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drabblesandimagines · 1 year ago

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Breathless

Clive Rosfield x female reader Angsty, one swear word, description of panic attack, minor game spoilers?

Inspired by this request.

It has been a trying, upsetting week. Not once, but twice had your unit of Cursebreakers arrived too late in order to free some overworked Bearers. Masters have been working them harder since the crystal magicks have started to falter, depending on their source. You knew you were spread too thin – it was always going to be by a couerl’s whisker if you made it there in time. It still hurts, though, to find the petrified bodies, gathering up their remains to perform another solemn casting in the hope that at last they will have found peace.

You’re exhausted, overworked – by your own hand, you know – and to come back without anything to show for it is so discouraging.

You know you should think of all the successful missions, the ones where the boat had come back filled with Bearers who would be safe for the first time in their lives at the Hideaway, but the failure weighs heavily on your mind. Reporting back to Dorys that, no, you weren’t fast enough, you weren’t good enough…

You shake your head, as if you could physically shake the negative thoughts from your mind. You need a hot meal and a decent sleep – one that wasn’t a short nap on the ground, never allowing yourself to sleep too deeply as you needed to be ready to move at a moment – and to be embraced in a certain Fire Dominant’s arms.

As the Cid of the new Hideaway, Clive is a very busy man. He’s often being pulled in multiple directions with various requests. You both had your own missions too and rarely did the two coincide in nature, but that’s the way your relationship had always been. There’s always been something between the two of you, the spark kindled into a steady flame throughout the past few years, culminating in a passionate liaison under a moonlit sky. The time apart always made the moments you had together all the more special, like no time had passed at all as he held you tight in his arms in his bed at night, when you kissed him as if you needed him to breathe, nipping your teeth lightly on his neck to coax a moan from Lord Rosfield’s lips.

Or other nights when you’d sobbed in his arms – for those you’d lost, the injustices you’d witnessed and he’d whisper soft reassurances in your ear, promising the dawn would come.

The world is wearing you down and he is like a tincture for your soul.

Dorys must’ve been keeping an eye out for the skiff because she is waiting for you as the lift opens up on the boarding deck. She casts a questioning eye over the group who stands behind you, obviously looking for Bearers.

You shake your head, sadly, before she can question aloud.

“You did your best, all of you. Any injuries?” A couple in the group nod and are promptly sent off to the infirmary. Dorys gives you a hard stare as you stay put.

“I’m fine, honestly. Nothing to trouble Tarja with.”

“Then get some food and sleep – we’ll debrief in the morning.”

“Thanks, Dorys.” You cast a glance up at the balcony outside Clive’s chambers but your captain easily catches it.

“You’ll be pleased to know he’s home, I’m sure,” Dorys teases.

The ale hall is deserted due to the late hour but as you climb the stairs up to Clive’s chambers, there are noises from within. A light feminine laugh, accompanied by Clive’s deep chuckle and it makes you stop right outside the door. It seems impossible for anything to be funny at the moment, but another intrusive thought comes to mind - when was the last time you’d even heard Clive laugh in your presence?

There’s a bit of warped wood that needs tending to, but no-where near on the list of priorities. If you angle yourself just so, you can see through the crack. Jill and Clive are sat on the bench he keeps in his chambers, wine goblets in front of them, candles flickering throughout the room. It looks romantic. He has his body turned to the door, but you can see Jill is leaning towards him, her hand on his thigh.

You can’t hear what they’re saying – their voices too low for that – but Jill leans forward then and you step back, not wanting to see what happens next. Your heart pounds – you’re tired, you know you’re so tired and upset and a failure and your mind spirals.

Clive is a lord and Jill is a lady – a proper lady – raised in the courts and beautiful and charming and sweet. You don’t dress as fine as she, your hair never sits as pretty, you’re incapable of holding yourself with the same grace she does. You’re coarse, you only learned your letters in the last few years of Hideaway living, struggling somewhat as you don’t practice as much as you should. There had been a handful of nights where Clive would lie besides you patiently as you tried to read aloud a couples of passages from a children’s storybook, for Founder’s sake. Jill could write and read fluently, a dab hand at needlework too…

Of course they belong with each other. They will always have a connection that you won’t, of a shared childhood. They’re Dominants and they spend so much time together, they’re a perfect couple and you’ve been deluding yourself that you could’ve ever had kept hold of his heart in the way you did.

Your chest feels tight. You need to get out of here.

There’s movement from behind the door then and you hurry down the stairs, pressing yourself into the corner, being obscured by the shadows. The door to the chambers open and Jill departs.

