Expect the unexpected

“You weren’t born here?” Omega questioned, looking back to the village to watch a group of children joyfully running down the sandy trail that led to the lake.

“No, I was not. Parahdee is a refuge planet. It’s the native’s culture to rescue lost souls. They’ve done such a good job, in fact, that the native population is greatly outnumbered by non-native citizens.”

“Fascinating.” Tech mutters, ignoring the twitch in his hand that begged him to document everything onto his datapad just so he could drink in the sight for as long as possible.

Silence fell over everyone again. It wasn’t until a sniffle caught their attention that they looked away and behind. Echo quickly put his helmet back on.

“Are you crying?” Wrecker gasped in disbelief, trying not to laugh.

“No,” Echo miserably attempted to assure. “I just got some sand in my eye.”

Maeve stepped back to rest a hand on his right arm. “It’s a completely normal reaction. It’s said this platform was three inches taller when it was first built. Tears eroded this entrance.”

Her hand gracefully slid from his arm as she began leading everyone to the stone bridge off to the left. Through Echo’s tears he hardly noticed the large palace just a short walk away. The village itself was a sight, and the palace even more grand. Everyone followed loosely. Nobody was in a hurry to leave the outdoors, yet curiosity beckoned them onward.

“It is Parahdeesian culture that visitors do not discuss business matters until well rested and fed,” Maeve glanced over her shoulder to watch as everyone put their helmets back on.

Without needing to break stride, her entourage opened a set of large doors. Inside, people of different shapes and sizes wandered about. Some stray up the stairs, others down halls. Nobody seems rushed.

“Rooms have been prepared for each of you. They are close in proximity to each other.” Maeve paused her well-practiced phrasing to bow her head at a man that approached with a small, wooden box.

The group slowly came to stop in order to witness Maeve’s reach inside, pulling out a key. She held it out to Hunter. Hunter extended, allowing her to drop it into his palm before balling his hand into a fist. She plucked key after key until each of them was given one, kneeling down to Omega on the child’s turn to accept.

“Safety is not a concern, but as you may imagine, many refugees have a hard time adjusting to that sentiment,” Maeve said as she began leading everyone to the grand staircase.

Omega and Wrecker look up to gawk at the giant chandelier that hung over them. Confusion flooded over the rest quickly. They’re staying here? In the palace? And not in some tucked away area, either. Maeve began to lead them around the balcony that overlooked the main floor, then ushered them down a hall.

“Each room has a washroom attached, along with respectable amenities. There is also cooling. The heat and humidity isn’t always pleasant to some from more cold origins.” Maeve hummed as she opened a door to her side.

The door swung open to reveal a generously sized room, completed with a small seating area near a window that overlooked the jungle. A large canopy bed was placed to the right, with intricate stained glass lamps placed on end tables at either side. The room had everything they could need, including a desk and bookcase that was lightly filled with holobooks and a few boxes.

Exhaustion slammed into Hunter like a giant wave from the comfortable sight. It wasn’t until he had to shake it off that he realized he had felt drunk off the entire situation. Perhaps it was all in his head, but he suddenly began to feel anxious.

“I understand your culture requires us to rest before business, would it be rude to ask otherwise?” Hunter says sternly after clearing his throat.

Maeve looked to Hunter’s helmet, studying it in an attempt to read his expression. However, though his

unfaltering stance despite Wrecker’s whine, it was clear he was serious. She relaxed her posture and turned to him fully, smiling softly.

“It would not be disrespectful. But, like I said before, your caller isn’t exactly free at the moment. Do you feel it’s urgent?” Maeve tilted her head as she spoke, folding her hands at her front again.

“Forgive us.” Tech pushes in an attempt to help Hunter. “It’s unusual for us to rest before business-“

“We insist.” Hunter finishes.

“I understand,” Maeve smiled. “Allow me to direct you to each of your rooms first, then I’ll see about getting you that meeting as quickly as possible.”

- -

Hunter paced at the window of his room, glancing at the large bed that begged to be slept on. He paused to stare, wondering if Omega would be able to handle sleeping all alone in such a big room. None of them have ever had their own room before. Cid said this job could take weeks. Could all of them even handle being that separate for that long? Relief quickly overcame him at the sound of Wrecker’s muffled voice behind the door to his room, followed by a pounding. Hurriedly, he made his way to it.

“What is it?”

“You need to check this out!” Wrecker gleefully leapt into the room, ignoring how he had nearly knocked Hunter down.

He turned to face Hunter, revealing an object tucked under one of his arms. “Smell this!”

“I can.” Hunter muttered as he closed the door, staring at the bar of soap Wrecker proudly presented. It smelled like fruit.

“It doesn’t taste as good as it smells!” Wrecker laughed as he dropped the bars on the desk near the door. “I’m taking as much as I can when we get out of here. I can’t believe they’re just letting us use this for free.”

“Is it free?” Hunter cringed.

“That’s what Maeve said. When Echo asked how much we’ll owe she laughed and said in the most serious way- nothing.” Wrecker sat on the chair at the desk, swiveling.

Hunter clenched his jaw, tongue running over his teeth. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“What doesn’t?” Wrecker stopped swiveling, all joy quickly dissolving.

Hunter paused at the sight of his brother. Guilt began to sink in. He shouldn’t have said anything. Not unless he was certain.

“Nothing,” he muttered softly. “Sorry, Wreck. I just don’t think I can relax until we know why we’re here.”

“Awe,” Wrecker gushed as he stood and slapped a firm hand on Hunter’s shoulder, giving him a loving nudge. “Neither can Echo. Tell you what, let’s go find this caller of ours ourselves.”

Hunter slowly nodded. Maeve did say they were allowed to roam about as they pleased, though it would have been more efficient to stay in one place for Maeve to locate them again. He picked up his Helmet and put it on as Wrecker began his exit out the room.

“I’ll check on Omega,” Hunter said after a sigh, giving Wrecker a nod, then parting separate ways down the same hall.

His was only a door away from Omega’s room. Hunter knocked softly, pausing for an answer. A quiet call of her name still didn’t earn a response. The anxiety bubbles through him again. Where was she? Did she wander out and get lost? Was she taken? Separate bedrooms weren’t a good idea. He carefully tested the doorknob. Of course, she hadn’t locked it. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried about that. Hunter leaned inside, whispering out for the child as he scanned the room . His eyes fixated on a bundle of blankets and pillows on the bed.

Stepping into the room, he made his way to the bedside, shoulders lowered at the sight before him. Omega was tangled in the puffy blankets, softly snoring as she held Lula close to her chest. She was fully relaxed, smiling a little even. She must have been absolutely exhausted. After watching for a few moments, he began reaching to move a strand of hair from her face, but his hand quickly returned to his side at the sound of familiar footsteps outside of the room. Hunter made his way back to the door, gently closing it behind him as Echo, Tech, and Wrecker approached with helmets on.

“Let’s go. I’m getting antsy,” Echo muttered, earning an agreeing sigh from Hunter.

“They had holobooks on the history of Parahdee just ready in the room,” Tech said, completely impressed as they began their way back toward the staircase.

“Yeah, and not-so-tasty soap!” Wrecker laughed.

“Soap is never a desirable flavor.” Tech looked to Wrecker, dropping the enthusiasm. “The basic pH level of lye triggers a bitter taste on the tongue-“

“Oh!” Maeve clapped her hands together as she skipped the last step to the top of the staircase, stopping the group of men from going any further. “I was just making my way to you.”

“As were we,” Hunter slowed with crossed arms.

“I would recommend waiting on that meeting,” Maeve begins, pressing her hands together at her chest.

“Listen,” Echo sighs. “We would love more than anything to relax right now, but until we get a slight rundown on why we’re here in the first place it just isn’t going to happen.”

Maeve nodded and pressed her lips together, forming a straight line as she weighed Echo’s words. “Very well, follow me.”

Maeve led the men away from the staircase to a door just down the opposite hall. She paused, holding up a hand.

