Good For You - B.B.

Good For You - B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Rating: Modern AU. Kinda angsty, Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of ptsd, suicide, anxiety

A/N: I wrote this in honor of our beloved Bucky’s birthday (yes, this is a few days late) I also just think it’s important to recognize the struggle that war vets go through on the daily. As someone who had family in the military, it sucks to watch them come home and not know how to live a civilian life. What is portrayed in this imagine is not the life of every vet, but the truth is…most are struggling. They’ve seen and done things that no one should ever have to, but they do it so we as civilians don’t have to and can live freely. veterans deserve the world. be kind. 

Torrid. Sweltering. Iraqi heat. 

The low rumble of a humvee. Buzzing flies. 

Grumbled complaints, laughter following.

Cold steel of a semi-automatic. 

Silence. 

A high-pitched ringing. Smoke. Panic. 

Hot sand. Flashes of light. Pain. 

“Sergeant L/n…L/n…Y/n…”

“Y/n, hey. You alright?” 

You blinked once. Twice. A third time before you finally came to yourself. You sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes locking with a pair of warm brown ones. It had been months since your last flashback thanks to your weekly meetings with a former Air Force pilot, Sam Wilson. He had approached you at the VA after he spotted you trying to sneak out. Bathroom or an exit strategy, you couldn’t really tell the difference. You had only gone to the meeting because your brother thought it might be good for you to attend one. There was a lot rolling around in your head. There was a burden you were carrying that no one could carry alone. Your brother knew that and if you wouldn’t open up to him maybe you would open up to someone who could relate to you. Months later you were thanking him for pushing you to go because there you had met your best friend and confidant. Sam was a light in your life when you never thought you would see light again. After getting back state side, he took it upon himself to help new war veterans. Though it took you awhile to warm up to him, you were grateful to talk to someone with shared life experience.

“Flashback?” Sam asked, his voice understanding. In the first few months of your meetings, you couldn’t go a day without seeing what had happened. It haunted you and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t outrun it. So you stopped trying. For awhile it felt as if you were drowning. You were too tired and the surface was too far. You were in so deep that there was no sunlight to guide you back. But slowly, your sessions with Sam allowed light to penetrate the surface. Each session allowed the light to go a little deeper guiding you up until you could grab onto Sam’s hand and he could help you up the rest of the way.

“Yeah…but I’m good.” Your voice was firm. Believable. To anyone else they would have moved on and changed the subject. Sam had gotten good at reading you. Your eyes told the story your lips refused to tell. “What were you saying?”

He nodded, shifting in his seat. “There’s a group meeting tonight. You don’t have to talk, but I think you should come. The people there…are good people.”

Your eyes glanced over the brick building that held the stories of many men and women who had been neglected by their country. Men and women who deserved better. You sighed as you pulled open the glass door, the solemn atmosphere hanging over you like a cloud. It didn’t matter that the sun was shining brightly through the windows, the things that were shared were anything but bright and uplifting. You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jean jacket, your feet padding softly against the tile floor. The smell of coffee filled your nostrils as you rounded the corner into Sam’s room. He sent you a smile and a wave from where he was standing across the room. You returned the smile before grabbing a styrofoam cup and filling it with the warm liquid. Slowly, the room began to fill with veterans who usually had to fight the war going on in their heads alone. But for two hours, they were able to fight alongside those who understood. Those like you.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sam said, his shoulder brushing your own. He grabbed his own cup, filling it coffee, neglecting cream and sugar.

“I am too.”

You sat silently towards the back the room, listening intently to what was being shared and the bits of wisdom Sam threw out for the taking. He was such an easy-going, caring person. He was easy to talk to, never judged. There was a sincerity in his eyes that deemed him trustworthy. That’s why so many people liked him.

So far only four out of the twelve in attendance had shared. Steve- a tall, blonde, former seal who served six tours located all over the world. He was the physical embodiment of a soldier. You had seen him around the VA and Sam’s place before. He was kind, but his eyes held the weight of one who had seen too much. Tony- a marine whose story surprised you. He was smart and came from a wealthy family. He joined the military because taking over his family’s business didn’t appeal to him. He was quick witted and had a cocky smirk that made everyone roll their eyes. Natasha- A fiery red head who served as a Navy intelligence officer. She now worked in the private security business, but carried around a load of baggage from her days in the military. Clint- Former army sniper who retired after nearly being killed. He decided it was time to throw in the towel before he left his wife a widow and his three kids without a dad.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we have someone new tonight,” Sam mentioned. He held out his hand to a man sitting on the left of Steve. There was a ball cap atop his head, his shoulder length hair tucked behind his ears. He sported a brown jacket on top of a worn, red henley that was much too tight for his frame, dark blue jeans, a pair of black combat boots. “This is James, aka Bucky. It took a lot to get him to agree to show up, so please make him feel welcome. Let’s take a break.”

