#reader with panic attacks

Techno or dream with an S/O (he/him pronouns if possible) that has really bad panic attacks? One day he blacks out before his s/o comes home and they find him kind of laying there on the ground with like cuts (or bruises) all over his body.

Agnst to comfort maybe? Headcannons or drabble is fine :) <3

hihi, this is a perfect request thank you! i hope you enjoy <3

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c!DSMP x [he/him] Reader - Hold Me Close

[Dream, Technoblade]

genre: /rom, drabble, angst to comfort

warnings: panic attacks, injured reader due to fall

master list <3

Dream

One thing about Dream and you's relationship was that he cared for you. He absolutely loved spoiling you with whatever you wanted. He didn't mind having to move mountains for you to make sure you were comfortable in every way possible.

So when you first told him about your panic attacks he'd made sure to learn everything; what to do, say, how to avoid them as a whole. Of course, he couldn't be there for everything, and there were times when he'd come home to find you rocking in your bed, or just with tears rolling down your cheeks. But it never got to the point it had when he'd return home one day two weeks ago.

He'd walked into the house, eerily silent, and called out for you. You didn't respond and he began marching around the house searching for you. And he'd found you passed out in the dining room, a cut over your eye and a few bruises on your arms.

"Shit!" He quickly went to pick you up, carrying you to your bed. He grabbed a towel and ran it under some cool water and started cleaning up your cut. "Hey baby, wake up for me yeah? You okay?"

You started to stir awake at his voice. "Hey, there you are love. What happened? You hurt yourself pretty good."

"I um, I'm not sure. I was just getting a snack and then it happened. I could feel it happening but I just, I guess it happened too quickly for me to react."

"It's alright, I'm here now. Tell me what you need."

Technoblade

Techno showed he cared in a different way. It was a little less focused on the avoidance (not completely, of course) and more on the way he could help you once there was no way to avoid it.

He was the safety blanket that weighed you down when you felt like you were going to float away. Literally and metaphorically. He gave into your every request, even if it was just laying on the floor with you.

So when he comes home and finds you on the floor, small bruises all over your arms and legs, he's super upset. Falls next to you and checks that you're still breathing, lifting your head and softly running his fingers through your hair.

"Darling, c'mon, you're alright." Once you come to a little, you start complaining about your head hurting, so he lifts you onto the couch in the hopes that some pillows will help.

He gets you ice and water, some medicine for the pain then starts to observe your various cuts and bruises.

"I'm sorry. These hardly compare to the ones you come home with after an outing with Phil, huh?"

"Mm...no. If anything they are greater than mine. They represent a different battle, one that I could never imagine dear. I tell Phil all the time, "He's stronger than me. I can lift an ax, but he can lift the world." "

He smiled at you, then begins to quickly patch you up.

"Thank you Tech..."

Suga with a S/O who is experiencing a panic attack. 

Coffee story from a textpost I saw from a barista a while ago, if I can find it I’ll link it. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” the voice is light, airy even. It’s the only thing that’s cutting through your brain right now, the only thing that can be heard over the thrumming of your heart and the panic of not being able to breathe properly. 

You hear him first, then see him. Suga crouches down in front of you, brown eyes dragging your gaze into his. He raises his hands, asking for permission to touch. Sometimes you disagree, and he’ll plop down in front of you, staying in your field of vision so you don’t feel so alone. Today you want it, so you nod, and he wraps his hands around your forearms pulling your hands away from where they are clapsed against your chest. He pulls you into him, so that you can feel his heartbeat, his breathing, the calm way he’s sitting. You shut your eyes, still hyperventilating. 

“Can you talk?” He asks.

You shake your head, tongue dry, thoughts spinning too fast, too much. He sits with you, rocking back and forth, talking at you, about his day, about the train, about class, until your breathing gives just a little. Then, “Tell me how work was yesterday.”

You’re a barista, and you always have some fun story about a customer, one that you tell Suga when you first meet up, to make him laugh. You love when he laughs, his smile wide, his eyes bright. It makes the little whiff of hair on the top of his head sway, and his jaw tighten. It’s beautiful. “Had a customer come in, y-yesterday, um, wearing nothing b-but swim trunks and a backpack.”

“On campus?” He asks, eyes already crinkled with mirth. 

“It was raining,” you say, already a little less out of breath. You lean back against Suga and he holds you a little bit tighter, fitting his chin over the top of your head. You play with his hands, rubbing his fingers, drawing circles over his knuckles. 

“What did he order?”

“A Venti of espresso shots.”

“A venti--wait. Wait.”

You laugh then, and are surprised to find a stockpile of air to draw into your lungs. “He said he didn’t care about taste when I explained how bitter it would be to wait for 13 shots to be pulled.”

“Did he put any sugar into it?”

“When I gave it to him, he took a sip, then put in a dash of sugar, a dollop of cream, declared it perfect and left.”

You’re no longer gasping, no longer shaking, just exhausted and warm in Suga’s arms. He’s always been good at this, pulling you away from your panic, taking it into his own hands and soothing it like a small child. He’s laughing and you can feel it pulsing through you, a vibration that’s deep as it passes through his chest and into your own. 

You want to see him, so you shuffle in his grasp until you’re straddling him. He fiddles with your sides, rubbing his fingers there. His eyes are nervous, a little sad. You know he hates to see you like this, hates that you have to go through it. 

“Thank you, Suga,” you say, sincerely.