“Please, allow me to warn her…” she mumbled softly and disappeared behind the door, careful not to reveal what’s inside.

Several minutes passed before the door opened again, wider this time. Maeve held it open and waving a hand. Under his helmet, Hunter’s eyebrow raised. There was something at the corner of Maeve’s lips: a small smirk.

“You may enter.”

Hunter glanced at the others before slowly stepping in. Instantly, his senses were overcome with a heavy perfume of earthy sweetness. He thought it was hot before stepping in that room. He was wrong. His visor began to fog, and he instinctively reached to wipe it so he could have clear vision.

“Look, ladies,” a woman’s voice sings from across the room. “My guests couldn’t wait to meet me.”

At once, the brothers come to a halt, realizing what room they had entered. A woman’s washroom. Just a few feet away, a medium sized pool of steaming water rested. There were a few women sitting at the sides, positioned to hide their bodies under the milky water. Flowers were sprinkled on the surface, moving with the light waves the woman created as they all giggled. Their gaze quickly fixated on the tile floor - shame, embarrassment, and guilt gripping them.

“Sorry-“ Hunter began, face hot.

“Oh, it’s okay. I’m sorry for teasing.” The earlier voice laughed. “You don’t have to be shy, everyone is decent.”

Hesitantly, the four of them searched for the source of the obviously smiling voice. She was right. There was no way to see anything through the water, and the women who weren’t in the water were all wearing robes or towels. A small group of women sat at a large window, sharing puffs from a hookah. Below them, a woman with long golden hair sat in the water, perfectly parallel to the clones. Two robed women brushed the locks of her hair, stopping when she raised a hand and waved gently to signal them to stop.

“May I ask what’s so urgent?” She hummed.

There was a long pause before any of the clones spoke, most of them too distracted at the sight before them. They were grateful for their helmets. Finally, Hunter cleared his throat, but when he still couldn’t find the right words, another giggle from the women surrounding them bounced off the walls.

The blonde woman lightly splashes at the group of girls near her. “Knock it off. Please forgive my friends. It’s not often we’re blessed with men in uniform. I’m going to stand now. I don’t mind if you look.”

Thankful for the warning, Echo averted his gaze down again. It felt like the most respectful action to take. However, the others held their stare. It was rare they got to see a naked woman. And, if one is consenting, it would be foolish to reject. Especially if that woman has the appearance of a goddess. Tastefully, they would argue, they admired the way the water slid over her breasts. When she turned to reveal her backside and stepped out of the hot pool, Wrecker’s knees began to buckle, and if it weren’t for Echo’s stare at everyone's feet so he could gently kick at his ankle, he might have toppled over.

With the help of the two women that were brushing her hair, she slid on a thin white robe. A hair pin was handed to her, and as she slowly approached the men, she wrapped her hair up. Quiet conversation resumed amongst the women, allowing for a more private introduction between the five of them. The closer she got. the more the clones realized the robe wasn’t just thin, but sheer.

“Well, what do you think, boys? I showed you mine, you show me yours?” She smirked up at them then giggled at the beat of silence. “Just the helmets will do for me.”

Hunter's heart began to pound in his chest, and he slowly reached to remove his helmet, tucking it between his arm and his hip. Maybe she wouldn’t notice how red in the face he was, or at least chalk it up to the heat. He glanced at the others as they removed their helmets as well. Wrecker stifled a laugh in reaction to his brothers’ faces. Hunter quickly looked down to the woman, praying she didn’t notice the laugh or think it’s directed at her.

If the woman did notice the snigger, it didn’t seem to bother her. She brought her arms to cover her chest and nibbled at her knuckle with pearly white teeth, eyes glimmering with a mixture of hunger and awe.

“Wow,” she breathed, taking another breath to compose herself. “Now, don’t tell me.”

Her gaze fixated on Hunter. She stepped back to take him in from head to toe. “You’re Hunter,” she trails, beginning to slowly circle him, inspecting every nook and cranny of his armor she possibly could with just her eyes, pausing just inches in front of him.

Hunter’s eyes met hers for the first time. As discreetly as possible he sucked in a sharp breath through his nostrils, holding it when she reached to caress his face. It took every soldier's instinct in him not to melt into her soft touch, and it was impossible not to stare back into her piercing grey eyes. He was shamefully disappointed when their eye contact broke so she could study his face tattoo, goosebumps returning at the feeling of her lightly tracing the shape of it with her dainty fingertip.

“Extraordinary tracking skills,” she listed with a hum as she slowly pulled her hand away from him, unaware of the slight forward lean Hunter uncontrollably made toward her when her attention moved onto Echo.

“Echo,” she purred out, stepping closer to him.

Echo kept his stare at the floor, studying the detail of the tiles beneath them. She smiled warmly, crossing her arms back over her chest as she bent forward and tilted her head to block his view of the intricate mosaic.

“Hi,” she chirped with a smile, eyes meeting his.

Echo couldn’t fight it, lifting his head to follow her eyes as if in a trance. He ignored the fluttering in his stomach and decided to shift his concentration at keeping proper posture. His lips parted at her giggle, taking in a shallow breath.

“You specialize in infiltration and cybernetic data. You weren’t an original member of clone force 99,” she said softly as she reached to gently caress his chin, tilting his head to the side in order to study his cybernetic implants. “Though, I’d say they’re quite lucky to have you now.”

Echo swallowed at the way she gently bit her lower lip, catching a sorrowful glint in her gaze. Normally, a woman looking at this part of him so closely would make him feel insecure, but the way her touch lingered on his chin a moment longer than necessary to fix his tilt strangely comforted him. She took a beat longer to move onto Wrecker than she did from Hunter to Echo.

“And you,” she giggled, placing a hand on Wrecker’s chest plate, giving him a gentle push.

Wrecker swayed back an inch, exaggerating her strength and allowing a small laugh to bubble from his stomach. His uncontrollable grin earned a cheeky crinkle of the woman’s nose. She pointed up at him.

“You’re wrecker,” she sang, wagging her finger at him with an equally uncontrollable smile and laugh, “the muscle, clearly, specializing in...”

She tapped her chin in thought, taking her time to circle him as well. Her free hand snakes under his bicep, giggling when he exaggerates her strength again, creating an illusion that his arm is light as a feather, then allowing gravity to drop his arm.

“Heavy weapons and demolition.” She grinned proudly up at Wrecker.

“That’s me!” He chuckled out, crossing his arms over his chest.

The woman’s giggling faded to a finish when she looked at Tech, eyebrows raising when she found him already seeking out eye contact. She takes a large step to be parallel with him, shivering out the giggles she experienced moments before. Her tongue slightly brushed over her lips to relax her smile, bowing politely.

“Tech,” she greets him.

“Hello,” he answered calmly, unsurprised she was able to guess who he was. It was a simple process of elimination.

“Hi,” she said softly, testing the waters by taking a slight step forward.

Tech shifted, unsure what to do with the sudden closeness, but relaxed quickly. She was nonthreatening enough. He averted his gaze from her eyes, looking forward to the haze formed by the girls sharing the hookah. He swallowed dryly when her face leaned close to his, her minty breath cooling his ear as she examined the details of his goggles. He shuddered when she pulled away, gaze meeting hers again.

“Extraordinarily intelligent, specializing in data analysis, slicing security systems, translation, and technological repairs.” She listed, smiling warmly as she stepped back to view the four of them. There was a short moment of silence as she eyed each of them, then frowned. “One of you is missing.”

“Have we met?” Hunter’s brows stitched together as he questioned.

“I think we would have remembered that,” Wrecker sidebared.

“I’ve done my research,” she folded her hands in front of her. “Forgive me. My name is Rivqah; specializing in political and social sciences.”

