#Price Of A Nation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ethereal-night-fairy · 7 months ago

Text

To the Edge of Chaos

Prologue

Pirate!Gaz x Female Reader (of mixed Arab decent)

A murder accusation and the death of a beloved father. Those where the events that led you to take refuge in this seedy tavern. Scared and left completely alone for the very first time, you try you're best to evade watchful eyes. Easier said than done when there were handsome pirates in the vicinity.

Warnings: MDNI, Crude language, talks of beheadimg and murder.

To the Edge of Chaos

Masterlist

Words: 1.1k

“Did you hear!?,” The man next to you whispered. He must be a local if he's comfortable gossiping in a tavern like this. The smell of cheap alcohol was making you nauseous but this was the only safe place you could find for the time being.

“Everyone's heard by this stage,” the bar keep whispered back. “The city guards have been preventing people from talking about it since they announced the passing of the King. I heard they're going to behead her without trial.”

“I don't believe it for a second! Our princess would never do something like that!”

“Keep your voice down! They have ears all over the city,” the bar keep warned. But the bar was rowdy despite the news of the king's passing circulating. It felt like the city was celebrating, apart from a select few that is. You didn't realise how insignificant the royal family was in this part of the city. Though granted, the ports were often run by pirates these days despite the naval guard trying to stake their claim over the area.

You wonder where everything went wrong. It wasn't long ago that you were dressing as a servant boy to explore the city scape. Even though you should have been studying, should have been performing your royal duties. It seems that your selfishness has come to bite you in the ass. Had it not been for your uncle you would be on the road to your demise right about now. You've only narrowly escaped death for the time being. No one knows how you'll fare tomorrow.

That's how you found yourself in one of the few places the city guards couldn't reach you. The loyalty of the people here lay with the outlaws, the reject, the outcasts. An ideal place to find a temporary identity or a completely new one if one wanted. The bar buzzed with joy as the people guzzled their cheap rum and brandy. It tasted nothing like the refined wines you were raised on. Not that you had the luxury of being picky anymore. But at least you could enjoy the sweetness during these trying times. Probably not a good financial decision though. But you desperately needed something to take edge of the grief you were feeling.

“The king loved his daughter, why would she have any reason to kill him?” The drunk patron drawled on despite the looks he was getting from the other patrons. The royal family really wasn't popular here. You scan your area staying on high alert, you couldn't have anyone mistaking you for someone who was supposed to be locked up and awaiting her death. You suppose sneaking out did pay off in this instance. You were so used to acting like a boy that it wasn't hard mimicking the mannerisms of the people around you. That and the disguise was good enough to fool the drunk for now. You just needed to get your hands on a more convincing ensemble if you wanted to survive.

“Aye nae one cares that wee bastard is dead, Never done nae good for the people like us! And his daughter too! Never even seen 'er face in public! Always hiding away in 'er big castle too full of 'erself tae care about 'er people dying in the slums!” A drunk man with an odd haircut shouts. Pirates. You watch the men around him laugh as they encourage him to keep going. The whole situation made you uneasy. Your reputation was horrible amongst the poor it seems. Or anyone for that matter. You were very much aware of the hate you received because of your mothers heritage. Despite her still being foreign royalty.

“Good thing we'll finally see 'er head come off! Good riddance!” You flinch as the man continues his rant stumbling as he tries to reach the bar for more alcohol. But someone from his group grabs him by the back of the neck before he can reach where you were sitting. Damn, you wouldn't want to mess with his friend.

He was built like an oak tree. Not to mention his terrifying mask. You wouldn't be surprised if they called him the grim reaper. You remind yourself to keep away from those two. It's not long before the drunk man is hauled off outside while he airs out his lungs towards the person who was holding him like a pup. You watch as his crew boo and jeer the big man as he drags out the other to sober up.

Your eyes naturally drift back to the rowdy crowd who seemed at home in the tavern. Many women excitedly draped themselves on the arms of the most handsome or the ones that looked like they had money. You couldn't blame them. They were quite handsome you'll admit, and who didn't like money? You could use some right now.

