#panic comfort

“This is it,” flashes across your mind. “I’m gonna burn the house down. Something’s going to explode. I’m gonna—”

But almost as quickly as it started, it goes out. A sharp sizzle, a curl of smoke, and the flame dies on its own.

You don’t breathe. You can’t.

Your hands shake so hard you nearly drop the iron, but instinct kicks in—fear-fueled autopilot. You snatch a kitchen towel off the counter and wrap it around your hand, because God forbid there’s still electricity running through the thing, and yank the plug from the wall.

Only when the cord thumps against the floor do you let out the breath you’ve been choking on.

Your knees threaten to give out.

You stare at the iron like it’s some wild animal that might lunge for you again. The room smells like burnt plastic. Your pulse is a drum jumping out of your throat.

You swallow. It burns.

“Bucky?” you call, voice thin and way too high. “Bucky—can you come here?”

He’s in the other room, completely oblivious, humming to himself as he flips through something on his tablet.

“Yeah, doll? One sec!”

You rub your trembling hands down your thighs, trying to ground yourself but failing spectacularly. Your lungs feel too tight. Your eyes sting. You don’t want to cry, but your body doesn’t really care about what you want right now.

When he walks in, he’s smiling—warm, casual, completely unaware that your life just flashed before your eyes.

“What’s up?” he asks, leaning in to kiss your cheek before he notices the smoke curling from the cord.

He blinks. “Huh. Did you turn the heat up too high or something? Or were you just not paying attention—”

Your face crumples.

You don’t even try to stop it—your throat closes up, your breath hitches painfully, your eyes overflow instantly. The panic, the fear, the adrenaline crash—it all hits at once.

“Why—why would you scold me?” you gasp, voice breaking apart. “Bucky, I thought—God, I thought something terrible was gonna happen—I thought the house was gonna catch fire or—or I was gonna—”

Only then does he actually look at you.

Really look.

And his whole expression changes.

His eyebrows pull together. His smile drops. His posture straightens in that instant soldier-alertness, but the softness in his eyes is all Bucky.

“Oh. Oh, sweetheart.” His voice melts. “Hey, hey—come here.”

He’s across the space in a heartbeat.

His arms go around you, warm and solid and achingly gentle. You crash into him, burying yourself against his chest, hot tears soaking the front of his shirt.

Your hands fist into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“I was scared,” you choke out. “It—it sparked, and the cord caught fire, and I thought—Bucky, I really thought something terrible was happening. And then you—you just asked if I did something wrong—”

“Oh, baby.” His hand cups the back of your head, thumb stroking slow circles against your scalp. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t realize you were scared, I just walked in and saw smoke and my brain went into problem-mode.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You sob again, quieter this time but still sharp. Your body trembles violently in his hold.

“This stuff happens,” he murmurs, voice low and steady and endlessly reassuring. “Wires fry. Appliances short out. You handled it perfectly, doll. You unplugged it, you stayed safe. You did everything right.” Another kiss, this time to your cheek. “I’m proud of you for reacting so fast.”

“But I was shaking so bad—” You wipe at your eyes uselessly. “And you weren’t taking it seriously—”

He tilts your chin up so you face him, his metal thumb brushing away a tear that clings to your cheek.

“I’m taking it seriously now,” he promises. “And I’m here. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

You suck in a shaky breath, your ribs tight and sore from crying.

“It’s over, sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you. I’ve got you.”

You cling to him harder, and he doesn’t let go—not for a second. He just holds you, strong and steady, rocking you minutely like he’s trying to shift the panic right out of your body and into his own.

And it works, slowly.

Your breathing evens out bit by bit. The tremors fade. The horrible buzzing in your limbs quiets. Every exhale sinks deeper into the warmth of him, the scent of him, the safety of him.

He keeps murmuring little things—soft, soothing, grounding.

“You’re okay.” “I’ve got you.” “You did so good.” “You’re safe, baby.” “I’m right here.”

Eventually your body loosens, all the adrenaline slipping away until you’re limp in his embrace, tired and wrung-out but calmer.

“You wanna sit down?” he asks softly.

You nod, and he guides you toward the couch without letting go of your hand. You curl up beside him, tucked under his arm, your head resting against his chest. He rubs slow circles on your shoulder with his hand—gentle, steady, comforting.

After a long, quiet moment, you whisper, “It really scared me.”

