caedes & cynthia » rosemary
Story: RPG storyverse (was supposed to be an AU but am considering actually making something like this canon)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Rating: 16+
Characters: Caedes & fool_with_dream's Cynthia
CN: Blood, killing in defense of self and others (important side character death I guess?), trauma, dissociation, memory issues, bathing, general physical intimacy
Author's Note: Hiiii, I've had this on my mind since late spring/early summer last year when Soph suggested that rosemary scene to me & now the Cae/Cyn brainrot finally won & finished this even though I'm still not fully satisfied with it!!! Enjoy <3
»Sorry for showing up unannounced.«
Showing up unannounced is probably an understatement. It’s the middle of the night, closer to the break of dawn than to a reasonable time to show up anywhere, let alone your ex-fiancée’s house. Caedes is spattered with blood all over, his shirt is drenched in it, and he doesn’t remember when or how he got here, just that it took him a long time to gather the courage to knock.
»I just … didn’t know where else to go.«
+
Cynthia’s eyes are dark with concern, her brow furrowed, but her voice is soft and calm when she speaks. »That’s not your blood I just cleaned off of my doorstep. At least for the most part.« She pauses, probably pondering whether to ask or not, until finally, she does: »Whose is it?«
Caedes swallows hard. He was expecting that question, but it’s unpleasant to answer nonetheless. »André’s.« One corner of his mouth twitches, a bitter half-smile that makes the dried blood on his cheek crack, traces of it raining down like powdery ash. »I think I killed him.« He didn’t have the heart to check, but with vampires, a well-aimed knife between the ribs usually does the trick, and a knife in Cae’s hands is nothing if not well-aimed.
Cynthia stops in her tracks and blinks at him, eyes widened. She sits down next to him on the bathroom floor. When she speaks again, her voice sounds even more gentle than before. »What happened?«
Cae shrugs, even though the answer is perfectly clear in his mind.
He was going to hurt you. He came to bring me to Avien, and maybe I would have let him; maybe I wouldn’t have fought him, I really didn’t want to fight, I didn’t want to kill him. But he was going to go after you next. And no matter how well you can defend yourself, I couldn’t risk that. I couldn't let that happen.
Cae’s lips curve into a sad smile, and when Cynthia cups his cheek in her hand, he leans into her touch and closes his eyes, covers her fingers with his, staining her skin with flakes of dried blood.
+
Enveloped by the familiar scent of rosemary, woody and fresh and aromatic, Caedes remembers the first time he said: You smell like home to me.
It caught Cynthia off guard, coaxed a little noise of surprise from her lips.
He remembers pressing kisses between her shoulders, breathing in deep, letting all of her flood his senses - the lingering fragrance of her soap, her shampoo, the unique scent of her skin, the coppery blood pulsing beneath, all merging into the perfect concoction to make him feel a bit lightheaded, almost drunk; completely at peace and absolutely exhilarated at the same time.
I don’t know what it is, he’d said, and it was true: He could never quite pin down what secret component made for that nearly addictive effect she had - and still has - on him. He just knew he could never get tired of her, could never not want her near him, could never find any combination of words good enough to truly describe what she meant to him. Something about you just makes me feel like I’m finally home again. Wherever the hell that is supposed to be.
It’s the rosemary, she’d answered, countless stifled gasps and breathless kisses later, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb as they lay on disheveled sheets, sweat-glazed skin still sticking to the fabric. Wild rosemary. I use it in my hair care. The plant is quite common where we both grew up.
He’d known she was right when he’d buried his face against her neck, nose in her hair, reveling in bittersweet nostalgia and the temptation of hoping for a future that might never exist. He had stayed like that for a while, drawing the moment out for as long as possible before they had to face a new day in the exciting yet uncertain present.
Now the very same aroma is rising to his nose as Cynthia is working some kind of tincture into his hair; judging by the scent, it’s still the same one she used back then, or at least something very similar. Whatever the hell drove her to think of hair care, of all things, when she just put him in a bathtub to clean a dead man’s blood off of him - it’s working wonders. Just like the soap freed him of the rusty red flakes and the deep red blotches, the soothing scent of rosemary clears the air and chases the metallic remnants of blood away.