One man in particular caught your eye. His laugh was akin to the warmth of the setting sun. Your hand absently caresses the necklace around your neck. The thought of him caressing skin no man has touched made your head spin with forbidden thoughts. Ones you desperately had to push down. Your necklace hums with magic concealing your feminine features, essentially presenting you as a boy to anyone.

You continue your not so discrete exploration of the handsome man's toned body. He would have make a nice personal gaurd. It stirs something in your heart but you push it down as soon as it surfaces. Now wasn't the time!

His dark sun kissed skin glowed under the light of their lanterns while multiple women tried and failed to monopolize his attention. Though you knew for a fact he enjoyed the commotion they were making for him. You could see it on his smug face and mischievous kohl covered eyes. They looked like pools of honey from where you sat. Stop it idiot! You need to focus!

It seemed the bearded man sitting next to him was also enjoying the attention he was receiving. They exchanged cigars as they continued to enjoy their drinks while the woman fawned for their undivided attention.

You study them for a bit before making up your mind. They'd do nicely. You needed money, and they looked like they had plenty to spare. You're sure they wouldn't mind a few coins missing. Though it was your first time stealing, it couldn't be that hard could it? A little flirting here, a little touching there and you'll have a couple coins in your purse in no time. You glance at your necklace debating if it was a good option to remove the enchantment for a short time. The people were all drunk anyway and it wasn't like anyone would recognise you here. You just needed to get one of them alone somehow. But how?

231 notes · View notes

dragonnarrative-writes · 7 months ago

Text

Part 9 - Pneumothorax

Slasher Handler Masterlist

NSFW under the cut.

CW: Accidental injury with knife, descriptions of wounds, wound care, field medicine, allusions/symptoms of lung collapse, blood, ingestion of bodily fluids, gagging

Something your nightmares have never been able to truly capture is just how unnervingly easy it is to push a knife through flesh. The smallest knife cuts through Simon’s skin easier than the MRE packaging. Something dangerous flickers behind his eyes as he looks down at where you’ve pushed the knife into the side of his chest.

Everything is eerily still for a moment. And then he looks back up at you and grins so hard you can tell through the mask.

The knife slips from between your numb fingers. It stays lodged between his ribs for a moment before falling to the ground. You scramble to your feet to stand over his still kneeling form. “Oh god. Simon.”

The way you’d slipped and rolled must have put the knife exactly where it needed to be to slide around his vest. His shirt underneath is ripped enough that you can see pale skin and so much red blood. The wound is bubbling, blood thinning in the cold rain. “Oh, god, Simon, what do I do?”

“Punctured a lung,” he whispers, barely a breath.

“You need a doctor,” you say, and it feels stupid, so obvious, but, “I don’t know where we are. How am I supposed to call for help?”

“’M okay, Precious,” he grunts. And then he stands up, like he’s not at risk of lung collapse. He points at the muddy backpack that flew from your shoulder as you’d grappled with him. “Get the bag.”

The bag? “We’re not playing games anymore!”

“’S got medical supplies in it,” Simon answers. He crouches down to pick up his own pack, and his chest makes a wet sound. “’N another gift for you. C’mon, we’ll go back to the cabin.”

Your heart is in your throat, but at least the cabin has running water. With the medical supplies, you can at least try to clean him up before driving him to the nearest hospital. Wherever that might be. You prop his arm over your shoulder and do your best to brace his good side.“Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

As you start to walk, the edge of the roof is barely in view through the drizzle. You’re so glad you were already on your way back to the cabin when he’d tackled you. Why did you have the knife out? You’d been playing with it, cutting shapes into a big leaf. He should have seen it, he’d run at you from the side. But that’s why he got you something so small, right? So someone attacking you wouldn’t see it, so you could have the element of surprise.

“Call Price,” Simon says, suddenly, knocking you out of your worried spiral.

You look up at him, then at the cabin that’s barely ten meters away. “What?”

“Use my phone. You know the code,” he says again, “Call Price, tell him we’re at the empty north cabin.”