A/N: Genuinely wondering what was wrong with me when I first wrote this chapter because, GIRL, FIND YOUR VERB TENSE. Most of these earlier chapter were written in a complete rush because I just needed to get the ideas down and out of my head. I think I got better as I wrote more but don’t trust me lmao

Tag list: @redheadrenaissance @the-jedi-jamboree

Stepping out of the vehicle, Reno took a moment to shake off the discomfort from the weighted stares they were receiving. It wasn’t that they were hostile (at least, not yet), but this was certainly different from what he was accustomed to.

As an officer of the JAKDF, there was a quality of unquestionable authority that the uniform gave, the unspoken knowledge that one was qualified to kill kaiju, and that this was what one would do best, with no opposition.

Roadways were cleared, civilians stowed safely away in shelters, the shattered architecture of the cityscape an open battlefield on which to take down the foe.

He was beginning to see the inherent privilege that came with such a job, one that was often ignored in the face of how dangerous each mission was. Here, there was no such wall of assumed anonymity, and the crowd waiting for them was undeterred in the absence of gas masks rendering one faceless, or the most powerful weapons and tech their suppliers had to offer.

He chanced a glance sideways at his companions.

Kafka looked as ill at ease as he did, a little more transparently so. That didn’t stop him from turning to give Reno a wide grin, and a thumbs-up, even as sweat dampened his hairline.

Smiling slightly in return, Reno followed the others into the cool interior of the hall, where a table and podium had been set up, press conference-style, on the raised stage across one wall.  

This was obviously where they were to be situated, and he adjusted the collar of his pale blue button up shirt as the lights cast their team in a bright glow. 

Blinking once, twice, he allowed his eyes to adjust, scanning the hall carefully as the crowd outside filtered in and took their seats, the hum of voices mingling with the occasional raised clarity of a greeting or laugh.

The front rows consisted mostly of the older residents, given first preference in seating out of deference to their age, or affluence perhaps. There were certainly some well-dressed citizens present.

Behind them, the younger cohort of the townsfolk. Here he could see some familiar sentiments, in the brighter gazes, hissed whispers and blatant pointing, unusual for a formal setting, but considering the fact that the majority of the KIU had been in the papers and all over the internet for the past few months, it was hardly surprising.

Reno didn’t doubt that they might receive some questions entirely unrelated to their investigation.

The group that gradually arrested his attention, though, was located close to the entryway, never moving further in beyond the glass doors. A motley crew they were, of seemingly all ages and occupations, but there seemed to be one man who they gravitated around, muttering close-lipped speculation to him, and to each other.

Even though he didn’t have much experience in such settings, Reno could sniff out the brand of ‘troublemaker’ as well as anyone who cared to observe closely.

Turning his head, he caught Hoshina’s eye.

The Vice-Captain had maintained his signature, inscrutably pleasant smile, and this didn’t falter, even as a flash of guileful awareness passed over his gaze, and he gave Reno a small nod.

So, he had seen it too.

The thought gave Reno a small boost of confidence, and he continued to scan the hall, allowing his glance to pass evenly over the crowd, even as he paid closer attention to the group milling about the entrance.

Superintendent Kitagawa stepped forward to the podium, after giving each of them a brief, firm handshake.

“Greetings to all present. If we’d all take our seats, we can begin today’s proceedings.”

Even though there were empty seats available, the group at the back of the hall remained mutinously standing, arms folded, appearing as a solid front.

Kitagawa ignored them with the air of one accustomed to dealing with such, easing into the agenda of the meeting and introducing each member of the KIU.

Eventually he stood aside for Hoshina, and another round of murmurs went around the hall. Some even sat closer to the edge of their seats to get a better view.

Hoshina’s greeting was even, his voice confident and melodious, the distinctive Kansai accent lending a personable tone as always. Reno did note that behind the easy charm, he made no effort to disguise the steely, military inflection, the clipped edge of each sentence that never failed to straighten the spine of any officer who heard it.

By his voice alone, Hoshina was laying the foundation for their future interactions with civilians; polite, helpful and competent, all while maintaining a firm boundary of professionalism that should only be crossed at their own peril.

Wondering if that would be enough to deter the potential rabble-rousers, Reno brought his attention back to the Vice-Captain’s speech.

“… intentions here are purely for public interest. The KIU is a newly formed unit, as I’m sure you’re all aware, but our officers have more than distinguished themselves in our ongoing fight against kaiju. We’re here to ensure that any potential threat is thoroughly analysed and dealt with. We hope that we have your full co-operation throughout our investigation.”

Kitagawa cleared his throat and stepped forward once more.

“Thank you, Vice-Captain Hoshina. I’ll now open up the floor for any community concerns and questions.”

As expected, it took a while for any in the audience to speak up. Most were discussing amongst each other, slowly gaining the momentum to ask what they needed to.

Hoshina’s clear directive and self-assured style had obviously had the intended effect.

Reno kept his eye trained on the suspect group at the back as the first few hands in the audience began to raise.

The questions that came at first spoke to the heart of the issues troubling the community. One bespectacled man, who had arrived with his wife and young daughter, asked what many had evidently been wondering.

“Vice-Captain, just how worried should we be? Since the two incidents six months ago, there hasn’t been anything else. Is it possible that whatever has done this has left the area?”

“It’s entirely possible. The fact remains that the murders occurred in this area, and no clear answer has been reached. We’ll continue our operations here until that time.”

“If you do clear the town, does this mean that the mine might re-open?”

“That can only be established by Hasegawa Inc. It is not within the rights of the JAKDF or the KIU to speak on their behalf. I can say, however, that no further mining operations can occur as long as this investigation is ongoing.”

Glancing around, Reno took a moment to marvel at how easily and innocuously Hoshina had laid his trap.

On the one hand, all citizens should want an end to the investigation to restore peace and to continue living in the ideal of safety. It also would cast any who impeded the investigation in a poor light, even if they claimed to want an end to the mining operation.

It would, more importantly, give Hoshina the grounds to investigate those individuals should he deem them suspicious enough.

Finally, after a round of queries that Hoshina fielded with ease, one echoed over from the back of the hall.

“Isn’t Hasegawa Inc. affiliated with Izumo Tech?”

Heads turned, whispers relayed in hushed anonymity.

Hoshina nodded amiably.

“That’s true.”

The speaker stepped forward from the crowd, obviously unafraid of exposing himself.

Reno made out an elderly man, features wizened by the outdoors, face half-shaded by a flat cap. The greying hair at his temples was neatly trimmed, as was the goatee that adorned his chin. His cheeks were gaunt, eyes red-rimmed and focused on them with a laser-like stare.

“And isn’t Izumo Tech the main supplier of the JAKDF?”

Again, Hoshina tipped his chin in acknowledgement.

“Of course.”

“So, it’d be fair to say that you’re here to further your own interests, no? The faster the mines are cleared, the more materials Izumo Tech gets hold of to make you those fancy suits, right?”

More voices swept the hall, and this time, some were raised in protest.

“For shame!”

“Shut up, Usano! We’ve had enough of you!”

“The suits that keep us safe, you moron!”

Usano sneered in return.

“Brainwashed, the lot of you. You know what kills a town like this faster than a kaiju? Pollution of the water sources. That’s all those mines are good for. And now we’re supposed to sit back and watch while these posers march in, waving their big guns around, intimidating us into silence? Well, I won’t be intimidated.”

Even as Reno felt his hackles raise at the belligerent attitude of the man, Hoshina lifted a hand, quelling the tumult that Usano had started.

He spoke into the silence, still pleasantly measured.

“Those’re all valid concerns. Really, they are. But I’m gonna have to correct you on one point.”

He raised a cheerful finger of admonishment, one all his officers had learned to fear above any other signal.

“There’s not much that can kill faster than a kaiju. Unless we’re talkin’ a matter of seconds here. And as for our fancy suits, they won’t save, or bring back the officers who have died in the line o’ duty.”

The reminder was stark, cutting through the hall like one of Hoshina’s blades, but he didn’t stop there.