Knees pulled up to his chest, he’s sitting in the warm bath water, watching as Cynthia cleans her hands, nodding along as she explains how the rosemary tincture is supposed to work, soaking up the sound of her voice as if it were the only thing keeping him sane; and maybe it is.
»Still smells like home«, he murmurs as Cynthia turns to get the towels, only half aware that he is speaking out loud.
When she turns back towards him, there’s a warm smile playing on her lips, like an unspoken I know.
+
»Thank you. For the bath. For being here. For … everything.«
Even though he wholeheartedly means it, Caedes can’t quite bring himself to look at Cynthia while saying Thank you. It still feels weird not to apologize all the time; to just accept that people treat him with kindness, and thank them for doing so instead. The constant apologies were a deeply ingrained habit that took years - and about a million instances of Stop apologizing, it’s okay, combined with a certain stern look - to unlearn, and sometimes, it still takes a conscious effort to stop himself from falling back into old patterns. Especially in moments like this - whenever someone does something for him that is truly more than he would ever dare to ask for.
Cynthia just smiles and gently takes him by the wrist, leading him through the hallway and into the kitchen. He doesn’t quite remember putting on the fresh clothes, but they feel clean and cozy, and he’s pretty sure they used to be his. Must have been years, if not decades, since he left those at her house. They still fit, though, and the fact that he’s wearing them right now must mean that she kept them around all this time. The thought kind of makes him want to smile, even though he still isn’t quite capable of doing that in a genuine way, still frozen in shock, lost in this terrible emptiness that often haunts him for quite some time after traumatic events.
»Tea?«, Cynthia asks, pointing at a cabinet behind her.
Tea. Just like the old days, when they used to stay up together and drink tea like it could be the solution to all of their problems if they just drank enough of it. Just like back then, when a lot of things were still much easier and the future looked a lot brighter than the present they are living through right now.
»Tea.« Caedes nods, and the corners of his mouth move upwards ever so slightly. It’s almost a real smile, just enough of one to make for a vaguely hopeful feeling. Just enough to remind him why he came here, of all places. »Yes, please. Tea sounds great.«
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Rating: 16+
Characters: Caedes & fool_with_dream's Cynthia
CN: Blood, killing in defense of self and others (important side character death I guess?), trauma, dissociation, memory issues, bathing, general physical intimacy
Author's Note: Hiiii, I've had this on my mind since late spring/early summer last year when Soph suggested that rosemary scene to me & now the Cae/Cyn brainrot finally won & finished this even though I'm still not fully satisfied with it!!! Enjoy <3
»Sorry for showing up unannounced.«
Showing up unannounced is probably an understatement. It’s the middle of the night, closer to the break of dawn than to a reasonable time to show up anywhere, let alone your ex-fiancée’s house. Caedes is spattered with blood all over, his shirt is drenched in it, and he doesn’t remember when or how he got here, just that it took him a long time to gather the courage to knock.
»I just … didn’t know where else to go.«
+
Cynthia’s eyes are dark with concern, her brow furrowed, but her voice is soft and calm when she speaks. »That’s not your blood I just cleaned off of my doorstep. At least for the most part.« She pauses, probably pondering whether to ask or not, until finally, she does: »Whose is it?«
Caedes swallows hard. He was expecting that question, but it’s unpleasant to answer nonetheless. »André’s.« One corner of his mouth twitches, a bitter half-smile that makes the dried blood on his cheek crack, traces of it raining down like powdery ash. »I think I killed him.« He didn’t have the heart to check, but with vampires, a well-aimed knife between the ribs usually does the trick, and a knife in Cae’s hands is nothing if not well-aimed.
Cynthia stops in her tracks and blinks at him, eyes widened. She sits down next to him on the bathroom floor. When she speaks again, her voice sounds even more gentle than before. »What happened?«
Cae shrugs, even though the answer is perfectly clear in his mind.
He was going to hurt you. He came to bring me to Avien, and maybe I would have let him; maybe I wouldn’t have fought him, I really didn’t want to fight, I didn’t want to kill him. But he was going to go after you next. And no matter how well you can defend yourself, I couldn’t risk that. I couldn't let that happen.