Before you can ask “What?” again, or even, “Who the hell is Price?”, he starts slumping into you. And then all 18 stones of him are in a semi-controlled fall. You try your best to not drop him, gasp when he hisses as your arm presses against the hole in his chest.

The only thing in your head, as Simon slumps into the mud, his blood all over your hands, is that the weather didn't hold out the way you both expected.

Simon’s phone isn’t on him, or in his little knapsack. It’s one of the scariest things you’ve ever done, leaving him there in the dirt to run into the cabin. At the same time, it’s… familiar. Leaving a man to die while you call for help that can’t possibly arrive in time.

This is different. The first time you’d stabbed a man, you’d meant to do it.

The cabin is a little abandoned thing that Simon had fixed up a bit in the middle of nowhere. Outside of the room you’d woken up in, it has a wet room style toilet and shower and a counter with a hot plate. The rest of the weirdly clean little building is just one empty room leading to the only external door.

You hand shakes as you paw through the pile of stuff in one corner of the main room. Simon’s left his battered old phone in the pocket of his jeans, like he always does. Your hands shake as you punch in his passcode. You’re jogging back to his side as soon as you select the only named contact in the phone.

By the time someone picks up, you’re back on your knees by Simon’s side, relieved to see his eyes fluttering.

“Price,” a man answers.

“Hello?” You try not to let your voice get to frantic. “Simon’s hurt. He said to call you. We’re at the north cabin.”

“Empty,” Simon grunts, barely audible.

“The empty one,” you clarify. The line is silent. “Hello?”

“He’s wounded?” Price asks, cool and almost distracted.

“Punctured lung,” you say. “He passed out, but he’s kind of conscious now.”

The man on the other end hums. “That does sound a bit serious.”

“Please,” you insist. “I don’t know where we are, please call an ambulance.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” And then the line goes dead.

Your hands are shaking when you touch Simon’s face. “He hung up. Simon, I’m so sorry, he hung up. I don’t know if I can get you into the car. I don’t know if there’s enough time for anyone to get here.”

“’S fine, Precious,” he says, barely a whisper. He looks just as peaceful as if he was at home, in bed. The mud and blood and burbling chest wound ruin the illusion. “Been in worse shape’n this. Price’ll come.”

“We don’t need him here, we need you in a hospital!” It suddenly strikes you that Simon had mentioned medical supplies. “Should I try to stop the bleeding? Gauze and pressure, right?” You grab the backpack and tear it open. There’s gauze, antiseptic gel, and bandage wraps. You also find a small bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Splash of alcohol first,” Simon says, closing his eyes. When you slap him, he glares up at you with one eye. “Oi.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me!”

“’M no’. Just restin’ m’eyes.”

“Not that either!” The way his accent is becoming more pronounced, and his words more slurred, sets your already galloping heart racing. You uncap the alcohol and tip it, not at all gently, over the wound. “Stay awake.”

“Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell,” Simon growls, followed by a pained wheeze. “Okay. Fuck. Gauze next, you’ll have to hold it down. Don’t have enough bandages and too much mud, besides.”

The first piece of gauze gets soaked with rain and blood immediately, so you open another couple of packages and press. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you tell him over his hissing. Tears finally start catching up to you. “Simon, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon.”

“’S fine,” he sighs. One big, muddy hand comes up to pat your shoulder. “Shouldn’a come at you from the left. Better t’ stay low and come at you from the right.”

“I still might have stabbed you,” you protest. “I shouldn’t have had that stupid knife out, I should have known better-”

“You couldn’a known.”

“I should have,” you insist, and the tears are falling even faster now. “I didn’t need to be playing with knives, I knew you were out here, that you’d start chasing me any moment.”

“’S part of the game,” Simon sighs with a lazy grin. “Weren’ supposed t’ stab me in the chest, but tha’s on me.”

“I wasn’t supposed to stab you at all, Simon,” you sob. “I never wanted…! I don’t…!” Simon’s eyes flutter closed again, and you feel your heart break. “Simon, please, stay awake. I’m sorry. Please, Simon. I don’t hate you, I’m sorry.”