“Thank you, Jill, for everything.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek and bids him goodnight, walking down the stairs and heading out via the boarding deck to head down to her room. The door to the chambers closes and you sink down against the wall, cuddling your knees.

Why does your chest hurt so?

You don’t know how long you sit there, eventually clambering back up to your own feet, leaning heavily on the wall, and taking the long way back to your bunk through the forge and up via the atrium and across the bridge, thankfully not meeting anyone on your journey as you crawl into bed.

You don’t sleep well, if at all. Your mind whirling with thoughts of Clive and Jill – what had he meant when he had thanked her? Clive is the sweetest man. He’d never want to hurt you, even at the cost of his own heart, but loving someone is letting them go, isn’t it?

You give up on sleep just before dawn, heading up to the mess where you find Dorys, mulling over reports at one of the tables. She smiles, sadly, at the sorry sight of you.

“I did not mean for you to be up with the sun to hand in your report.”

“I just want it over with. There’s not much to report. We failed, we were hours too late to both groups of Bearers. I need,” you swallow, before correcting yourself, “We need to get back out there today to try and get a head start on the next. I’m sure there’s a pattern, or we can stage something or-”

“Absolutely not.”

“Dorys.”

“No. You look awful. Did you even sleep?”

“I’m fine.” You reply, tersely.

“I disagree. I’m not letting you take out a group like this, let alone go out yourself. You will report to the infirmary and you will rest.”

“Really?” You can’t mask the incredulous tone of your voice.

“I’m surprised Clive didn’t say this to you already.”

Your heart skips at the sound of his name, but then Dorys frowns in realization.

“Wait, you came down from the bunks. Did you not see him last night?”

“It doesn’t matter where I slept!” You hiss, remembering to watch your volume at this early hour.

She gives you a hard stare. “If you won’t listen to me, I know you will listen to him. Go and see Clive before I drag you to him.”

You clench your fists in frustration, trying to steady your breath.

“Yes, Captain. I apologise. It was late, I did not wish to disturb him. I will go and report in now.” You spin on your heel and jog down the stairs to the boarding deck and towards the ale hall. The problem is, your frustration drives you until you reach the top of the stairs once more, the handle in your grip but then all you can remember is the scene of last night – how perfect the two had looked together…

It suddenly feels hard to breathe, a tightness constricting your chest, as if you can’t get your lungs to expand fully enough.

You need to get out of here, back into the fresh air.

You turn and stumble on the stairs, catching yourself on the banister.

“Hey, you all right there?” Gav’s concerned voice comes from below – he’d emerged through Blackthorne’s forge. He must be setting out on a scouting mission to be awake this early.

You look at him, trying to get a hold of yourself, force a smile and a word of reassurance, but you can’t.

Your legs give out under you and you sit down heavily on the stairs, still clutching on the banister. Your grip is weakening, the edges of your vision tinged with black. Why can’t you breathe? Are you so useless now you can’t even do that?

“Shit.” Gav races up the stairs, crouching down in front of you, eyes scanning to see where the injury is, because there must be one for you to be in such a state. “Clive.” He bellows in the direction of the chambers. “Clive!”

Heavy footsteps come from the chambers behind and you hear the door open behind you, that familiar gravelly, albeit sleep-tinged voice calling your name out with affection at first, but then again with alarm when he sees Gav’s face.

Gav stands up and back to allow Clive to take his place, before darting down the stairs, yelling something about how he’ll go fetch Tarja.

Clive cradles your face, asking you what’s wrong. He looks frightened, but that can’t be right. Why can’t you breathe?

He says something again to you, but the words don’t go in. All you can hear is how shallow your breathing has become. Tears line those stormy blue eyes you adore so much, the ones you could’ve spent staring into for hours. His mouth continues to move but it’s almost as if you were underwater, a ringing sound in your head, the black continuing to creep over your vision until the world disappears entirely.

The next conscious thought is that someone is holding your hand, rubbing their thumb back and forth over your knuckles in a comforting rhythm. Your chest still feels tight, but not as much as it did. You open your eyes and blink at the somewhat familiar ceiling of the infirmary.

“Thank the Founder you’re awake.” Clive says quietly, squeezing your hand.

You try to bolt up at his voice, but he places his hands on your shoulders and keeps you still.

“Easy, darling. You need to rest - please.” You’ve always found it hard to refuse him.

You nod and he smiles, letting go of your shoulders and readjusting the pillows to allow you to rest against a little more upright. “Here, drink.” He passes you a goblet of water from the bedside. “I will fetch Tarja.”