Cae’s lips curve into a sad smile, and when Cynthia cups his cheek in her hand, he leans into her touch and closes his eyes, covers her fingers with his, staining her skin with flakes of dried blood.
+
Enveloped by the familiar scent of rosemary, woody and fresh and aromatic, Caedes remembers the first time he said: You smell like home to me.
It caught Cynthia off guard, coaxed a little noise of surprise from her lips.
He remembers pressing kisses between her shoulders, breathing in deep, letting all of her flood his senses - the lingering fragrance of her soap, her shampoo, the unique scent of her skin, the coppery blood pulsing beneath, all merging into the perfect concoction to make him feel a bit lightheaded, almost drunk; completely at peace and absolutely exhilarated at the same time.
I don’t know what it is, he’d said, and it was true: He could never quite pin down what secret component made for that nearly addictive effect she had - and still has - on him. He just knew he could never get tired of her, could never not want her near him, could never find any combination of words good enough to truly describe what she meant to him. Something about you just makes me feel like I’m finally home again. Wherever the hell that is supposed to be.
It’s the rosemary, she’d answered, countless stifled gasps and breathless kisses later, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb as they lay on disheveled sheets, sweat-glazed skin still sticking to the fabric. Wild rosemary. I use it in my hair care. The plant is quite common where we both grew up.
He’d known she was right when he’d buried his face against her neck, nose in her hair, reveling in bittersweet nostalgia and the temptation of hoping for a future that might never exist. He had stayed like that for a while, drawing the moment out for as long as possible before they had to face a new day in the exciting yet uncertain present.
Now the very same aroma is rising to his nose as Cynthia is working some kind of tincture into his hair; judging by the scent, it’s still the same one she used back then, or at least something very similar. Whatever the hell drove her to think of hair care, of all things, when she just put him in a bathtub to clean a dead man’s blood off of him - it’s working wonders. Just like the soap freed him of the rusty red flakes and the deep red blotches, the soothing scent of rosemary clears the air and chases the metallic remnants of blood away.
Knees pulled up to his chest, he’s sitting in the warm bath water, watching as Cynthia cleans her hands, nodding along as she explains how the rosemary tincture is supposed to work, soaking up the sound of her voice as if it were the only thing keeping him sane; and maybe it is.
»Still smells like home«, he murmurs as Cynthia turns to get the towels, only half aware that he is speaking out loud.
When she turns back towards him, there’s a warm smile playing on her lips, like an unspoken I know.
+
»Thank you. For the bath. For being here. For … everything.«
Even though he wholeheartedly means it, Caedes can’t quite bring himself to look at Cynthia while saying Thank you. It still feels weird not to apologize all the time; to just accept that people treat him with kindness, and thank them for doing so instead. The constant apologies were a deeply ingrained habit that took years - and about a million instances of Stop apologizing, it’s okay, combined with a certain stern look - to unlearn, and sometimes, it still takes a conscious effort to stop himself from falling back into old patterns. Especially in moments like this - whenever someone does something for him that is truly more than he would ever dare to ask for.
Cynthia just smiles and gently takes him by the wrist, leading him through the hallway and into the kitchen. He doesn’t quite remember putting on the fresh clothes, but they feel clean and cozy, and he’s pretty sure they used to be his. Must have been years, if not decades, since he left those at her house. They still fit, though, and the fact that he’s wearing them right now must mean that she kept them around all this time. The thought kind of makes him want to smile, even though he still isn’t quite capable of doing that in a genuine way, still frozen in shock, lost in this terrible emptiness that often haunts him for quite some time after traumatic events.
»Tea?«, Cynthia asks, pointing at a cabinet behind her.
Tea. Just like the old days, when they used to stay up together and drink tea like it could be the solution to all of their problems if they just drank enough of it. Just like back then, when a lot of things were still much easier and the future looked a lot brighter than the present they are living through right now.
»Tea.« Caedes nods, and the corners of his mouth move upwards ever so slightly. It’s almost a real smile, just enough of one to make for a vaguely hopeful feeling. Just enough to remind him why he came here, of all places. »Yes, please. Tea sounds great.«