You're not sure how much time passes. But you jump when a hand touches your shoulder, whip around to put yourself between Simon and whoever’s come up behind you. A white man with a beard you would absolutely expect to see walking around in the woods looks between you and Simon with raised brows. He brings a cigar to his lips and takes a pull.

“Simon,” the man says. “You broken?”

“No, sir,” Simon says. When your gaze snaps to him, his eyes are bright behind his mask.

“She said you punctured a lung,” the man you can only assume is Price points out.

“Affirmative.”

“John Price,” he finally introduces himself. He offers you a hand up. When you look between his hand and where you’re keeping pressure on Simon’s wound, he chuckles. “Let’s get this drama queen inside, shall we?” Then Kyle appears at his elbow with a grin and an arm full of blue tarp.

“How’s the hobby search going?”

You can’t stop yourself from bursting into tears.

John Price had guided you inside while Kyle somehow maneuvered Simon onto the tarp to drag him the last few meters to the cabin. Now, there’s another tarp laid out on the floor, with Simon’s clammy, pale body on top of it. Knelt next to him, Kyle mutters something to himself, focused but relaxed. He’d complimented you on a clean strike, once he’d gotten Simon inside and cleaned the wound enough to look at it. Apparently, you probably could have done a lot of damage before killing him outright, if you’d really wanted to.

The sucking sound from Simon’s chest as he chuckled had made you run outside to throw up.

“You meet my girl, Skipper?” Simon eventually wheezes. There’s a big patch of of gauze taped over the wound. That side of him, from shoulder to hip, is the only part of him that’s really clean, besides his now-unmasked face. He winces when Kyle does something with the tubing sticking out of his chest. It’s still trickling blood, but that seems to be better than the flood from when Kyle had first pushed a thick needle between his ribs.

“I have,” John Price says, blowing a cloud of smoke. “You haven’t been keeping her here long. Surprised she stuck around to make sure you’d be okay.”

It strikes your ears as… absurd. The idea that Simon had whisked you away to this tiny, sparse little building for, what? For good? Nonsensically, you want to point out that there’s no kitchen, and Simon knows you like to prep and cook when you’re stressed. MREs wouldn’t cut it for long.

And then it occurs to you that John Price knows Simon. Knows him well enough that he expects you to die.

“She’s had Riley here on a leash for half a year,” Kyle informs him. He pats Simon’s cheek condescendingly, ignores his growl of annoyance. “Poor bastard’d been going mad, cooped up with nothing to do since Soap’s been locked up.”

“Eight months,” you whisper. You’re sitting on the edge of the tarp by Simon’s good side. You sip some water and offer it to Simon. He lets you tip the bottle carefully to his lips. “We met eight months ago.”

“Christ,” Price says, rolling his eyes. “I told you to keep a low profile.”

“’ave been,” Simon grunts.

“And, that little excursion at the ski lodge was what, exactly?”

Simon tilts his head to look at you, mischievous smirk under the black makeup around his eyes. “Had to make sure our first date was memorable.”

You want to smack him. The thought makes you feel guilty since you’ve already stabbed him today. You compromise by petting through his hair, right where the scar you gave him sits, then give his ear a little tug when you get to it.

“Hope it was worth it,” Price says. “You going to get rid of her, or am I?”

Simon is up and standing in front of John almost before you see him move. The back of him is still spattered with dirt and blood, silvery scars in stark contrast. You watch his chest expand, hear the whistle and bubble of air and blood through the tube you can’t see. You take one look at Kyle’s startled, worried face and quickly get to your feet.

When you come around his side, you shiver and shrink back a bit. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Simon’s face this frigid. He’s completely closed off as he stares down at Price, doesn’t even spare you a glance.

For his part, John remains completely relaxed. He takes a lazy pull from his cigar and blows the smoke from the side of his mouth, away from you. “Touched a nerve, have I?”

“She’s good people,” Kyle pipes up, coming to stand across from you, so everyone is in a loose square. He keeps his hands in his pockets. “Hasn’t made no trouble yet.”

