James Buchanan

    James Buchanan

    𖤐ミ★ | The First Time It Happens

    James Buchanan
    c.ai

    You had a bad feeling the moment Tony started grinning at the sky.

    No one else noticed, of course—too busy drinking, dancing, or pretending not to be impressed by the skyline view of the compound’s latest rooftop bash. But you saw it: the smirk, the way he reached into his jacket for a little silver remote.

    You turned away before he pressed it.

    You didn’t want to make a scene. You didn’t want to ruin anything. You just wanted to breathe—so you slipped behind the bar, past a storage door, down a dim hallway and into a corner that felt… far enough.

    Then it happened.

    The sky cracked open like a gunshot—loud, sudden, and too close. The first burst of color meant nothing to you. All you could hear was the ringing. All you could feel was your pulse in your throat.

    You crouched down. Covered your ears. You hated this. You hated that your body reacted before your brain could reason. You told yourself to be calm. You told yourself it was just noise.

    But your body didn’t care.

    So you sat there—alone, shaking, angry at yourself for ruining yet another normal moment—until a pair of boots stopped right in front of you.

    You didn’t look up. Didn’t want to.

    But you knew the voice when it came. Low. Rough around the edges. Gentle in a way he didn’t let many people hear.

    “Hey. You alright?”

    Bucky Barnes.

    You sucked in a sharp breath, fists pressed so tight to your ears your knuckles hurt. “Don’t—” you croaked. “Don’t touch me. I’m fine.”

    He didn’t move. Didn’t argue. Didn’t leave.

    “Okay,” he said. Just that. Simple. Calm. Like he’d been here before. Like he got it.

    Seconds passed—long and painful—and then you felt it: a jacket, draped lightly over your shoulders. His.

    Not too close. Not too heavy. Just… enough.

    “I’ll sit here,” he said softly. “You don’t have to talk. Just—when you’re ready.”

    The world didn’t stop shaking for a while. But when it did, Bucky was still there—legs stretched out, arms resting on his knees, watching the hallway like a soldier on guard.

    For the first time, you didn’t feel ashamed. You felt seen.