“I know,” he murmurs into your hair. “And I’m sorry I didn’t see it right away.” He presses another kiss to the top of your head. “Next time something happens—no matter how big or small—just call me, okay? You don’t have to deal with anything alone.”

You nod into his chest.

“Promise?” he asks, his voice soft and earnest.

“Promise.”

He squeezes you, his lips brushing your hairline. “Good. Because I love you. And I’m not letting a malfunctioning iron get anywhere near you again.”

You huff a weak, watery laugh. “We’re throwing it out.”

“Oh, definitely,” he says. “I’m not even letting it sit in the trash inside. That thing’s getting escorted to the dumpster like it’s a bomb.”

You sniff, a shaky little smile tugging at your lips.

He smiles too—warm, relieved, unwaveringly soft.

And he stays there with you. For as long as it takes. For every shaky breath. For every leftover tremor. For every quiet tear that slips out hours later.

He just holds you.

“Hello, princess,” Silco hummed, a cunning grin plastered onto his face. He was standing in front of his desk, leaning back onto it with his hands, one leg crossed in front of the other. Ezra had only just walked into the room after being called up by Sevika, but she wasn’t surprised in the least. Unable to hide the growing smile on her face, she closed the door and sauntered forward. Silco pushed off the desk to meet her halfway, one hand going to her waist and the other to hold her jaw. “I see you didn’t need me for anything work-related,” Ezra pointed out, and Silco confirmed with a kiss, just a quick peck on the cheek. “I don’t have any meetings, errands, or work to catch up on this evening,” he said, peppering more kisses on Ezra’s face. “I’m wondering if you’d like to…” Silco ventured to her neck, licking and kissing eagerly. “Perhaps spend some time together?”

Ezra lifted her hands, one locking fingers onto Silco’s vest and the other holding the base of his head, brushing the short, trimmed hair there and pressing him further into her neck. She found it hard to form a response with Silco sucking bruises on her skin that she would no doubt later have to hide with a turtleneck, but she managed. “I would like that,” she whispered, tightening her hold on Silco’s vest. She could feel him smile against her as he continued to litter her jaw, neck, and collarbone with kisses and bites.

“Tell me if anything is wrong,” he said, kneading Ezra’s sides with thin fingers. She nodded, but Silco didn’t seem to like that very much. He pulled away. “Words, lovely,” he whispered. “I need words.” His thumb pressed into Ezra’s lower lip with the slightest pressure, forming a small pout. Ezra waited for Silco to move his hand before she spoke. “I will tell you if something is wrong,” she confirmed, earning an approving grumble from Silco. “Good girl,” he growled before diving back into Ezra’s neck.

Uneven teeth bit against the hickeys on her skin, hands clutching her hips tightly as he pulled her against him. Ezra was guided backwards until she was pressed against the door, Silco’s lips pressing hungrily against hers. She could do nothing but hold him, left arm going around the back of his neck - careful not to touch with her hand - and right hand holding the scarred side of his face. 

Soon, Silco was back at her neck and collarbone, letting his hands venture up Ezra’s shirt. She felt the pads of his fingers inching up her stomach, reaching for her breasts and suddenly became very aware of how close he was to her, of how his hands had pushed past the protective barrier of her clothes. A breath caught in her lungs at the thought of invasion and she exhaled shakily, making a feeble attempt to physically swallow her rushing heart rate, quickly becoming much more scared than excited. She tried to calm herself but every breath she took was too short, it didn’t satiate the sudden burning need for air. Her mind swam, something wasn't right, the sudden feeling of being in danger was consuming her.

Everything happened too fast, Ezra’s breath quickened before she finally gasped for air, her hands pushing against Silco’s chest. Silco was off in less than a second, hands retracting as he backed away from Ezra, giving her space. Her hands clutched her chest as if clawing her lungs through her skin and bones would make them work properly.