John doesn’t look away from Simon. “That so?”

You reach out for Simon’s hand, then think better of it. You touch his back instead, in case he needs that hand. You step closer but stay a little bit behind him. “Simon?”

“She’s talked to the police, you know,” John says. “After your stint at the hospital, and again after your little date.”

That startles you. “I never-”

“Hush, now,” John says.

Simon flinches at the same moment that you feel your back straighten. “Excuse me?” You take a step forward into John’s space. “Maybe you forgot, but I called you here to help. If I wanted him dead, Simon would be dead right now. If I wanted him arrested six months ago, he’d have been arrested.”

“Precious-”

“No, Simon.” you interrupt him, staring into John’s eyes. “He practically lives in my apartment. He drugged and kidnapped me literally last night. He made me touch Brandon’s skull, and then I stabbed him this afternoon. I’ve been at the scene of two mass murders and now I’ve almost killed someone else. What the fuck makes you think you can come in here and talk about me like you know anything about me? Like you think I’m an idiot? Why do you think you get to shush me?”

The man doesn’t react except to pull from his cigar again. Your clothes are stiff and damp and uncomfortable, but you resist the urge to fidget. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Kyle look from you to John and back again.

“If you ever have him arrested, he’ll be out in a day,” John finally says. “You’ll be dead before then.”

“Oh gee,” you mock. “I wonder why that never occurred to me. Making the serial killer angry might get me killed. Shocking.”

Simon’s hand gently touches one of your wrists. “Easy, Precious. Price ‘s just lookin’ out.”

You let him take your hand. “He can do less of that, thank you very much.”

Simon reels you back against his front. He props his chin on top of your head and kind of sags some of his weight onto you. “Don’t think he can, love. Fundamentally incapable. Has to take care of his men.”

“Well he’s my man, now,” you grit out. “So you can fuck right off, John.”

For whatever reason, that cuts the tension. Kyle barks a laugh before he can stop himself. John tips his head back and huffs out smoke. Simon just presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Kyle told me you were a little off,” John says. He props a foot on his knee to stub out his cigar on the sole of his boot. “Simon’s been real tight lipped, but I see why he likes you. Not much self-preservation to speak of.”

Of all the stupid conclusions he could have come to…!

Simon’s hand covers your mouth before you can tell John exactly what you think of him. “She’s helping me find new hobbies.”

John just shakes his head. “I don’t want to know. Kyle, how long is he recovering?”

“Three weeks. Two, if he avoids aggravating it,” Kyle answers.

Simon hums. “’M gonna aggravate it.”

“Goddammit,” John swipes a hand down his beard. “Soap’s supposed to be my troublemaker, not you.”

The murderous stalker isn’t the problem child? You snort behind Simon’s hand. Hopefully, you never meet this Soap guy.

“Fun as all of this is, I’m on shift in four hours,” Kyle says, looking at his watch. “Need to get home and sanitize. Riley, usual wound care. Drain’s gotta come out in three days. And you need antibiotics. Seriously.” He looks at you. “Make sure he gets them and takes them. All of them. His feet will fall off.”

“No they won’t,” you say when Simon drops his hand to wrap around your shoulders, just as he says, “Fuck off, Garrick.”

“Take the damn antibiotics,” John says, standing from his seat. “Be ready for a call in three weeks.”

“Affirmative.”

“And you,” John holds a hand out to you to shake. Waits for you to take it and gives a firm shake. “Let me know if you get tired of him hangin’ all over you.”

“So you can kill me.”

He gives you an amused grin. “I’m not in the practice of wasting valuable assets.”

“I’m sure you meant that in a way that’s not offensive,” you answer. “I’ll do my best to never call you again.”

“Smart girl.” He gives Simon a nod, and then he and Kyle are out the front door.

The shower head sputters and spits, but eventually produces surprisingly warm water. Not hot, but warm enough that you don’t feel bad herding Simon in to get clean. Warm enough that you groan when you step in with him.