“My intention is not to compare one struggle to another. I’m simply emphasizing that the danger to your town, and the people that live here, is very real if kaiju presence is involved. Our team would like to eliminate that possibility, along with the kaiju, and then move on to where the public requires our services next.”

He tilted his head, and to anyone sitting in the audience, the implicit statement was clear. As personable as Hoshina was, he was not the kind of leader to back down from a challenge, nor would he be cowed from performing his duty by public disfavour or bureaucracy.

More murmuring came from the back of the hall, and Reno watched carefully as the man named Usano took a step back into the ranks of his own unofficial ‘resistance’.

Hoshina’s words had, once again, laid out a course of action that was not unreasonable to the ears of anyone listening objectively. As all such meetings were matters of public record, Usano and his ilk might only cast themselves in an unfavourable light if they pursued such a protest further.

As Superintendant Kitagawa wrapped up the meeting with clear relief writ on his features, it was evident to Reno that their problems were far from over.

The fact that Usano had allowed for a tactical retreat from a confrontation only meant that his group might interfere with the investigation on other fronts later.

Reno turned to Hoshina, who had stepped back from the podium. Meeting the Vice-Captain’s gaze, he experienced a moment of clarity in terms of the weight that his role as ‘community liaison’ carried.

He’d have to be the one to keep an eye on things here in town, talk to the citizens, walk among them, and keep a finger on the pulse of events. Without that kind of presence, the investigation might meet unnecessary obstacles which might slow everyone down and lose them valuable time.

To a JAKDF officer, whether in the field, or in a new form of unit like this one, time was always of the essence.   

Straightening, you eased the tension from your back, eyeing the cold cup of coffee at your elbow with distaste.

Time to make a fresh one, but not before –

“Anythin’ new come in?”

The door to the lab swung open and Hoshina strolled in, looking as if he’d just attended a picnic, rather than a tense public hearing.

Granted, one did not don military formal wear to relax on a blanket outdoors, and you couldn’t help but admire the way the tailored suit sat on his trim form. Unlike standard uniforms, the gilt badges and epaulettes indicating his position as Vice-Captain looked singularly impressive.

In the hope that you hadn’t been staring too long and hard, you cleared your throat.

“Ichikawa and Furuhashi’s medical reports are in, but … how did everything go over there?”

He shrugged, a small smile in place, as always.

“As good as we could have expected, I think. Most folks ‘round here are just worried about the risk of kaiju activity, but there’s some who might try to put a spanner in the works, if you catch my drift.”

Frowning, you gestured at the door leading to the outer rooms.

“I’m sure they know our base of operations by now. Should we be worried?”

He grinned and stepped forward, one hand dropping with easy familiarity to the top of your head.

“Now don’t you fret about that. One of us’ll always be around to make sure you’re safe.”

“Sir! That’s not what I – “

Embarrassment flooded you as Hoshina doubled over, his laughter clear and ringing.

“Oh man, I gotta stop by the lab more often.”

“Vice-Captain.”

“Fine, fine. What’s in those reports?”

Huffing out a put-upon sigh, you swivelled to face the screen of your laptop, pulling up the two medical summaries that you’d spent the better part of the morning analysing.

“So, from what I see here, Number Nine’s attacks were pretty extreme. It condensed energy in short, high-impact bursts, mimicking the firing of bullets from a rifle. But here is where the issue is.”

You traced out the pathway of the wounds that had laced the torsos of the two young officers, imaged clearly on the attached scans. Hoshina leaned over your shoulder, eyes trained on the screen.

“Hmm. Looks like clean exits on all of ‘em.”

“That’s because Nine’s energy attacks copied a standard firearm in the truest sense. Unlike the effect of some our own special rounds, it didn’t cause explosive force and outward trauma.”

“Like the head wounds on our victims?”

“Exactly. I looked it up further, and most kaiju that are able to emit energy attacks like this rely on high frequency vibration of particles within specialised chambers in their bodies. They create a massive amount of energy all at once. It’s something that Nine honed down to a precise form. Based on that mechanism, though, something like this wouldn’t be able to create the kind of wounds found on the victims. If it is a kaiju, it’s evolved some other way to kill.”

“And the additional knife marks?”

“Look, this is just a hypothesis sir, but I think that whoever took a knife to the victims was trying to conceal something. Possibly, the way they actually died.”

“In other words, covering up the method the kaiju might have used to kill them?”   

“Right. Implying that – “

“A human agent found victims of kaiju attacks, and removed vital evidence from the bodies.”

You glanced up briefly, noting the grim set of his jaw.

For an officer like Hoshina, this must have been a first. The idea that one of the people he’d fought so hard to protect could be actively participating in a case like this, as a perpetrator no less, must have been a hard pill to swallow.

Tentatively, you placed a hand on his sleeve.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this, sir. Don’t worry.”

He looked down at you, and even as difficult as he was to read at most times, there was an element of surprise in his expression, one that morphed to something softer before he stepped back, gently placing distance between you once more.

“Of course we will. Now, don’t let me keep you from your duties.”

You had to wonder at the mental fortitude it took to occupy a position like his. Hoshina was clearly not accustomed to receiving reassurance from someone else, especially a subordinate.

Nodding, you shot him an encouraging smile.

“On it.”

In the doorway, he paused, fingers tapping out a steady rhythm on the metal frame. You watched him attentively.

“Vice-Captain?”

He turned, brow furrowed.

“Hey, can you check somethin’ for me? It’s just … what that guy in the town hall meeting said. It’s been buggin’ me ever since I heard it. Can you do an analysis of water quality from sources around the town centre? Maybe from the areas surrounding the original mining operation?”

Well, this was an odd request.

Obviously, the earlier meeting had set him on some scent.

“Of course. I’ll identify sites to sample and head out there myself.”

“Take Kafka with you. You’re not goin’ anywhere alone.”

This time, there was no air of amusement surrounding his statement.

If it hadn’t been evident before, it certainly was now. Hoshina took the safety of his team, and by extension, you, with a great deal of gravity.

Haruichi settled into the comfortable chair at his station, taking a sip of the mineral water Reno had brought him earlier. Arms outstretched, he cracked his knuckles, taking some satisfaction from the sound.

His father had always found the habit distasteful. He’d often reminded Haruichi that hard work didn’t have to be announced by pointless gestures.

Since joining the JAKDF, Haruichi had been engaging in such small acts of rebellion more often. Meaningless as they were, they brought him comfort, a reminder of the purpose he’d constructed for himself away from the influence of his family.

Since Kafka had headed out with their new analyst to help collect samples, he’d taken on the task of contacting the former residents of the compound himself.

Accessing one of his saved contacts, he turned the speaker up to maximum volume and placed the phone beside him, using his own high-priority login to access Izumo Tech’s employee database.

“Sir?”

The voice that answered was a familiar one, bringing a smile to his face.

Sakuchi Endo had been one of the most efficient project managers in weapons development at Izumo Tech. Haruichi’s father had seen fit to appoint him as a mentor of sorts for a few years, in order to teach him the rudiments of the sector he’d someday hoped to hand over.   

“No need for the formalities, Endo.”

“Well, I – it’s nice to hear from you. It’s been a while.”

“No need to sound so surprised.”

“You haven’t called in – “

“Seven months. I know.”

The silence on the other end threatened to grow heavy, and Haruichi sighed.

“Look, you know this new unit I’m part of?”

“The KIU?”

Endo’s voice carried an air of pride, in spite of it all.

“Yeah. So, we’re working a case that involves Hasegawa Inc. I’m pulling up the personnel files right now, but I need specific details of the site. Who was allocated housing and which homes they occupied according to the site plan.”

Haruichi could hear the faint sound of Endo’s fingers on the keyboard.

“Hmm. Can do. Is this about that kaiju case from a few months back?”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause.

“Does he know? That you’re working on this case, I mean?”

“Dad? Nope. He might figure it out sooner or later.”

 “Oh, he will.”