You nod, taking it in trembling hands and sip the lukewarm water as he gets to his feet and heads around the curtain, soon returning with the red-headed physicker as you place the goblet back down.

“Good afternoon. You gave everyone quite a fright this morning.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tarja gives you a kind smile and takes a seat on the vacant bed. “Can you tell me what happened? Gav, Clive and Dorys have given me their side of the story.”

“I don’t know what it was. I just… I suddenly couldn’t breathe. It was like something was constricting my chest and I couldn’t get the air in.”

Tarja nods. “How had you been feeling before this occurred?”

“Fine.”

Clive and Tarja give you a disparaging look.

“A little tired, then.”

“Dorys told us you’ve been working exceptionally hard, and it has been a trying week.”

“Please, can we not speak of my failures?” Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart begins to pound again. “I’ll do better, I will…”

“Easy.” Tarja chides, leaning forward. “Take a deep breath, hold it, then release. Copy me.”

You do so for a couple of moments, feeling silly, but your chest loosens, your heart settling into a more comfortable rhythm.

“Better?”

“Mm. What’s the matter with me?”

“You’re exhausted, for one. You need to rest and properly look after yourself. You’re taking too much on your shoulders and this is your body’s way of repaying you. Your mind is overwhelmed." She paused for a moment, and nods to herself. "You’re relieved from the Cursebreakers.”

“But-"

“Listen to Tarja.” Clive pleads. “They will cope without you and when you are better, I promise you can resume your duties.”

You know you can’t get out of this, not with Tarja, Clive and Dorys all laying down the law.

You nod.

“Good.” Tarja smiles. “I’m going to brew you some tea and get you a hot meal. I will discharge you later on, all being well.”

“Thank you, Tarja.” Clive nods as the physicker gets to her feet.

“Thank you.” You repeat, softly.

Tarja retreats back around the other side of the screen and Clive takes hold of your hand once more, his brow still furrowed in concern.

“Dorys said you returned last night. Why didn’t you come to my chambers? I’ve missed you so.”

You look down at your lap. It would better to get this nightmare over with.

“I heard you and Jill.”

“Heard what?” He sounds truly puzzled.

“I came up to the chambers and the two of you were laughing. You sounded happy. And all I could think was when was the last time I’d heard you laugh like that? We hardly see each other. I’m always out with the Cursebreakers, and you’re always away with Jill.” He starts to protest, but you hold up your hand. “Please, Clive, it’s okay. I understand. Don’t… Don’t let me stand in the way anymore.”

“Stand in the way - what do you mean?”

“You and Jill are perfect for one another. I understand that you want to end whatever we’ve been calling this…“ You continue talking into your lap, afraid that if you look up you'll see relief in his eyes.

“Now, I admit I’ve been somewhat neglectful of you-”

“No, that’s not what-“

“Please, allow me to finish. I have, and that’s not fair. I desire nothing more than to spend the rest of my days with you, but I have allowed myself to be consumed with the Mothercrystals and the nature of that does mean that Jill has been in my company as late. I can’t take you into an aetherflood, I won’t risk it.”

“Destroying the Mothercrystals is important.”

“It is, and though we are fighting so Bearers and Dominants and everyone can live on their own terms, we still must remember to live in the moments we have.” Clive presses his hand to the side of your face, placing his thumb under your chin and tilts your gaze gently towards him.

“I love you.”

“Clive…” Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“You, and only you, are the flame that burns within my heart. Earlier, when you spoke of your failures – what failures? You strive to be the best you can every day, darling. I see it, Dorys sees it, Jill, Gav, Otto, Charon – the whole Hideaway. You are passionate, hardworking, kind, considerate… You will have to forgive me as I am no scribe, but I could continue to wax on somewhat lyrically of everything I adore about you.” His face flushes red as he continues to hold your gaze.

“I love you – I do not tell you enough, I know I don’t – and I vow, from this moment onwards, I will make sure you know this every day.”

Your breath catches again, but not in the same way it had previously. You lean forward, allowing yourself to be fully enveloped in his arms and you sob into his neck – releasing the tension that has been building up within you for days.

He holds you close, rubbing his large palm on your back in comforting circles, allowing your anxieties to retreat under the surface. You know they will re-emerge at some point – it would be foolish to think they would not – but for now they settle.

“I love you too,” you mumble, gaining some composure after a period and pull back, wiping the tears from your face before kissing him, delicately. It is a gentle, reassuring kiss – perfect for the moment. Soft pecks against each other’s lips, before you nip his with your teeth ever so slightly.

He pulls back, pressing his forehead against yours. “Careful, my love, or you’ll make me lose my breath.”

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