There’s a silicone bulb hanging from the tube in Simon’s armpit, compressed to create some kind of vacuum. It’s pink with blood and other fluids. It doesn’t seem to bother him, so you use your hands to gently wash you both with a generic body wash. When you start rinsing dirt and an errant piece of leaf litter from your hair, he smirks and leans in until your back is pressed against the cold tile.

“Fuck,” you can’t help but panic. Your hands go to his hips in case he’s losing his balance. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, just braces the arm on his wounded side over your head. The drain site looks a little red, but not concerning, so you check the edges of the waterproof bandage Gaz placed to make sure it’s still set.

That’s why you don’t realize what he’s done until a splash of his blood hits your cheek and drips into your mouth. You can’t really rear back, trapped against the wall. All you can do tilt your face away and sputter as he empties the drain onto the side of your neck to drip down your collarbones.

He grunts a disagreeing sound when you lift your arm, catches your hand before you can lift it very far. His hand comes up to your cheek, two fingers touching where his blood has dripped to your chin. He pushes his hips into you, and you can feel where he’s getting hard.

When he speaks, it’s little more than a whisper. “You were supposed to slash my arm, you know.”

“Wha-”

He’s not gentle when he shoves his fingers into your mouth. For all that he was laid out on the floor less than an hour ago, you can’t force his hand away with both of yours. It’s all you can do try to fight the urge to gag as you barely hold him at bay.

“Knew you’d like the gifts,” he growls down at you. “But you were s’possed to slash, hm? That’s what a good girl like you does, chased in the woods. Easy to drop a knife that way.” He uses his fingers in your mouth and thumb under your chin to make you stare up into his eyes. “Where’s a sweet thing like you learn to keep a knife close to the body? Felt you let it slide, flat. Felt you push.”

Had you? You hadn’t felt it, just the anxiety spike of being attacked, the cradle of his hand shielding your head from the ground. Just his huge body and that skull mask, on you suddenly, without warning. You can’t answer, can’t even try without gagging. Simon gives your jaw a little shake.

“You could have killed me, today.” He grinds your body between his and the wall for a moment, before stepping back. He drags you under the spray of water, other hand cradling the back of your head. You struggle to cough, try to turn your face down. Your heart races as you do, knowing it’s only because he let you.

And then he slips his fingers from your mouth and brings your face to his chest. He holds you as you cough, pets over your back. You cling to him, because what else can you do? When you finally look up at him, his pupils have all but swallowed the blue of his eyes.

“Fear looks so good on you, Precious.”

Taglist: @mishaglass, @oceanicexolorer, @whitetiger846, @iknownothingpeople, @fruitdoom, @achillesquartz, @hindi-si-ikay, @ahopelesspedantic

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #cod #simon ghost riley #dark fic #simon riley x you #slasher handler #simon riley x you smut #manic pixie dream ghost #gaz appreciation nation #price is right #this one was a monster and fought me every step of the way #but it's finally here #i did a lot of research for this one but i'm not a doctor

292 notes · View notes

sky-is-the-limit · 1 year ago

Note

WHEN I SAW GAZ IN THEIR NEW VIDEO I THOUGH OF YOU LMAO

Oh my fucking god.

I haven't stopped playing it since, like, I'm losing my shit here. Folds opened about to take a FLIGHT. Please ignore me, I'm unwell and mentally unstable and Gaz saying "we're about to be a problem" with that smirk and voice isn't helping my condition 😀

I would do NASTY things to him, they'd have to rewrite the kamasutra and the bible.

441 notes · View notes

iamharryhale · 7 months ago

Text

Chris: Fight me!

Buck: Superman, I’m not fighting you, look at your size! What are you gonna do, kick my ankle?

*Later*

Carla: Why is Buckaroo crying?

Eddie: Chris kicked his ankle really hard.