Huffing out a short laugh, Haruichi leaned back in his seat.

“Has that ever stopped you from helping a guy out?”

“It hasn’t before, and it won’t now. I’m too valuable, and he knows it. Anyway, I’ll have the files sent over in a few hours.”

“Thanks. Owe you one.”

“And Haruichi?”

“Hmm?”

“How is it over there? They treating you well?”

No doubt, this was the fear that most from his former life had harboured when he’d chosen to join the force. It was dangerous work, and gruelling, a far cry from the privilege and power that had been promised to him if he’d followed his father’s wishes.

Eyeing the half-empty water bottle on the desk which Reno had absently placed there for him earlier, the haphazard stickers that Kafka had adorned the files with, the formal coat draped neatly over the back of a chair while Hoshina hummed a light tune somewhere nearby, Haruichi grinned.

“Better than ever.”  

Hunter took over, laying it out in his steady, matter-of-fact way: a heavily guarded resort on Corellia, a contact who only worked with “registered guests,” the cover being a couple in a hotel suite.

“So, will you do it?” Echo asked, leaning on the bar.

“No,” you said instantly with a scoff. “Just because I know him doesn’t mean I want to spend an entire mission holding hands and pretending we’re madly in love. And did you even ask him if he’s okay with this?”

“Oh, he already agreed,” Wrecker said with a big grin.

Your head whipped toward Crosshair. “You what?”

He shrugged one shoulder, unbothered. “And hey,” Wrecker then added, “he cleans up real good.”

“Not the point,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face.

“It’s good money,” Hunter reminded you, knowing exactly how to push.

You groaned, glaring at each of them in turn. “Fine. But if this blows up in our faces, I’m blaming all of you.”

“Atta girl,” Wrecker said, giving you a pat on the back that nearly sent you into the bar.

The others drifted off to start planning, leaving you and Crosshair alone. He finally pushed off the bar, sauntering past you as he pulled the toothpick from his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” he drawled, his voice low and mocking, “I’ll be a good husband for you.”

You opened your mouth to shoot back, but he’d already walked away.

This was going to be interesting.

When the Marauder settled down in the landing bay at the location, you and Crosshair stood side by side at the open hatch, bags in hand, both wearing expressions that could curdle milk.

“Maker,” Wrecker said from behind you, grinning in amusement, “You two’ve got faces like a slapped arse.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response as Crosshair just gave him a long, flat look that said Wrecker was lucky they were on a timetable.

The hatch closed behind them and the ship began to lift away, the sound of its engines fading as the Marauder disappeared into the hazy Corellian skyline.

You let out a quiet huff, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Well,” you muttered, “guess we’re doing this.”

Without waiting for him, you started up the paved path toward the resort. At least the place was nice. More than nice, actually.

The white stone gleamed in the sun, balconies lined with planters spilling over with flowers in deep reds and golds. There was even an elaborate fountain glittered in the courtyard. It was the kind of place you could almost enjoy if you weren’t here to play pretend.

You were halfway up the front steps when Crosshair’s voice stopped you.

“Wait.”

You turned just enough to give him a questioning look. “What?”

His brown eyes scanned the building like he was sighting a target. “You remember the plan?”

You rolled your eyes and resumed walking. “Yes. Do you?”

“Just making sure.” He replied, his mouth twitching in slight annoyance.

The two of you were… sort of friends. He was quiet, moody, and impossible to read, but you’d learned to tolerate him. In his own prickly way, he seemed to tolerate you too.

Crosshair fell into step beside you, lowering his voice as you reached the ornate glass doors. “We’re here to meet Sabaz Trill. Dinner with him tonight, part of some couples’ mixer the resort is hosting. You smile, you nod, you make it look like we belong here.”

“And tomorrow?” you prompted as he maps out the plan again just for reassurance.

“That’s when we get the intel on the spice shipment,” he finished. “Clean, simple.”

You gave him a side glance. “With us? There’s always drama.”

He snorted faintly but didn’t argue. You reached for the buzzer beside the grand glass doors when Crosshair’s hand landed lightly on your upper arm.

“Wait.”

You froze mid-reach and turned your head toward him, irritation slipping into your voice. “What now? The sooner we do this, the sooner it’s over.”

His eyes flicked past you toward the courtyard. “We need to act like a couple,” he murmured, his tone low enough not to carry.

You frowned but then followed his gaze. Right. All around you, other guests strolled hand-in-hand or with arms linked, smiling like they were in a holonet romance. Every one of them screamed we’re in love and on vacation. You and Crosshair on the other hand…

You bit your lip and nodded. “Right. Okay. Uh…”

The pause dragged, the two of you standing stiff as statues. You could probably fake coupledom with someone like Wrecker which would probably be more easy and natural. But Crosshair? Tall, quiet, and perpetually unimpressed? It felt like trying to warm up to a wall.

“Should we hold hands?” he asked finally, rubbing the back of his neck and looking very uncomfortable.

You hesitated. “Uh… no.”

His gaze dropped, not offended exactly, but definitely unreadable.

Guilt gnaws you, so you quickly held out your travel bag instead. “You could carry my bag for me, though?” Your smile was a little sheepish, a silent peace offering.

One dark brow arched at you, but then his mouth curved into the faintest smirk. “Fine.”

He took the strap from your shoulder in one smooth motion, slinging it over his own like it weighed nothing. Somehow, that small shift of just him holding your belongings made the whole act feel just a little more real.

“Better?” he asked, the corner of his mouth still twitching upward.

“Better,” you admitted, trying not to overthink why his smirk made your stomach swirl.

You both walked up to the reception desk, where a young, overly-joyous man practically beamed at you like the sun itself had possessed his face.

You tried to match his enthusiasm with a polite smile. Crosshair, of course, did not. His expression screamed I hate every second of this before the poor man had even spoken.

“Hello, and welcome to Under the Hearts Hotel! How can I help you?” the receptionist chimed.

“Hi,” you begin, doing your best impression of a cheerful tourist. “We have a room and meal booked for tonight?”

“Perfect! What name is it under?”

You froze. Right. The names. No one had told you what cover identities you were supposed to use.

For a heartbeat too long, your brain went completely blank. Then, mercifully, Crosshair leaned in ever so slightly: “Eres.”

You let out the tiniest breath of relief, glancing at him with a quick, grateful nod. He didn’t acknowledge it, eyes fixed on the desk clerk like he was ready to shoot the man for smiling too much.

The receptionist’s fingers tapped away at the monitor, his grin never faltering. Honestly, you were starting to wonder if it was painted on. Then he looked back up, eyes positively sparkling.

“Ah yes, here we are! The honeymoon suite — booked and ready for you! Rose petals on the bed and champagne on ice.”

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

You turned slowly to Crosshair, who looked equally frozen. Neither of you had been prepared for that particular detail.

The receptionist chuckled lightly at your strained expressions. “Oh dear, trouble in paradise already?”

Crosshair’s brow furrowed instantly. “Is that any of your business?”

“Cross!” you hissed under your breath, snapping out of your horror long enough to act. Quickly, you slid your arm through his and plastered on a sweet smile, tightening your grip on him — not a reassurance, but a don’t you dare warning.

“Sorry about him,” you said brightly, practically grinding your teeth through the smile. “We’ve… well, we’ve been traveling a long way to get here. Just need to put our feet up for a bit. Don’t we, my love?”

Your grip on his arm tightened enough to make the point.

Crosshair closed his eyes, jaw tight, then forced the stiffest excuse for a smile you’d ever seen. “Yes. Sorry. Long day.”

“Of course, of course,” the receptionist chirped, undeterred. He slid the room fob across the counter, still smiling that terrifyingly wide grin. “No worries at all. Our jacuzzi baths will wash that stress away in no time!”

You snatched up the fob like it was a lifeline. “Wonderful, thank you,” you utter quickly, already tugging Crosshair by the arm toward the lifts before he could open his mouth again.

