Author's Note / Content Warning: Hi you glorious bastards! Just wanted to give a fair warning that this entire chapter contains mature, sexually explicit content. If that isn't your thing, you can safely skip this chapter completely. You won't miss any plot, and the main story will pick right back up in the next chapter! Also I would like to mention once again that this story is not meant for children we will explore themes of extreme violence, suicide, mental health etc!
Thanks for reading as always friends!
Also this was my first time writing a scene like this and I can say confidently I will not be doing it again any time soon lol.
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The darkness doesn't bother me.
With the Fearmonger reactivated, my vision shifts to greyscale and everything becomes sharp, clear, hyperfocused. I can see perfectly every detail of the ruined streets, every piece of rubble, every shadow cast by the occasional torch that soldiers have lit throughout Oakhaven.
The torches are actually more annoying than helpful. The bright flames appear as harsh white bursts in my vision, forcing me to look away or squint as I pass them.
I navigate through the ruins with ease, my boots finding purchase on broken stone, my body moving with the enhanced grace that comes from keeping my mark active. Everything is calculated. Every step. Every breath. Every thought.
Fifteen minutes of walking brings me to the opposite side of town from where I'd been sitting alone with my thoughts. This area is slightly less devastated the buildings here took less direct damage from Helix's assault. Some structures are even mostly intact, their walls standing, their roofs still covering rooms that might actually be habitable.
The house I'm looking for is small. Modest. Probably belonged to a merchant or minor official before the Federation occupation. It's one of the better-preserved buildings in this sector, which is probably why Cecilia chose it.
I stop outside the door, my hand resting on the frame. Inside, I can hear movement. Soft footsteps.
The anger flares hot and immediate the knowledge of what I think she is, and what she's done, the manipulation and lies but with the Fearmonger active, I can control it. Push it aside. Focus on what needs to happen.
I need proof. Need to see the branding that all Awakened bear somewhere on their bodies. Need to confirm what I've already concluded through logic and observation.
And then... then I'll decide what to do about it.
I push the door open.
The room is small but intact. A bed stands against one wall, still made with clean linens she clearly came prepared for this relief mission. A desk sits beneath a window, sturdy and functional. A washbasin in the corner. A single candle burning on the desk, casting warm light that appears as cold white in my greyscale vision.
And Cecilia.
She's standing by the window, still in her Inquisitor robes. When she turns and sees me, her hazel eyes appearing as light grey in my altered vision light up with unmistakable joy.
In this moment, watching her face transform at the sight of me, I should feel guilty about what I'm planning. About the deception I'm about to engage in.
But with my emotions dimmed by the Fearmonger, I feel nothing. Just cold calculation. Clinical assessment of the situation.
I smile at her. The expression feels false on my face, but I know it looks genuine. "Nice place you got here."
Cecilia laughs a warm, genuine sound. "It's not much, but it's better than sleeping in rubble." She removes her outer cloak, draping it over the back of the desk chair, revealing the form-fitting leather underneath. "You got here just in time. I literally just got back myself."
I smirk, letting sarcasm bleed into my voice. "Impeccable timing is just another perk of being a perfect specimen like myself."
She laughs again, the sound filling the small room. There's something unguarded about it, something that again almost makes me feel guilty.
Almost.
She moves to the desk, brushing dust from its surface before sitting on the edge. The wood creaks slightly under her weight, and she looks down at it with apprehension, testing its sturdiness.
I can't help but laugh at her expression.
She blushes the color appearing as a darkening of grey tones in my vision. "What's funny?"
"You," I say simply, moving closer.
I cross the small distance between us until I'm standing directly in front of her. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her body. Close enough to see the way her breathing quickens slightly.
I lean down, bringing my face closer to hers. "You said we had to talk later," I whisper. "Told me to come here after nightfall. So here I am."
Cecilia's blush deepens. She seems flustered, her hands gripping the edge of the desk. "I... yes. I did say that."
I look down at her, my mind perfectly analyzing everything. The way she's sitting. The way her body language is open, inviting. The slight parting of her lips. The rapid pulse visible at her throat.
And I feel nothing.
No love. No overwhelming desire to protect her. No magnetic pull.
Just... clinical observation.