“I can't-'' she wheezed, pulse pounding in her ears and air thinly escaping her. “I can’t breathe.” Silco’s eyes widened with panic and he carefully approached Ezra, guiding her to the sofa nearby. She sat down, hands shaking like she were her own high-magnitude earthquake and legs trembling just as much. Tears were streaming down her face and Silco took one of Ezra’s hands in his, her other hand holding tight onto the front of her shirt, the fabric heaving up and down with her panicked sobs. “3-3-3 rule, remember?” Silco said, thumbs brushing over the back of her hand. “Three things you hear.” Ezra closed her eyes and exhaled out slowly, shakily, her breath uneven as it passed her lips. “Your breathing,” she started, nodding slowly as if to encourage herself and Silco nodded with her, but she didn’t see it. Ezra thought for a moment. “I hear skin.” Again unseen, Silco looked down where his hands soothed hers, the gentle caress producing a brushhh sound. “Good, very good,” Silco praised. Ezra swallowed again but a sob broke it, resulting in an unceremonious snort. She laughed at the sound but that broke too, leading to another pathetic noise. “I can hear my tinnitus,” she finished, opening her eyes to Silco’s gentle smile. Her heart was still pounding but it was less overwhelming, not as frantic. Her fingers loosened on her shirt and she lowered that hand to let Silco take hold of it.

“Now three things you see,” Silco said, and Ezra looked around the dimly-lit office. Her eyes flickered back and forth between a few items, picking the more vague, simple things to focus on to keep her still rapid breathing out of her immediate thoughts. “The bookshelf.” Silco nodded, observing the bookshelf and then Ezra’s hands, not shaking so badly. “The stained glass window.” Ezra took a deep breath in and then out, the task much easier than before. “The floor.” Letting the words leave felt like a relief, the completed second step out of three.

“Good,” Silco praised again, his hands leaving Ezra’s. “Now move three parts of your body,” Silco instructed, and Ezra adhered. She lifted her hand and rotated the joint of her wrist, stretched out her legs, and rolled her shoulders back. Silco smiled at her, the awkward gesture seeming to question her state of mind. “Better,” she said, answering the unspoken query. Silco nodded, his eyes falling to Ezra’s hands as he took them again.

“What was the trigger?” he asked, his slight accent peeking through more prominently when he said the word ‘what’. Ezra looked at Silco for a moment, hesitating before she answered. “Your hand in my shirt,” she said weakly, drying her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt and returning her hand to Silco’s. She didn’t really want to let go of him, he felt like her grounding rock at that moment, like she would drift off if she let go for too long. “At least I think it was.” She didn’t think that, she knew, but the almost ashamed look on Silco’s face made her not want to be sure that’s what it was. Was there any way to convince herself that he knew it wasn’t his fault ever?

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Ezra was quick to cut him off. “Please don't apologize, it's not your fault.” Her words rushed out as she tried to push down the guilt flooding her chest, shaking her head as if to physically dismiss the anxiety. Silco lifted a hand and wiped away a stray tear from Ezra’s cheek, his hand lingering for a moment before he brought it back to his lap. “I was moving too fast,” he said. Ezra made to speak up but Silco shushed her with a small twitch of his lips. She didn’t know how he did that; it shocked her to say the least, but she didn’t think too hard about it. “I should have asked before doing something like that.” Silco’s heterochromatic eyes seemed to pierce Ezra’s soul. He was more serious than she wanted him to be.

“It's fine,” Ezra assured, giving Silco’s hands a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry it was so out-of-nowhere, we can try again if you want.” She had meant for the suggestion to sound a bit more cheery than it ended up coming out as, and her weak smile probably didn’t do much to help convince Silco that she was fine.

The kingpin himself seemed uncomfortable with the suggestion. “I think we should just try picking it up tomorrow.” His voice was hushed, catering to the fact that Ezra was still recovering from her panic attack. She hated how easily he could read her because that meant he knew she was in a fragile state. “No,” she said, it almost sounded like a childish whine. “No I can continue if you want, if you’re still riled up.” Silco looked down. “I’m fine now, everything’s fine,” Ezra whispered. She could hear that lie seep past her lips with no degree of persuasion and it made her cringe internally.

“Don’t think about me and what I might want,” Silco said, seeming to scold Ezra like she was a child. “You’re clearly not ready to do this today. We can try again tomorrow.” What?! Ezra’s brow furrowed, unknowingly by her, and she sputtered to find her words. “Not ready?” She was aware of the almost accusing tone she held, but she was too mad to care. “Do you think I’m not capable of having a sexual relationship or something?” Despite his controlled temperament and calm gaze in the face of Ezra’s frustration, Silco remained firm with his follow-up. “I think you’re perfectly capable of a sexual relationship. But as a result of your prior experiences, you are also perfectly capable of a negative reaction to intimacy.” Silco’s hands shifted to close over one of Ezra’s, holding tightly. “I don’t blame you, nor do I find it annoying. However, you must stop trying to put yourself in a position where you think you’re overreacting, that you’re unjustified, or degrading my experience or enjoyment.” Silco’s eyes still did not leave her. “Do not ever think that your reaction to something like this is not justified.”