Once you were safely out of earshot, you released him with an annoyed huff, spinning to face him. “So much for acting like a couple, Cross.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, unimpressed. “What? He asked, I answered.”

You threw your hands up at his lack of care. “Fantastic. Just fantastic. At this rate, they’ll kick us out before we even make it to dinner. Great job, husband.”

He smirked then, sharp and smug, clearly enjoying himself now that you were wound up. “Relax, sweetheart. Nobody’s buying the ‘happy couple’ act if you keep hissing at me like that.”

“Oh, don’t you start—” you groaned, stomping into the lift as soon as the doors slid open.

It’s not long until you get to the suite and as the key fob beeped and the door slid open with a smooth hiss, you both stepped inside and instantly froze.

The room looked like something straight out of a holovid romance: soft golden lighting, a massive circular bed in the center draped with pristine white sheets, rose petals scattered across the duvet, and a bucket of champagne on ice by the bedside table.

You blinked once. Twice. “...kriff,” you muttered under your breath.

Crosshair didn’t say anything, but you felt the shift beside you. His usual scowl faltered into something halfway between disbelief and annoyance. He let out the faintest exhale, almost like a laugh, before muttering dryly: “Subtle.”

Your eyes landed on the bed again, and your brain screeched to a halt. One bed. Of course it was one bed. It was the honeymoon suite. But at least there was a loveseat just at the end of it.

You didn’t point it out. Neither did he. The both of you just stood there, staring at the sheer lavishness of it all, like maybe if you ignored the obvious, it’d disappear.

You tugged at the collar of your shirt, suddenly aware of how warm the room felt. Or maybe that was just you. The whole setup—the petals, the champagne, the bed that looked entirely too inviting—was making your skin tinge in the worst possible way. Heat crawled up your neck, and you quickly turned toward the bathroom.

“Maybe I’ll, uh… check out the shower,” you said quickly, voice a little higher than intended. “Y’know. Before the dinner.”

Crosshair quirked an eyebrow at you, as if he could hear the nerves bleeding through your tone. He glanced toward the large jacuzzi tub visible just through the bathroom’s frosted glass door and gave a faint snort.

“Not good enough for the roses and bubbles?”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “I’m thinking cold shower.”

The shower hissed to life, steam curling around the refresher stall as you stepped in. The hot water poured down your shoulders, washing away the travel grime and some of your stress. Eyes closed, you let out a soft sigh and tilted your head back.

But as the room filled with steam, another thought nudged its way in, uninvited. You hadn’t locked the door. Crosshair could come in at any moment. And for some reason… the idea didn’t repulse you.

It intrigued you.

Your pulse spiked at the thought of him stepping through the fog, his sharp eyes narrowing as they trailed over you, water dripping down your skin, steam sticking hair to your face. Would he hesitate? Or would he… join you?

You caught yourself sucking in a breath and immediately bow your head under the spray. “Get a grip,” you hissed at yourself, flicking water from your lashes. Maker above, what was wrong with you? Crosshair wasn’t someone you ever saw in that light. He was moody, sarcastic, aloof. Hardly your first thought for a lover. And yet… now, in this ridiculous hotel room, with only one bed and all the pretending you’d have to do…

No. Stop.

With a sharp twist, you turned the dial colder. The shock of icy water stung your skin, snapping you out of the fantasy as you scrubbed your face. By the time you shut the refresher off, the steamy images were shoved firmly to the back of your mind.

You dried quickly, wrapping yourself in one of the plush white robes—ridiculously soft, of course, because this was that kind of place—and wrung a towel through your damp hair.

When you stepped back into the room, Crosshair was leaning against the balcony railing. His posture was casual, but his eyes were distant, scanning the horizon like he always did. Always watching. Always wary.

“Like the view?” you asked, attempting something lighthearted as you rubbed at your hair.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he turned his head toward you and stilled.

Not long. Barely a heartbeat. But you caught it: the way his gaze flicked over you in that robe, the way his jaw tensed. It was gone almost immediately, his expression flattening back into its usual disinterest.

“It’s alright,” he muttered, eyes snapping back to the balcony. His voice was just a touch lower, rougher. “We’ll be safe here tonight.”

“I should hope so, if the client booked us,” you chuckled, padding over to the bed and perching on the edge. The mattress dipped under you, petals shifting with a faint rustle. It was ridiculously comfortable.

You tilted your head at him. “But I bet you brought your sniper anyway. Didn’t you?”

Crosshair’s lips twitched at the corner smugly as he moved back inside. Without a word, he crouched by his pack and unzipped it, pulling out the long, gleaming rifle like it was an extension of himself.

You let out a short laugh. “Figures. Romantic suite, rose petals, champagne… and you’re cuddling your blaster.”

He glanced up at you with that smirk which again made your stomach swirl. “At least it doesn’t snore.”

You scoffed, tossing the towel at him. He caught it one-handed, but instead of throwing it back, he just set it aside, unbothered. Somehow, that smug little win of his only made your chest feel hotter.

Crosshair disappeared into the refresher with a muttered, “Don’t touch my rifle,” which gave you just enough time to get yourself sorted.

The dress slipped smoothly over your skin, the fabric hugging in all the right places without being too much. Knee-length, off the shoulder—simple, elegant, and just enough to look like you belonged in a place like this. You dried your hair, styled it with a little extra care (because Maker forbid you look out of place next to a table of polished couples), and added a touch of makeup for good measure.

You’d barely finished adjusting the hem of your dress when Crosshair reappeared. His damp silver hair had been combed back neatly, and he’d traded his blacks for a crisp white shirt and fitted black slacks. And for a second, you forgot yourself.

He stood at the mirror, tugging at his collar and you just couldn’t stop your gaze from dragging over him. Simple, understated, but undeniably… handsome. You swallowed the thought down and busied yourself with your earrings, pretending you weren’t staring.

Neither of you said much as you left the suite. The quiet stretched between you as you moved through the elegant halls; both of you so out of place with the expensive décor. Crosshair walked with his hands tucked behind his back, eyes flicking here and there, ever alert.

Then, almost without thinking, your arm slipped through his. The movement was instinctive and you found yourself leaning closer, your shoulder brushing against his as if it had always been that way. He stiffened for a moment, but he didn’t pull away.

By the time you reached the dining hall, it was already in motion. A long, polished table stretched across the room, covered in glittering glassware and plates that looked far too pristine to ever eat from. Couples mingled and chatted with easy smiles. You had expected Sabaz Trill. You hadn’t expected all of this.

Crosshair leaned down, his voice low in your ear. “Didn’t realise we’d be dining with the whole kriffing hotel tonight.”

You gave his arm the faintest squeeze. “Smile and nod. Let me do the talking.”

He shot you a look, dry as bone. “Wasn’t planning on anything else.”

Together, you approached the table, sliding into your seats that were the only ones available. The schmoozing began almost instantly. Other couples introduce themselves, complimenting your dress and asking about “your story.” You smiled, laughed, told little fabrications as if you’d been rehearsing them for years. Crosshair played his part the only way he knew how: quiet nods, forced polite smiles. If you're lucky, he will push out the occasional one-word reply.

Then Sabaz Trill himself turned his gaze on you.

“Ah, there she is,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying over the chatter. “My dear, you look radiant tonight.”

Before you could reply, he lifted a bottle and poured wine into your glass—only yours.

The crimson liquid swirled in the crystal, catching the candlelight as you blinked at him, a polite smile plastered onto your face. Crosshair’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly on his napkin, but his expression didn’t change.

You raised the glass lightly in thanks, meeting Sabaz’s eyes with the same warmth you’d given everyone else. “You’re too kind. I should be careful though,” you added with a playful lilt. “A few more of these, and I might embarrass myself in front of the table.”

The other couples chuckled politely. Sabaz didn’t. He only smirked, his gaze lingering on you just a beat too long before shifting back to his plate.

Crosshair’s jaw ticked. You felt it more than saw it.

