slipping out of your reach, going backwards; his mind desperately trying to pull him back into the dark place you had found him in. He returned to his makeshift bed in the living room a few days ago.

You tried not to take it personally. You knew it had nothing to do with you. Yet after six days of him sitting at the other side of your bed and watching over you as you slipped gently into slumber, only to leave you alone, it began to take a toll on you.

You’d begged him to talk to you about it, you could feel him slipping between your fingers. He didn’t leave the apartment as much as usual. When he did, you noticed the leather gloves he had long stashed away seemed to reappear magically. He didn’t point out every cute dog he thought you would like on the street, something that often sprinkled your conversations with laughter since you’d met.

His beard, normally just a thick stubble, had begun to grow, alerting you to his deviation from his daily routine; something we had always been strictly religious about. He was struggling, struggling to stay above water in waves that you didn’t even know how to calm. You’d tried to throw him a lifejacket several times, but he just kept swimming away. You didn’t know what to do.

You slid from your bed and dipped from your bedroom and into the living room. He lay beside your couch, a thin spare bed sheet draped poorly over his legs, exposing him in just his sweats. He thrashed slightly, his brows knit tight and face locked in agony. His chest was exposed to the cool 3 am air, coated in a fresh layer of thin sweat. His breaths were rapid and uneven, his dog tags slipping as his chest heaved. His vibranium arm stretched across the floor, scrapping at the laminated wood below as if to try and keep him from harm; to ground him in the safety of his home that he knew somewhere deep in his mind he still was.

Before you could cross the small room to him, he jolted upright. You watched as he struggled to orient himself and regain his composure. His hands gripped his dog tags and he desperately tried to control his breathing. Wiping his hand through the tufts of his hair, dull mutters fell from his lips. You couldn’t make any of it out, but we knew it was Russian. Something that only slipped off his tongue after an especially bad episode.

Without even thinking, your feet moved forward but didn’t get far before landing on the loose and creaky floorboard near the kitchen bar. Freezing in place, hoping your spot in the dark would cloak you from his gaze, your face contorted in embarrassment. Of course, he saw you, sometimes you forgot he was a trained assassin. To you, he was just Bucky.

“Y/n?” he said, turning to see you.

You didn’t respond at first, unsure of how to proceed. Before you could speak, you tried to get closer.

“Please don’t,” he said. Your heart cracked.

“Bucky, why are you doing this to yourself? You always have more nightmares when you sleep alone,” he didn’t respond to you. He knew you were right. Four months ago you had left for a week for a family engagement; he had constantly restless nights shrouded in night terrors.

“Just… just talk to me,” you said.

“It’s nothing, doll. I just need to get out of that bed ya know? Too soft,” he said, his voice too casual, but the quiver he tried so hard to hide didn’t escape you.

It was bullshit, you knew it.

“I’ll sleep on the couch next to you, or I’ll sleep on the floor,” you said, trying to reason with him. “I just don’t want you alone. Let me camp out here with -”

“Stop, Y/n,” he said, his voice somewhat harsher as he stopped you “I’m sorry, sorry, just no.”

You watched as he rose from the pile of cheap fabric on the floor, stretching his back as he made his way into the kitchen. It wasn’t lost on you how he passed you without a single touch; no kiss on the cheek, squeeze of your hips, or quick grasp of your hand. He never used to do that, he couldn’t not touch you. But six days ago, those little touches disappeared.

“Bucky,” you said, following behind him. He didn’t seem to acknowledge you behind him as he poured a glass of water from the sink. “Please, what’s going on? I know you, something happened.”

“I’m fine, doll. Just drop it,” he said as he chugged his drink.

“Is…is it me? Did I do something? If I did just tell me, I’ll-”

“No!” He spat out, almost stunned you could think that. “No, no it’s not you. It’s never you.”

He came close to you for the first time that night. You could see his hands twitching at his sides, desperately willing himself to reach for you. But he never did.

“It’s me, I can’t…” he muttered, almost too broken and soft for you to understand.

“What, Plum? Talk to me,” you said.

It was second nature, you didn’t even think. You reached up for him, your hand running along his vibranium arm and briefly brushing against his bare side. You barely touched him, but you could feel it, he’d never tensed like that before.

He stumbled back, softly batting your hand away. Your chest ached as you watched, a sight you never thought you’d have to see.

“Bucky, wha-” he was out of your sight before you could ask what happened. He rushed to your bedroom. You slowly followed, careful to keep your distance. Until you saw him getting dressed and grabbing his keys. Then you broke.

“Honey, what’s going on?” you asked in distress. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. Please just tell me what’s going on.”

“I need to go, now,” he said, grabbing his gloves and boots and slipping past you.