#incorrect 911 quotes #incorrect 911 #evan buckley #buddie #incorrect buddie quotes #incorrect buddie #eddie diaz #buddie 911 #buck x eddie #evan x eddie #christopher diaz is a national treasure #christopher diaz #carla price

198 notes · View notes

ilovemesomevincentprice · 3 months ago

Text

I missed #nationalblackcatappreciationday 👀

So, of course I had to make it right. 🖤🐈‍⬛🖤

121 notes · View notes

d0youc0py · 1 year ago

Note

Hey ! Sorry for bothering you, I was just wondering if you'd do something with Ghost or all 141 about reader having a really bad mental breakdown/depressive episode? Maybe reader trying to hide on the base while it's happening but Ghost/141 finds them ? Not an established relationship, pinning if you want.

Sorry if you don't feel comfortable with this, please ignore if that is the case ! Love you and your writings , they are all amazing ❤️

Hope you're doing well 🫰🏻

Love you too! Thank you for your kind words! 🤍P.S sorry I’ve been absent I was on vacation!

He was looking for you when he had heard the labored breathing. He was going to ignore it, until he heard a cry that sounded suspiciously like you. His hand hovered over the door knob, debating whether or not he should enter. Another muffled sob was enough to drive his protective instincts forward.

You looked up at him with frantic eyes. A hand over your mouth showing you were trying to conceal the emotions pouring out of you. You quickly lost that battle.

“I.” You stuttered out. Your breathing was so uneven he felt his own lungs squirm.

“I know, kid, I know.” He lulled. His hands grabbed your arms, in a gentleness you didn’t even know he possessed. He brought you to the floor with him, keeping his hands on you.

“I don’t know why”- You swallowed. Your eyes darted around the room, but he squeezed your arms bringing your attention back to him.

“You need to fix your breathing, yeah? When I squeeze your arms- inhale, when I stop- exhale.” His voice was low and you found it hard to be frightened when he used such a warm tone with you. You nodded your head in understanding. You did as you were instructed, but continued to grow more and more panicked as it didn’t seem to help. The lightness in your head continued to increase, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“My breath isn’t going all the way down. I can’t do it.” You panted. Your arms reached out, tangling themselves in his hoodie.

“Yes, you can Sweetheart. Worst thing that happens is you pass out and wake up with a sore neck, come on now.” He attempted to soothe. He placed pressure on your arms and your drew you breath in. You lungs soaked up the air like a sponge, and you felt less uneasy once you were finally able to get a few breaths in.

“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing you could think to say after you had calmed. He shook his head disapprovingly. His hands left your shoulders in favor for your fingers that were still tangled in his hoodie. You went to pull away, thinking you had crossed a line, but the warmth- the security of his hands stopped you. You allowed yourself the comfort.

“What’s got you so worked up?” He questioned. Your hands shook in his grasp. His thumb ran over your knuckles. He allowed himself to comfort.

“I’ve just been feeling weird lately. Like things are out of my control and I can’t do anything about it. At first it made me sad now I think it’s making me scared.” You murmured. You admired the way your hand fit perfectly in his no matter the angle.

“I know the feeling.” He sighed, causing your eyes to shoot up.

“You do?” You questioned. The thought of your big bad Lieutenant being anything less than confident threw you for a loop. He nodded his head. “Have you ever-?” You trailed off gesturing to yourself.

“Had a panic attack?” He emphasized. “Course, kid.”

Knowing you weren’t alone caused a heavy weight to leave your tired shoulders.

“Don’t tell anyone though.” He pressed suddenly. His tone was back to the sharp wit you had grown to seek.

“I would never ruin your reputation Lieu.” You smiled, giving his hand a squeeze.

The creepy crawlies were back. The familiar feeling of hopelessness as you watched yourself drown. It had been a while since you’ve had it. That must be why it came back so strong- it was making up for lost time. Your knuckles rubbed your swollen eyes for the millionth time.

Today was an off day. You normally lived for those. Being around your team, the base buzzing with unusual liveliness. Impending death not hanging above your head for once. Yet today it meant you had no distraction. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Just outside your door there were a plethora of activities to engage in. But the thought of putting both your feet on the hard floor was daunting.

There was a knock at your door.

God, you didn’t want anyone to see you like this.