She's attractive, certainly. Objectively beautiful. And yes, some part of me separate from my curel analysis probably would still protect her if the situation called for it.
But standing here, looking down at her, I feel no overwhelming emotion. No need. No desperate pull.
It's proof, in a way. Proof that my reactions to her are tied to my emotional state at least.
I sigh and release the Fearmonger.
The world bleeds back into color immediately. The greyscale fades, replaced by warm candlelight that paints everything gold. Her hazel eyes become bright and alive. The blush on her cheeks is pink and genuine.
And my emotions return.
Well somewhat they never fully return they're still somewhat dimmed, a lingering effect of having suppressed them so thoroughly. But enough.
Enough that when I look at Cecilia this time, I can feel my pulse quicken. Can feel sudden self-consciousness wash over me as I realize exactly how close I am to her.
I'm standing between her legs. She's sitting on the desk with me towering over her, our faces inches apart.
And she looks just as aware of our position as I am, though a sly smile is appearing on her face. Like she knows exactly what effect this proximity is having on me.
I groan internally. I can't determine if my reaction is genuine attraction just a young man's normal response to a beautiful woman or if she's using her power on me right now. If this accelerated heartbeat, this warmth in my chest, this sudden desire to close the remaining distance between us is real or manufactured.
I'm about to reactivate the Fearmonger just as a defense mechanism when Cecilia suddenly leans forward and kisses me. Soft at first. Tentative. Just lips brushing lips.
For a moment, I'm too surprised to react. Her lips are soft and warm against mine, her hand coming up to rest against my chest.
Then my brain catches up and I realize: this is what I wanted. This was the plan.
I need to see her body. Need to look for the branding that all Awakened have somewhere on their skin. The mark that would prove beyond any doubt that she's breaking fundamental empire law.
And regardless of the manipulation, regardless of my suspicions... deep down, some part of me wants this. Wants her.
So I kiss her back.
She moans into my mouth small, surprised, needy and the sound goes straight to my blood.
My hands find her waist, fingers digging into the fabric of her leather clothes. She arches toward me, hands sliding up to fist in my hair, tugging just enough to sting. I growl against her lips and she shivers.
I taste salt and smoke and the faint sweetness of whatever fruit she must have eaten earlier. Her tongue brushes mine—hesitant, then bolder—and I chase it, deepening the kiss until we're both breathing raggedly through our noses.
She pulls back just enough to gasp.
"Ayato—"
I don't let her finish.
I kiss her again, hungrier, and she meets me with equal force. Her legs hook around the backs of my thighs, pulling me tighter against her. The desk creaks again louder this time but neither of us cares.
She makes a soft sound half surprise, half pleasure and her hand slides from my chest to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. The kiss deepens, becomes more urgent.
My hands slide up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through the stiff fabric. She makes a small, desperate sound and arches into the touch. I can feel her heartbeat hammering under my palms.
I break the kiss long enough to drag my mouth along her jaw, down the side of her neck. She tilts her head back, offering more skin, and I bite not hard enough to break, just enough to mark. She gasps, fingers tightening in my hair.
"Gods.. yes.." she moans
Her scent is everywhere now. Leather polish from her uniform, the faint jasmine and cinnamon I know to well,and underneath it all the warm, living smell of her skin. It's intoxicating.
I find the clasps of her leather clothes with shaking fingers. They're small, fiddly things; I curse under my breath and she laughs breathless, shaky.
"Here," she whispers, guiding my hands. Together we work the fastenings open. The white-and-gold fabric parts like water.
Underneath she's wearing a thin linen undershirt, sweat-damp and clinging. I can see the dark outline of her nipples through it. My mouth goes dry.
I shove the first piece of leather off her shoulders. It falls to the floor with a soft thump. I unlatch my own cloak letting it fall to the floor behind me.
She reaches for the hem of my own shirt, yanking it up and over my head in one impatient motion. Cool night air hits my skin and I shiver. Her hands are on me immediately palms sliding over my chest, my ribs, mapping all the brands that are on my body that I got from awakening.
"You're shaking," she murmurs against my collarbone.
"Shut up," I mutter, and kiss her again.
This time there's no gentleness left.