Soon the room filled with low chatter and Sam’s presence was felt behind you.

“Army vet,” he muttered shortly. “Five tours. He’s been home for a year cooped up in his apartment dealing with his mess. It’s torn him apart. You should go talk to him.”

You turned to him, an eyebrow raised.

“You’d be good for him,” Sam replied. He’d be good for you too.

Before you could object, Sam had pushed you in Bucky’s direction. You turned around, subtly flipping him off before taking a seat next to the brown-haired man. He glanced at you and you offered him a small smile.

“I, um, just wanted to introduce myself,” you said softly. “I’m Y/n.” You extended your hand, which he took hesitantly.

“James,” he muttered back. “Do you come to these often?”

You nodded, pulling your hand back, your fingers grazing over the callouses on James’ palm. “Sam forces me to. I don’t really have a choice.” An airy chuckle passed through your lips. “They help though,” you added, “If that’s what you’re really wanting to ask. I’m not a very open person either. Coming home with no purpose, no orders, and with what was going on inside my head…was detrimental. It’s not overstating things to say that Sam saved my life. I was hesitant to come too, but it was worth it. I’m here.” I’m alive.

He tilted his head up slightly, his eyes bouncing around the room nervously.

“I talked to Sam privately. I don’t feel comfortable talking in front of a group like this.” 

“Does it have to be Sam?” He asked. “Like can I maybe talk to you?” 

You were taken aback by his question, your eyes widening in surprise. Everyday was an uphill battle to keep your thoughts under control. Trying to help someone else with their trauma was a huge step. A step Sam had been urging you to take. “Me?” 

“You don’t have to,” James rushed, “you just seem…nice.” 

“No, no, It’s okay, We can grab coffee somewhere, or meet here.” 

“What about you’re place?” James suggested. 

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds great. How does tomorrow sound?” 

It was a five o’clock on the dot when there was a knock on your apartment door. You stood up and rubbed your sweaty palms on your jeans. You weren’t sure how Sam was such a natural, but you were already nervous. Opening the door, you were greeted with James. He was basically wearing the same thing as the day before, but instead of a red henley, a dark blue one covered his torso. His right hand was stuffed into the pocket of his jeans, a tight-lipped smile on his face. 

“Hi,” you said softly, “Come on in.” 

You watched as James’ eyes raked over your apartment. It smelled vaguely of the coffee you had brewed and fresh hardwood. To his left was a panel of windows with a beautiful view of the city. The sun was just overhead sending a stream of light into the room making it naturally warm. It’s homey, he thought to himself. A few picture frames littered the walls, a couple on the tables on either side of the couch. A particularly large picture caught his eye. A wide smile was on your face, your arms thrown around what seemed to be people from your unit. Your skin was kissed by the sun and James was sure he had never seen a more beautiful woman. Even though the photo was a little blurry, he could see the light in your eyes. A light, that looking at you right now, your eyes seemed to lack. 

“Can I get you anything?” You asked, noticing how James hadn’t made any movement towards the couch. 

“Water is fine.” 

You returned from the kitchen with two glasses of ice water. James followed you to the couch where he sat down next to you, leaving a considerable amount of space between the two of you. This is the second time he had left his apartment in a week. He wasn’t sure the last time he actually had the will to get out of bed.

“We don’t have to deep dive into anything personal today. I know we don’t know each other and I know that this is weird for the both of us. You can ask me a couple of questions if you’d like.”

James sat stiffly on the couch, his knee bouncing slightly. “Where did you serve?”

“Germany, Egypt, Afghanistan. You?”

“Yemen, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Syria, Japan.”

You turned towards him, pulling a knee onto the couch. “Thank you.”

James glanced at you quizzically. “For what?”

“For what you did for this country. I know you don’t get told often enough. None of us do.” There was a sad smile on your face as you made eye contact, James’ blue eyes searching your own. His eyes were beautiful, though they had more darkness than any pair of brown eyes you had ever seen. They told his story and displayed the icy waves that threatened to pull him under.