Maybe if you stayed quiet they would go away.

The door slowly crept open.

Of course it had to be Captain.

Would he dismiss you? You doubted he would want you on his team after this.

“Was waiting for you out there but you never came.” He sighed, making himself at home on the edge of your bed.

“I have a cold.” You lied, sitting up. You stared at the pool of blanket around your waist.

“Y/N.” The sternness in his voice caused you to instinctually look up. Your posture straightened. He could help a smile at the effect his voice had on you. “Please don’t lie to me, honey. I’ve seen that look on many peoples faces- my own included.” His face was so soft and understanding it made your throat tighten.

“I’m sorry I lied.” You groaned, running a hand over your face. “I’m just not having the best week, it won’t impact my work, I promise.” You quickly wiped away a tear.

“I know that.” He affirmed. “You know what I do when I feel that way?” He asked. You sniffled furrowing your brows at the question.

“No. Didn’t think you could even feel this way Captain.”

He chuckled.

“You bet your arse I do. On leave especially.” He paused for a moment. He hoped what he was about to say didn’t scare you off- or make you loose all respect for him. “Y/N, when I feel the way you do now I get piss drunk.” Your eyes widened at his statement. You knew Captain could throw them back, but you never saw him drunk. “I’m not especially proud of it, I’m working on it.”

“Wanna work on it together?” You asked suddenly. “I get out of bed, and you don’t drink?”

He thought about it for a moment. He had a higher chance of succeeding if he was doing something for you. He didn’t want to let you down.

“Deal.” He smirked, holding out a hand for you to shake.

“Can you stay till I fall asleep?” You whispered. Your fingers traced the tattoo on his forearm, the action causing him to nearly fall asleep. His hands rested against your hips, pulling you further up on his body. You quickly pressed your ear against his strong heartbeat. The rhythm relaxed the tense muscles in your back.

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving you, Bon.” The gravel in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“Thank you, Mac.” You mumbled, your eyes drooping. He hummed in acknowledgment. “I don’t just mean for this. If it wasn’t for you I probably would’ve cracked my head open from passing out.”

“Ah, someone would’ve found you eventually.” He smirked, pinching at your sides. “Bonnie.” He started.

“Yea?” You hummed, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him. His body flushed at the closeness.

“Ask for help, okay? You feel that way, come and see me. You aren’t alone.” He spoke with nothing but sincerity. He wiped a tear that rolled down your cheek.

“Okay Jo.” You agreed. You leaned up, placing a soft kiss against his cheek, before relaxing against him once again. He wrapped to arms around you, a silent promise of safety and security.

“Are you on medicine or something for this?” He wished he could take back his words at the glare you shot him. “Not the time, Kyle, not the time.” He sighed to himself.

He took a few hesitant steps towards you. Once he realized you weren’t going to tell him to get lost he sat down beside you.

“What do you need from me, love?” He hummed. You sputtered something he couldn’t quite understand. You ran a hand over your face harshly, over the tears that never seemed to stop. “Hey, hey, gentle now. I happen to enjoy your face.” He scolded. He wrapped an arm around you, holding your hands in both of his.

“I don’t feel good.” You rasped out. “My head just won’t stop. It’s like there is someone just constantly yelling at me in my head. It’s exhausting.” You sniffled. You couldn’t help but press yourself closer to Kyle. His body warm and safe.

“Sounds exhausting.” He agreed, resting him chin on your head.

“I do take medicine.” You explained. “I dropped a weeks worth of it on the floor.” You panted, drowsiness already catching up to you.

“That’s happened to me before.” Kyle chuckled. “Well something similar. I went out on a mission with Boss and left my OCD medication in my pocket. It kept rattling so he made me ditch it.” The smile in his voice caused one to spread across your own face.

“Did that happen to be around the time you spent an hour unlocking and relocking the doors? Oh and you cleaned the whole fridge out.”

“Yeah, no one ever said thank you for doing that by the way.” He huffed.

“Thanks Ky.” You smiled. “For cleaning out the fridge and being good to me.”

633 notes · View notes