You smiled at Crosshair, soft and sweet and the way a woman in love ought to. But his eyes were elsewhere, distant. It made your chest pinch a little.

Slipping your hand beneath the table, you let your fingers brush his knee before resting there with the lightest pressure. It startled him just slightly, meeting your gaze.

“Are you okay, my stars?” you murmured.

The words left your lips in the same careful tone you’d used all night but this time, it didn’t sound like part of the act. Not to him, anyway. For the briefest moment, his chest tightened.

“Fine,” he answered steadily. “Just taking it in.”

You didn’t believe him, not entirely, but you didn’t press. Before you could, the couple seated across from you smiled warmly, drawing you into conversation.

“So,” the woman leaned forward, “How did you two meet?”

You let out a little laugh, your hand still ghosting Crosshair’s knee as you launched into the story you’d rehearsed.

“Oh, it’s hardly romantic,” you said, feigning modesty. “We met when I was visiting Coruscant for work. I was lost and asked him for directions. He was polite, but very blunt. I thought he was the rudest man I’d ever met.”

The table chuckled, and you reached for Crosshair’s hand on the table, lacing your fingers through his.

“But,” you continued, glancing at him with that same staged fondness, “I ran into him again two days later at a café. He bought me a caf to make up for being so… well, him. And we’ve been together ever since.”

The woman sighed, clearly enamoured. “That’s wonderful. Fate has a way of working, doesn’t it?”

Her husband, however, leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “And have you given him any children yet?”

The question caught you so off guard you awkwardly laughed aloud, shaking your head quickly. “No… not yet. We only recently got married.”

“Well,” the man chuckled, lifting his glass, “give it time, eh? And I assume you don’t have to work, not with a husband like that. He looks like the type who brings home the credits while you get to lounge about. Lucky thing.”

Your jaw ticked, but you forced your expression into one of pleasant neutrality. Beside you, Crosshair set down his knife with deliberate care.

“I don’t know about luck,” he begins, his voice calm but carrying an edge sharp enough to slice the air. “She does more than her share. I’d be nowhere without her.”

The man faltered, clearly not expecting such a clean rebuttal. Crosshair didn’t flinch or waver, just leaned back with the ghost of a smirk tugging his lips.

“I’d suggest you don’t underestimate her,” he added smoothly, raising his fork to his mouth. “Wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself.”

The table chuckled again, but this time the sound was thinner, laced with unease. You, meanwhile, found yourself fighting a different reaction entirely. The sudden, overwhelming urge to drag him back upstairs and–

Okay, stop.

Leaning in, close enough that your lips just barely brushed the shell of his ear, you whispered, “Thank you for that.”

Crosshair didn’t so much as twitch, though you felt the faintest tilt of his head toward you, like he was subtly indulging the warmth of your breath. “No need. I’m just saying the truth.”

Your chest gave an odd little pull at that, but you covered it with another soft smile as you sat back, reaching for your knife and fork to focus on the meal placed before you. You ate in silence for a few minutes, letting the rich flavours distract you, until Sabaz’s voice broke through the murmur of the table.

He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we can speak of… private matters. No need for heavy words tonight. But I trust you understand what I mean.”

His words were subtle enough not to draw suspicion, but clear enough for you to understand. You inclined your head smoothly, lifting the delicate glass of wine to your lips.

“Of course,” you replied. “Tomorrow.”

Sabaz’s eyes glinted as he watched you drink. “And? How does it taste?”

You couldn’t hide the small hum of approval as the flavour lingered on your tongue. “It’s… honestly the nicest wine I’ve ever had.”

His mouth curved, amused. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Turning, you nudged your glass toward Crosshair. “Want some?”

He shook his head without hesitation. “Not my thing.”

Sabaz’s chuckle was low, a little too warm. “A shame. It suits her, don’t you think? Expensive tastes…”

You thought nothing of it, brushing off the remark as idle banter, but Crosshair’s jaw twitched almost imperceptibly. Sabaz was clearly referring to himself and as the meal stretched on,

Sabaz’s comments came in trickles. Harmless, on the surface. But Crosshair’s eyes tracked every word and every look.

Finally, after one particularly lingering comment about how “gorgeous” you looked in the candlelight, Crosshair snapped.

“Tell me,” he drawled, tone calm but carrying steel. “Do you flirt with all the women who are married, or just mine?”

The words silenced the table around you. You turned wide-eyed at him, stunned, your knife clinking faintly against your plate.

Sabaz chuckled, leaning back with the relaxed confidence of a man who already knew more than he should. “Married, are you? Mmm. Perhaps you’d give her more attention.”

Your eyes drop to your half-eaten grub, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. You can’t have tonight screw up over some… some… jealousy? Was he?

Crosshair, however, didn’t flinch at his words. He leaned back as well, long fingers drumming idly against the table, his gaze cutting through the man opposite him.

“She has all the attention she needs,” he responds coolly, voice like a blade sliding free of its sheath. “From me.”

The way he said it was utterly possessive and you can’t help but feel the heat curling low in your stomach.

Sabaz only chuckled again, raising his glass in mock salute before turning the conversation back to lighter topics. But you could feel it—the tension buzzing under your skin.

You left the dining hall together a little later on, the heavy atmosphere of the meal clinging like smoke. Another couple joined you in the lift, chatty and smiling, and you forced yourself to match their tone, your hand looped neatly through Crosshair’s arm. But the second the lift doors slid shut after the couple exited on their floor, your hand dropped from his arm like it burned.

The silence stretched for a beat before you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

Crosshair didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the lift’s closed doors. His voice was calm, as if nothing had happened. “What’s the issue? We’re still meeting him tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you huffed, sharp and low. “Thanks to me. Because I had to apologise to him after the meal for the way you acted.”

Crosshair’s eyes flicked to you then, narrow and unimpressed. “The way I acted? You didn’t notice him? The way he kept looking at you? Talking to you?” His lip curled faintly. “I didn’t like it.”

Your jaw tightened, heat pricking the back of your neck. “You didn’t like it? We’re not actually married, Crosshair.”

The silence that followed was thick, humming with all the unsaid things between you. Crosshair’s expression barely shifted, but his shoulders set, rigid under the crisp fabric of his shirt.

The lift pinged. Doors opened. Neither of you moved at first, locked in that silence. Then you both stepped out, footsteps echoing too loud against the plush carpet of the corridor.

When you got back to the suite, you didn’t even glance his way as you made a beeline for your travel bag, pulling out the little bundle of satin nightwear you’d tucked away earlier. Without a word, you slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind you with a soft click.

You perched on the edge of the jacuzzi bath, hands braced on your knees, and just breathed. Maker, tonight has been… a mess.

Crosshair had been jealous, there was no other word for it.

And yet… stars above, you’d never found him more attractive than when he’d calmly cut down that other man’s sleazy sexist little jabs at dinner.

It made your thoughts twist in knots. Jealous Crosshair was frustrating. Protective Crosshair was devastatingly sexy.

You rolled your eyes at yourself, muttering something under your breath that this whole place felt like a huge aphrodisiac. Soon you stripped out of the dress, letting it pool on the tiled floor. The satin nightwear slipped over your skin with a soft sigh, the fabric clinging in all the right places. The colour brought out the warmth in your skin, and though you weren’t dressing for anyone’s eyes but your own, you couldn’t help but imagine what Crosshair might think if he saw—

You stopped that train of thought before it could wind you up further.

A splash of cold water on your face dulled the day’s makeup, you tied your hair up, loosening the strands around your face, and studied your reflection for only a heartbeat before flicking the light off and stepping back into the suite.

Crosshair was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, still fully dressed and deep in thought.

“Do you want some caf?” you asked quietly after a moment, nodding toward the sleek caf machine gleaming on the dressing table.

He shook his head, then looked at you. The sight of your satin nightwear hit him like a blow, pupils dilating before he could stop it. His throat bobbed with the faintest swallow as he cursed himself silently and dragged his gaze away.