I lift her off the desk easy, she's lighter than she looks and she wraps her legs around my waist like she was waiting for it. I carry her the three steps to the bed and drop her onto the thin mattress. It groans under her weight.
She laughs again wild and delighted and pulls me down on top of her.
Our mouths crash together. Teeth click. Tongues slide
Her hands are everywhere scratching down my back, tugging at my belt, fumbling with the laces of my military pants. I'm no better; I shove her undershirt up and over her head, tossing it somewhere into the dark. Her breasts spill free pale in the moonlight, nipples tight and dark and I groan at the sight.
I lower my head and take one into my mouth.
She cries out surprised and her back bows off the bed. I suck harder, tongue flicking over the peak, and she writhes beneath me, fingers knotting in my hair.
"Ayato please"
I switch to the other breast, giving it the same treatment. She's panting now, hips rolling up against mine in helpless little jerks. I can feel how wet she is even through layers of fabric; the heat of her seeps into me.
I slide a hand down her stomach, under the waistband of her trousers. She's soaked. My fingers slip easily through slick folds and she keens high and broken.
"Fuck" she gasps.
I circle her clit with slow, deliberate strokes. She bucks against my hand, chasing the pressure. I add a second finger, curling them inside her, and she clenches hard around me.
Her breathing is ragged, uneven. Little whimpers spill from her lips every time I drag my thumb over that sensitive bundle of nerves.
I kiss my way back up her body stomach, ribs, the underside of one breast until I reach her mouth again. She kisses me desperately, tasting herself on my tongue.
Finally she shove my trousers down just enough and her grip is firm and perfect. She strokes once, twice, and I hiss through my teeth.
I line myself up.
The first slow push inside her is torture.
She's tight and hot and wet and she moans long and low as I sink in inch by inch. I have to stop halfway, breathing hard
"Move," she whispers, nails digging into my back. "Please move."
I pull back almost all the way out then thrust back in.
Hard.
She cries out, legs locking around my waist.
I set a brutal rhythm deep strokes that rock the bedframe against the wall. She meets every thrust, hips snapping up.
I can feel her tightening around me, fluttering, close.
I reach between us, thumb finding her clit again.
She sobs actual tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
"Ayato—I'm—I'm gonna—"
She does.
Her whole body locks up back arched, mouth open in a silent scream. She pulses around me, hard, rhythmic clenches that drag me right to the edge.
We stay like that for long seconds panting, trembling locked together.
Finally I collapse half on top of her, careful not to crush her. She wraps her arms around me, holding tight.
Neither of us speaks for a while.
Eventually she presses a soft kiss to my temple.
"That was…" She trails off, laughs weakly. "Okay. Wow."
I huff against her neck.
"Yeah."
Warmth trickles between her thighs; she doesn't seem to care.
I roll onto my back, pulling her with me so she's draped across my chest. Her heartbeat thunders against my ribs.
For the first time since I walked in here, I let myself really look at her.
Sweat-damp hair clinging to her forehead cheeks flushed and her eyes alight. And I decide that for today I don't want to think about what I came here to confirm.
I just feel her.
The soft weight of her breasts pressed against me. The damp strands of hair sticking to my neck. The way her fingers keep tracing idle circles over my heart.
I should be looking. I should be scanning. That was the entire fucking plan, to get close, get her bare, find the brands proving my suspicions, then to decide what comes next.
But I'm not.
I'm too busy breathing her in. Too busy feeling the way her body fits against mine like it was carved for this exact space.
She lifts her head eventually, resting her chin on my chest so she can look at me.
Her eyes are soft. Vulnerable in a way that makes something in my chest twist.
"You okay?" she asks quietly.
I swallow.
"Yeah."
A small smile curves her lips.
"Liar."
I laugh.
"Pot, kettle."
She laughs soft, tired and leans up to kiss me again. Slow this time. Lazy. No urgency left, just warmth and lingering taste.
When she pulls back she rests her forehead against mine.
"We will be in so much trouble," she whispers.
I close my eyes.
"I know."
She traces the line of my jaw with her fingertip.
"But you're still here."
I don't answer right away. "Oh well what can they do to me? I am the child of light after all" I snort.
She laughs "I see."
Then she presses another kiss to my mouth gentle, and almost reverent.