Ezra thought for a moment, letting the words sink in. She knew Silco was right, and she knew what he was talking about; trying to act like she was comfortable for other people, worried that her boundaries would inhibit the other party’s pleasure. Ezra felt her shoulders relax, her entire upper body slumping forward just slightly until she gave into the need to hold and be held. She leaned into Silco, wrapping her arms around his familiarly thin waist and burying her face against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his shirt. She felt her nose burn with oncoming tears but she held them back to the best of her abilities. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Silco said, one arm folding around Ezra’s middle while the other cradled the back of her head, holding her close to him. “I don’t want you to be concerned with my enjoyment when you’re upset, that’s all,” he whispered, voice lowering with every passing second until all Ezra could hear was his breathing just above her ear. She nodded and the tears she tried so desperately to resist came forward. It felt like they just suddenly flooded out of her eyes, but she couldn’t muster up the words, ‘Sorry for soaking your shirt.’ She doubted Silco would want to hear her say sorry again anyhow.

Ezra let the tears flow once they had started, left with no energy to try to stop them, and eventually she couldn’t tell which was soaked more; her face or Silco’s shoulder. Silco calmed her through it though, running a hand over her back and whispering gentle assurances as she coughed up pitiful sob after pitiful sob.

After some variable amount of time - Ezra didn’t bother to check the clock when she began crying and when she stopped - Ezra pulled off Silco’s shoulder, settling to rest against him. Silco’s hand remained on her back, drawing gentle shapes with his fingers.

“I understand,” he whispered, holding Ezra close to him. She couldn’t help but think in the moment how his arms around her felt like a blanket, gentle and warm. A much needed and much appreciated comfort. “It took me a very long time to be able to trust people with…” He paused, audibly taking a breath. “Within sexual relationships.” Ezra listened quietly, letting Silco be candid in the moment. “And it took me much longer to trust myself,” he admitted, looking down at Ezra with eyes that observed every inch of her. Her brow furrowed in question. “Yourself?” Silco nodded. “I had to learn and trust myself not to push people away.”

Ezra tried not to show it too obviously but she was surprised at how open the kingpin was being, considering the reservation he tended to prefer. Of course she wasn’t complaining, it was uplifting to listen to Silco talk about his emotions, personal thoughts, what goes on in his mind. Ezra highly doubted she would ever know or understand half of what was really in his mind, but just a fraction of all the possible emotion, vulnerability, openness, or trust; that was good enough for her.

“What I’m intending to say is that I sympathize with you.” Silco’s voice was soft, gentle, genuine. “I want you to know that you can take as long as you need to process your emotions or become comfortably intimate with me.” A smile grew on his face, subtle but not entirely unnoticed, and rather sly. “Trust that I’ll be fine. I have working hands that may cater to my fix if need be.” Ezra snorted out a laugh into her hand and she heard Silco breathe out a small chuckle as well.

“You gross old man,” she muttered, sitting up and wiping her face dry. Silco released a sudden, dry cackle, his head cocking back as he laughed. “Don’t be a smartass, lovely. I simply find myself a resourceful individual,” he drawled, leaning forward and kissing Ezra’s forehead. She rolled her eyes. “You’re a horndog,” she jabbed, earning a dismissive shrug from Silco. “A high stress job requires frequent stress relief.” He crossed his arms over his narrow chest, lifting his leg to rest it over his knee.

“Whatever you say,” Ezra breathed, standing up from the sofa and tidying herself, smoothing down her shirt and drying her face once again. Silco huffed out another small laugh, lifting a hand to shoo Ezra out. “If you insist on berating me then go,” he said, plucking a book off a nearby shelf and flipping through the pages. Ezra stalled for a moment with a slight pout hanging on her lips.

“It’s not my intention to offend you but I’ll go regardless,” she said, bringing her hands behind her back and locking her fingers together. “I’ll just go to bed early tonight.” Silco thought for a moment and nodded. “I’ll be there within the next hour or so,” he said, watching as Ezra approached. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, seeing just the slightest of smiles on his face as she turned to walk out.