“I don’t remember the last time someone said that to me,” James said sadly.

“Well, if no one else ever does…I will.”

Over the course of the next few weeks, not much was shared between the two of you. You learned that James wasn’t much of a talker, but he enjoyed listening to you. He enjoyed the comfort and warmth that you brought. Although he didn’t talk much, he was gradually becoming more comfortable around you. He was no longer sitting stiff on the edge of your couch. He knew where the glasses were to get himself water. He even suggested leaving your apartment a few times. You were proud of the progress he was making. It was slow and subtle, but maybe that’s what he needed.

Something was off. James could tell. You were unusually quiet and fidgety. Your usual calm demeanor was replaced with something he couldn’t exactly pinpoint.

“What’s wrong?” he asked after twenty minutes of silence.

Your head snapped up, fingers messing the dog tags around your neck. “Nothing.” Not once had James seen you wear your dog tags or, as a matter of fact, seen anything that related to the army except for pictures.

“It’s an anniversary,” James put together, “You lost someone.”

Naturally, your gaze fell to the picture of your unit on the wall. An overwhelming sadness crept over you, your shoulders slumping, furrowed eyebrows tugging at each other.

“I-“

James cut you off before you could speak. “We don’t have to talk about it. I understand…and if you want to be alone, I understand that too.”

“No,” you shot back, “No, I want to talk about it. I want you to stay…please.” There was a desperation in your voice that you hated and that James had never heard before.

“I’ll stay. I’m here,” he reminded.

You swallowed allowing yourself to feel the emotions you had been trying to push away for a week. “We were in Afghanistan.” A distant look formed in your eyes. “Just a routine drive around the outskirts of the city. We stopped to talk to some the people…the kids would always run up to us because they knew we carried candy. This day we were taking a different route. It was a route traveled by locals so we just assumed it was safe…as safe as it could be for Americans. If we went under fire…there were fourteen of us. We could handle it. I remember having an off feeling about traveling this new route, but you always have an on edge feeling in a place like that. It keeps you aware. I shrugged it off, but I should have known something was wrong when there were no locals on the street that day. Officer Cale had said something undoubtedly hilarious. He was special. He made our time in the desert a little more bearable. He was in the passenger seat, I was behind him. I remember looking out of the window and spotting little patches of disturbed ground. I was going to say something, but it was too late. Our humvee didn’t take the hit…the one in front of us did.” Your voice was shaky, a stray tear rolling down your face. “Ours flipped upside down. I can’t remember what happened in the time of me getting dragged out, but I remember being under heavy fire. It was nine against at least two dozen combatants. We held them off for awhile, but more of them just kept coming. I was shot twice. My thigh and my arm. There was blood…everywhere. I thought I was gonna die that day.

Cale told me that there was a chopper two mikes out from our position. We just had to make it there. We had the advantage being at the top of the hill…so we made a run for it. He carried me most of the way there. We could see the chopper, but then we fell. Um, C-Cale had been hit. Twice in the leg, the other a dead shot.” James let his head fall, a shaky breath falling from his lips. He shifted closer to you, his hand reaching out to wipe the tears rolling down your cheeks. He let his hand fall to your lap, hesitantly intertwining his fingers with yours. You squeezed his palm weekly, thankful for the comfort and something to ground you. “He died trying to save my life and all he has to show for it is a damn purple heart. They had to leave his body and when they went back for it it was gone. Four of us made it out alive, Bucky. Ten of my brothers and sisters died. I got to come home, they gave me a purple heart and silver star, and told me live my life. Hide the trauma, forget what happened. I don’t go a day without thinking about them. And sometimes I wonder if maybe I should have died out there too.”

If you weren’t pouring your heart out to him, Bucky would have relished in the way his nickname rolled off your tongue. Instead, he pulled his hand from your grasp and shrugged off his jacket. You glanced up at him and then down at his left arm. A prosthetic. Not once had you noticed it. “IED. Pakistan. I lost everyone too. My arm…or lack thereof, reminds me of it everyday. Because I was their Sergeant, that guilt has driven me over the edge more than once. If I hadn’t met you two months ago…I don’t think I’d be here right now.” His confession caused you to sob harder and suddenly, you were met with a warm chest and a chin on top of your head. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Y/n. You don’t hear it enough.”

You weren’t sure how long you guys stayed there and you weren’t sure when you fell asleep, but when you woke up you were still on the couch. An arm was wrapped securely around your waist holding you flush against them.

“Sleep good?”

