Victor Gideon x Reader — Breathe With Me
A while ago, I used to suffer from panic attacks and always had to go through it completely alone. Back then, I would comfort myself by imagining my favorite characters being there to help me.
I’m doing much better now (thanks to antidepressants, lol), but I think Victor would be the perfect person to help in a moment like this. So here’s a soft little comfort piece for anyone who needs it 💜
⚠️ Panic Attack • Hurt/Comfort • Soft Victor Gideon • Emotional Support
You didn’t even realize it had started.
One moment you were sitting on the edge of the bed with a book in your hands. The next, the world narrowed to a single terrifying thought: I can’t breathe. Your chest tightened like it was caught in a vice, your heart slamming unevenly against your ribs, each beat sending sharp pain through your body. A high, piercing ring filled your ears, and the walls of the room began to slowly tilt. Your hands went ice-cold, fingers numb, and you couldn’t even clench them into fists.
Not now… please, not now…
You tried to stand, but your legs gave out. You slid down to the floor, back pressed against the cold metal leg of the bed, knees drawn tight to your chest. Breathing turned into short, desperate gasps. Every inhale felt too small, every exhale too loud and ragged.
You didn’t hear the door open.
You only felt the air in the room grow heavier as a tall, quiet presence filled the space. A large shadow settled beside you on the cold floor.
A low, calm voice broke the silence.
“I’m here.”
His voice was steady, stripped of its usual velvet mockery — only quiet focus remained.
You couldn’t answer. You just curled tighter into yourself, trembling. The world had shrunk to one single thought: I’m dying and no one can help me.
He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t tell you to calm down or that everything was okay. He knew how useless those words were when your own body betrayed you.
Instead, he slowly lowered himself to the floor beside you. A large, cool hand settled gently between your shoulder blades. Heavy. Steady. An anchor.
“Breathe with me,” he murmured. “Slow.”
You heard him take a deep, deliberate breath, then release it just as slowly. The sound of it was low and rhythmic.
“In… two… three… four. Hold. Out… two… three… four… five… six.”
You tried to follow. It came out broken and shaky. Another wave of panic tightened around your throat, and you whimpered, shaking harder.
He didn’t pull away. His second hand carefully covered yours where it gripped your knee. His fingers were cold, but the touch was incredibly solid and safe. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, a silent reminder that he was there.
“Good. You’re already trying. That matters. Again. In… with me. Two… three… four.”
He kept counting in that low, calm voice. Each breath he took became a metronome in the darkness. When you slipped back into short, panicked gasps, he simply started over without comment.
The minutes stretched on, slow and painful.
His hand between your shoulder blades stayed heavy and still — the only thing keeping you from drifting away completely. Sometimes his thumb would trace a slow, almost imperceptible circle on your back. Just a quiet reminder: I’m still here.
When another spasm gripped your chest and you tried to pull away, he leaned in slightly, but didn’t force an embrace. He simply let you rest your forehead against his shoulder. You did it almost without thinking. His coat smelled cool and sterile, but beneath it was the living warmth of his body.
“I know this feeling,” he whispered, still counting breaths with you. “When your lungs refuse to work. When your heart feels like it’s trying to tear itself out. When the whole world shrinks to one thought — I’m dying. I know it.”
He paused, giving you time to exhale.
“But you’re not dying. Your body is just screaming. And I’m here to listen… and stay with you until it stops.”
Gradually, the ringing in your ears grew quieter. Your heart was still racing, but not as violently. Your hand remained in his large one, and he never once tried to let go. His fingers gently intertwined with yours just enough for you to feel: he’s holding on.
When you finally managed a deeper breath without a sob, he turned his head slightly and spoke even softer:
“There you go… well done. You made it through this moment.”
He was silent for a few seconds, then pressed his lips to your temple, barely a kiss, just a warm, gentle touch.
“Now let me lift you a little, alright?” he asked softly, almost a whisper. “You’ll be more comfortable.”
You gave the smallest nod.
Victor carefully moved his hand from your back, slid one arm under your knees and the other around your waist, lifting you with effortless care as if you were made of glass. He settled you into his lap so you were half-sitting, half-lying against his broad chest, your back to his warmth.
His arms wrapped around you immediately — not squeezing, just enveloping. One hand rested on your stomach, the other over your heart. You felt his slow, steady breathing against the back of your head.
“There… lean on me,” he whispered into your hair. “I’ve got you.”
He breathed deeper and slower, and you instinctively began to match his rhythm. His palm pressed lightly against your chest with every inhale. It was a gentle, constant reminder: in… out… again.
“You’re safe,” he murmured, low and calm. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving. Stay as long as you need. Just breathe. I can feel your heartbeat… it’s already slowing. You’re doing so well.”
His thumb traced slow, barely-there circles on your arm. No demands. Just presence.
“My brave girl…” he added, barely audible. “Even when your body betrays you, you still keep trying. I see it. And I’m so proud of you.”
You closed your eyes and let yourself go limp in his arms. His heavy, strong embrace surrounded you completely: warm and safe. His breathing, his voice, his presence became a quiet, warm shelter in the middle of the storm.
And Victor stayed there on the cold floor of the room, holding you in his lap, arms wrapped around you with careful strength, whispering only the softest, calmest words against your ear until your heart finally began to beat in time with his.
Until you stopped drowning.