You rushed after him. He didn’t look at you as he tied up his boots. He knew if he did he’d see tears. He knew if he looked he’d see the way your small hands trembled and pawed at his large henley draped over your body. He knew if he looked, he’d give in. He'd stay. And he couldn’t. He had to leave, for you.

He began to move for the door, prepared to slip out into the night when he heard your soft sob. He froze, his body rigid and hand still as it hovered over the door handle.

“Please stay, Plum,” you said. He could almost gag. He was disgusted with himself. He did this to you. He was hurting you, no matter what he did. You deserved an explanation, of course, you did. But he knew if he told you, if let you in, he’d break. You talk in that way that seemed to quell all his fears, that made everything okay. And he’d stay, because he was weak; always weak with you.

Not now, he couldn’t be weak now. Not when it came to your safety.

He turned to face you. The look on your face was a sucker punch to the gut. He swore he deserved all the pain under Hydra just for that. For the pain he was causing you.

He stepped forward, you didn’t move as quiet tears slipped down your cheeks. His right hand gently reached out and swiped them away, soaking in every second his skin brushed against yours. For one last time, he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. Your hands reached for him, yearning to hold him once. But he was gone from your touch as soon as he was there.

The front door was swinging closed once again before you knew it. He was gone.

You're breaking my heart in the best of ways

How many versions of myself will it take?

How many men I've seen with a similar face

I always look for you in so many ways

The first one to go is the worst to take

With all of my love comes all of the pain

You come and you go and I stay the same

But if you came back now, I'd take your name

The morning came quickly, flushing the apartment in light and leading the way into noon. You didn’t seem to notice. Your body had spent the following hours curled on your old loveseat. You always told Bucky you needed a bigger one. Maybe had he left under different circumstances, that memory would’ve brought a small laugh from you.

The hours since he left were filled with silence. For the first time in a long time, you swore the city was silent. The music of your neighborhood that you had grown so fond of seemed to go quiet at that moment. Like the city was mourning for you.

Maybe you could’ve done more, maybe you could’ve been there for him before it got so bad. Maybe if you hadn’t listened when he said to stay in your bed that first night. Maybe if you had pointed out the dogs to him. Maybe he would’ve stayed.

You knew you should've been mad, but you weren’t. Just worried. Where was he? Where did he go? Was he safe? Was he hurt?

You needed to shower, you needed to move from your spot on the couch. Hours had passed, leaving you to watch the day slip away. You hauled yourself up off the sofa, taking note of the familiar patch on the left back cushion. The haphazard sewing job was the result of the fabric getting caught in Bucky’s arm plates during a more heated intimate moment. You wished you could say it made the moment hotter, but it just ended in laughter and Bucky nakedly struggling to free himself.

He was everywhere. All over the apartment. Each picture frame, each book. Spilling out of the bin with his never-ending dirty clothes. Overflowing in each paint stroke from the days you decided eggshell was too dull and aged ivory would look much brighter. Bursting through the walls, and flowing into each corner of the home you had built together. You couldn’t escape him.

He was the man of the house to you.

The only person you ever needed. Your security, your love, your happiness, your comfort. Your home, he was your home. This was just an apartment.

You stepped into the bedroom to find his sweats from the night before. You gently slid them on, the baggy fit of his spare clothing wrapping your body in whatever you had left of him. As the smell of his cologne and skin surrounded you, you wondered if he’d be back before the smell of him faded.

You found yourself drawn back to your fire escape window, watching the people below. You slid the window up, stepping out onto the iron platform and taking in the crisp fresh air. It filled your lungs and swirled inside as if trying to breathe any bit of life into you.

You watched the people passing below. The familiar faces blended into the crowds as the busy streets went on with their day. The city never failed to remind you how small you were. How as your life crumbled, as your everything was going, the city kept moving. People kept moving. The world kept spinning.

Your roaming eyes froze as they landed on one tall figure, stopped below the awning of the bodega below. The man watched you, a look of longing and despair deep in his blue eyes. You watched as his hands fidgeted with the leather gloves covering them, almost aching to take them off. Bucky was practically wailing as he watched you.

He stepped forward, never breaking his eye contact with you as he crossed the street. The deep dark circles under his eyes stung, all you wanted was to hold him as you both slept. He crossed over to your building, pausing below the fire escape. Your brows furrowed in anguish as you looked at his tired face. His clothes from the night before looked somewhat disheveled as if spending the evening hiking through trees.

Your hands gripped the railing as your body leaned forward slightly. A tight-lipped soft smile was all you could manage as you gazed upon him. His body shook slightly with tremors, his familiar anxiety taking over. You just wanted him close.

His face spoke for him, pleading for you to invite him in. He needed to know you wanted him back, that he was allowed in. Not back into the home but your life. He needed to know he was welcome. You nodded to the door before slipping back through the window. You caught sight of him racing for the door on your way in.

How does it feel to be God?