You jumped, your head shooting over to where the sound of a familiar voice was coming from. “What are you doing here?”

Sam chuckled. “You didn’t answer my calls yesterday. I came over this morning and walked in on this.” Bucky shifted, his grip loosening allowing you to sit up and slide off the couch.

“I should have never given you a key,” you muttered. Your brushed past him, moving to start a pot of coffee. You could feel Sam’s heavy gaze on your frame causing you to turn around. “What?”

“Are you alright?” Sam’s voice was low, a hint of worry laced in his eyes.

You nodded your head, your eyes falling to the sleeping man on your couch. It was probably the most at peace you had seen Bucky, his chest rising and falling with even breaths. “Yeah. I’m alright.

You followed Sam over to the door. He was halfway out of the apartment when he asked, “Was I right?” He’d be good for you too.

“Aren’t you always?”

A smile covered his lips, “You deserve to be happy. He does too.”

“I know,” you replied. “Thanks for checking in.”

“Anything for you. Call me later.”

You watched Sam down the hall before the shutting the door trying to stay as quiet as possible.

“Sam invading your space again?”

You turned around, a laugh falling from your lips. “As always.” You watched as Bucky sat up, patting the space next to him. “How’d you sleep?”

“The best I have in a long time,” Bucky answered honestly.

There was a short pause as you thought of what to say next. “Thank you for staying.” You reached out to grab Bucky’s hand giving it a short squeeze.

He brought the back of your hand to his lips before his dropping your tangled hands onto your lap. “You would’ve done the same for me.”

Can I get 9 with Barba??

9. A kiss…in public

“I need your help,” he hissed, snaking a careful arm around your waist, blinking twice when he hit bare skin, but realizing it was the way your dress was cut, “play along,” he said, “please.”

“So is this the girl you’ve been hiding from us, Raf?” Came a smooth voice, and you saw Alex Munoz, candidate for state senator, smiling, his hand intertwined with his wife. She smiled at you, but her gaze was hard, even as she held out her hand to you. You weren’t sure if you should shake it or bow and kiss her ring.

“Woman,” you corrected him, shaking his wife’s hand, “I’m Y/N, I work with Rafael as an ADA.”

He raised a curious brow, smile still on his lips, “Isn’t there a no-fraternization rule in your office? Or does Jack McCoy let it slide in fear of looking like a hypocrite?”

His tone was kind, voice with a hint of laughter - but it was akin to the sweetness in children’s medicine - anything to make the bitter taste go down easy, “We don’t work in the same department, Alex. We met through a collaboration on a recent case, but she handles Major Crimes cases. Not SVU.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you gave a smile, placing your chin on Rafael’s shoulder, “but I will be watching the election, along with the rest of New York. It should be…interesting. Best of luck.”

They said their goodbyes and left, Rafael’s shoulders sagging, “Thank you,” he murmured, and you pulled him aside, feeling their gaze still on you, and you pressed a hand to his cheek, keeping him from looking, “are they still watching?”

“Yes, and I want to know why you are so friendly with the person you are investigating,” you pretended to be busy fixing his bow tie.

“Should you really be asking me that?”

“Should you have really asked me to get involved?” He sighed, brow wrinkled.

“He’s an old friend. But it was a long time ago,” Rafael said bitterly, “they both have proven that.”

You frowned, “Well, you have better friends now, and they can eat their hearts out.”

He scoffed, “Like who?”

You raised a brow, “like me. And you know what would really get under their skins?” He didn’t get a chance to reply, as you leaned close, feeling his breath stop, and saw his eyes darken, and you asked a silent question. He answered by pressing your lips to his. His hands raked up your sides, pulling you closer, while your own settled around his neck, toying with the ends of his hair. And you parted with a smile, “they do not look pleased.”

“I don’t think I care about them right now,” he breathed, and you paused, looking at him. And you saw his genuineness in his gentle gaze and parted lips.

“Good,” you pressed another kiss to his lips, before taking his hand and beginning to lead him out, “neither do I.”

hold my hand | Poe Dameron x Reader

A/N: I started writing this when I was particularly lonely one night, and upon becoming quite lonely again, I continued.

Rating: M, this is sex

Warning: Much smut!! Reader is a lonely little bean.

Word count: 2,058, apparently!!

Summary: “You hurt. It’s okay. I hurt too. Hold my hand.” - Neil Gaiman, The Sandman: Endless Nights

GIF credit: I have no idea, but it’s not mine!

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