I'm in the palm of your hand

You waited by the door, hands trembling as he slowly slipped inside. His demeanor was nervous and cautious. Too careful to get close to you. He couldn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m… I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry,” he said, muttering as he struggled to find the right words. You knew he never would. Bucky was always one to stumble over his words when he cared. Like all the emotions and all that passion was yearning to come out, so much it hindered his speech.

“Bucky, why?” you asked, your voice was faint and tired. He was gutted at the sound.

He took a step forward as he spoke,” I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Last night hurt, Buck.”

His face was devastating, he could hide the pain that washed over him. He knew it, but hearing you say it crushed him. You wanted nothing more than to pull him close. But you couldn’t, you knew you shouldn’t. Not only should he initiate, but he needed to explain.

“I know, I’m… I’m s-so sorry, babydoll,” he said, the strength in his voice wavering. “It killed me, I never wanted to, Ididn’t want to leave.”

“Then why did you?” You asked, stepping closer.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You took a moment, his head hung low as he spoke. It became clear at that moment. Why he avoided your touch, the bed, why he left. He was afraid.

You slowly came closer, leaving only a foot between the two of you. He shook before you as he fidgeted with his gloves again.

“Can I?” you asked.

He hesitated before meeting your gaze. His hands rose to yours. His eyes watched as you gently stripped the gloves from his hands and placed them on the counter. Your thumb brushed over the plates of vibranium.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice still shaky.

“What’s going on, Buck?” you asked. You continued to stroke his hands, coaxing him to a calmer mood.

“Last week, I-I had a bad nightmare,” he said.

“In the living room?” you asked.

“No, in the bed. I didn’t wake you up. I…I couldn’t.

You didn’t look away or still your hands. You listened, refusing to allow him to think you were scared or unwilling to listen.

“I didn’t know what to do, I’d never- I couldn’t tell you. I just… I was so scared,” he said.

You stepped closer. Your hand moved to rest on his neck, slow enough for him to stop you if he needed to. He didn’t.

“What was the nightmare, honey?” you asked.

“It’s a little blurry now, I was so scared I couldn’t even take it all in. But, all I needed to know was what mattered. I was him again. You tried to help, to help me, but…. I killed you,” tears clouded his vision as he spoke, he willed himself to finish for you. You deserved to know everything.

“I was him again, so easily. And I killed you, I killed you Y/n.”

His mumbling began again, the nerves and fear taking over. You no longer hesitated to pull him close. You tucked his head snuggly into the crook of your neck. His tears soaked the collar of your shirt, his hands gripped tightly at your waist and held you firm.

It all became clear. The pulling away, the distance, the makeshift bed. The way he flinched from you. He wasn’t afraid of you or mad at you. He was scared of himself. Scared for you.

“Why didn’t you tell me? It was a nightmare, Buck, you’d never,” you said, carding your fingers through his messy hair.

“I was scared that you’d hate me. That you’d be afraid of me. You should be,” he said.

“I’m not afraid of you, I could never be,” you said. His grip on you tightened at your words.

You stood in silence for a moment, allowing the sounds of the street to flood through the window and surround you both. You held him tight as if your grasp could shake each violent and self-destructive thought from his body. You held him for each moment you couldn’t over the past six days.

“Why did you come back?” you asked.

He pulled away to look at you.

“I don’t know, I’m scared I’ll hurt you, I can’t… I can’t hurt you,” he said. You cupped his cheeks and pulled his focus back to you.

“You won’t, Bucky. You know that, I know you do,” you said, your voice unwavering.

“I didn’t leave last night, not really. I couldn’t,” Your brows furrowed in confusion at his words. “I stayed on a bench in the park across the street. I…I couldn’t go far.”

His words rattled in your ribs and caused your heart to ache. You brushed your thumb along the grown-out stubble along his jawline. Gently, you leaned close and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I don’t….I don’t think I know how to be without you. I-I need you,” he said.

“You think it’s not the same for me?” you said. “Plum, you’re my everything. If I lost you for real…”

Words faded on your tongue, the thought alone clouding your mind with anxieties and dread.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice low.

“I need you here, this is our home,” you said. He rested his forehead on yours, relaxation finally washing over his body in your arms.

The hairs on his neck pricked at your fingertips as you gently brushed against his jaw. You didn’t mind. Even if it hurt, if it tickled, if it was soothing. You wanted it all, you wanted him.

“Please stay, you won’t hurt me. You know that, Bucky. I know you do,” you said.

He nodded tenderly against you, a faint sob escaping his lips. So soft you almost missed it. His hands grabbed tightly at your back, keeping you tucked firmly against him. So close no one could hurt you.

So close the winter soldier couldn’t even crawl back into his mind if he wanted, not with you beside him.

“Who else will protect me if not you?” you asked.

How sweet

You're the man of the house to me

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