“You should get some sleep,” he muttered, voice low.

You tilted your head. “I could say the same thing about you.”

Your bare feet padded across the carpet, rose petals soft beneath your toes and you stood directly in front of him. He looked up, sharp eyes catching yours for a charged moment before closing them.

Crosshair pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll take watch.”

You frowned, confusion flickering. “Crosshair, the door is locked. We’re safe here.”

He didn’t meet your eyes, just reached for his rifle and moved toward the small loveseat at the foot of the bed. “You can never be too sure.” He gestured at the bed with a tilt of his chin. “Get some rest.”

There was so much more you wanted to say, but you swallowed it down. No good would come of pressing him tonight. Not when everything already felt odd.

So you slid into the left side of the bed instead, sinking into the impossibly soft mattress. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender and something warm and expensive. You didn’t even bother to remove the rose petals.

The lamp across the room threw a faint amber glow over Crosshair where he sat, long legs stretched out, rifle propped against his thigh. A sentinel in the half-dark, sharp eyes fixed on some distant threat only he could see.

Your body melted into the mattress, the exhaustion of the evening tugging at you like a tide. You watched him for as long as your heavy eyelids would allow, the image of him—silent, watchful, stubborn—burning behind your eyes until sleep finally dragged you under.

You stirred, rolling onto your other side with a groggy sigh, only to find the chair opposite the bed still occupied. Crosshair sat there like a shadow carved into the half-light, rifle propped against the armrest, a toothpick twiddling absently between long fingers.

Your eyes flicked to the chrono on the wall. Only two hours had passed.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you tilted your head as you sat up and whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “Cross… come get some sleep.”

His eyes lifted, shadows and conflict tangled in his gaze. He shook his head once. “No… I can’t.”

You frowned softly, leaning forward. “Why not?”

The sound he made was halfway between a scoff and a tut, quiet but sharp. His jaw flexed. “I can’t sleep in the same bed as you. It’s…”

Your brows arched. “It’s what?” You pulled the duvet back and shifted onto your knees. The simple movement snagged his attention; his sharp gaze lingered, “It’s just me.”

Crosshair drew in a long breath through his nose, pressing the heel of his hand over his eyes as if that might ground him. “I don’t want to bother you,” he muttered, voice rough. “I’ve already done that enough tonight.”

For a moment, you said nothing. Then slowly, you crawled toward the foot of the bed, knees sinking into the mattress until you sat back on your heels, steadying yourself.

Your hand extended, palm open, reaching across the small distance between you. “Come to bed.”

His amber eyes locked onto you. He watched you as though weighing a hard decision, gaze running over your face, your hand and the space you’d made for him.

“We need to act like a couple, right?” You prompt and that’s when he finally, with the faintest exhale he flicked the toothpick into the bin and rose to his feet.

He crossed the few steps to the bed in silence. He stopped just before you, the mattress dipping faintly under your shift forward.

Your lips parted, breath caught, as you tipped your chin up to look at him. He loomed above, gaze tilted down, unreadable except for the faint storm flickering beneath.

You straightened, sitting taller on your knees, and without hesitation placed both hands flat against his chest. The warmth beneath the fabric hit you instantly, as did the hammer of his heart pounding against his ribcage. It made a small smile tug at your lips, your eyes softening as you whispered, “You can’t sleep in this shirt…”

His breath caught with an imperceptible hitch.

Your fingers curled into the fabric at his chest, tugging gently. He hesitated, but only for a moment, before his arms moved, allowing you to peel the white shirt away from him. Inch by inch, the fabric slid over his shoulders, revealing lean muscle and skin mapped with faint scars.

Your eyes went wide, breath catching as you pushed the shirt down his arms and let it fall to the floor. A sound, no, an almost moan, threatened to escape you, but you swallowed it back. Still, your hands had a will of their own and began trailing slowly up and down his torso.

You felt the hard ridges of his stomach, the steady rhythm of his breathing. His reaction was immediate, his eyes fluttering shut as his jaw tightened. The bottom lip caught between his teeth betrayed what he was trying to suppress.

The sight made a heat coil low in your stomach, your own breath turning shallow.

Your gaze drifted lower, tracing the line of his abdomen until it landed on the waistband of his black slacks. He seemed to sense the shift in your attention, because his voice came low, rough, like gravel dragged over velvet.

“Do you want them off, too?”

The rasp sent a shiver racing down your spine.

You blinked, meeting his eyes again, a laugh slipping from your throat, “If it will make you comfortable… yes.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smirk, but his gaze burned steady on you as he reached for the latch of his trousers.

You swallowed hard, watching as his long fingers hooked into the waistband of his trousers and pushed them down. The sound of the fabric sliding over his legs seemed louder than it should’ve been. When they hit the floor, he straightened, standing there in nothing but his briefs with hs hand not-so-subtly shielding the hard outline straining beneath the thin fabric.

A hot pulse bloomed deep inside you, your arousal pooling between your thighs as your breath caught. You broke your gaze away, feigning innocence, though the ache in your chest gave you away. “See? Is that better?”

Crosshair’s eyes dragged over you with open hunger, the sharp angles of his face softened by the shadow of want. “Much…” he breathed, like it was the only word he could find.

Your pulse stumbled, your eyes drawn back down before you could stop yourself. His hand shifted just slightly, enough that you caught the movement of the deliberate, slow palm against himself. Your heart stalled, then thundered.

You licked your lips, your voice almost breaking into a whisper as you shifted back. “Like what you see?”

“Do you?”

Your head tilted, eyes half-lidded as your fingers danced at the band of your satin shorts, teasing without quite committing. “I do,” you murmured, letting your body arch ever so slightly, the pose dripping with invitation as you leaned back on your hands. “Now tell me, do you… husband?”

His eyes narrowed, studying every subtle shift of your body. His jaw worked, and then he gave the smallest of nods, voice rough and quiet. “A lot.”

The words sent your skin prickling with awareness. Your hand slid from the band of your shorts to your thigh, fingertips tracing upward, grazing your skin softly as though demonstrating exactly what his stare made you crave.

His eyes followed your movements, darkening as though he were fighting to keep control.

You raised a single finger, crooking it toward him. A wordless summon.

Crosshair’s gaze burned hotter, but he obeyed without hesitation. His long, lean frame shifted forward as he planted both hands on the mattress for the first time, the springs dipping beneath his weight as he prowled closer. When he reached you, he hovered over your body, his face so close you could feel the warm graze of his breath against your lips.

“What do you want?” he asked, low and rough, his voice scraping like gravel, like he already knew but needed to hear it from you. He dipped his head nearer, inhaling deeply, his nose brushing your temple as though memorising the scent of your skin.

Your lips parted, your tongue darting out to wet them, every nerve in your body trembling as you leaned in, close enough your mouth brushed his. Your voice broke into a heated whisper, “I want you to fuck me.”

The words detonated between you.

A sharp hiss of need left him and before you could second-guess yourself, his mouth was on yours, scorching and demanding.

His lips moved with bruising force, teeth catching your bottom lip as though he’d been starving for the taste of you. One hand slid from the bed to your waist, gripping and dragging your body flush against his until there wasn’t an inch of space left. You could feel every inch of his arousal pressed against your belly, hot and unyielding.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in his short hair that soon became unkempt as his tongue swept past your lips, claiming you with a hunger that made your head spin.

When he broke from your mouth, it was only to trail searing kisses along your jaw, down your throat. His breath was hot, uneven, his teeth scraping sensitive skin before his tongue soothed the sting. “You have no idea…” he rasped between kisses, “…how long I’ve wanted this.”

You blush intensely, arching your back into him, craving more of that heat, that weight. His hand dipped lower, spanning your hip, fingers digging into the satin of your shorts as though he could crush the fabric away.

Your lips brushed his again in a soft, fleeting kiss. You pulled back with a mischievous glint in your eyes that made Crosshair chase the contact immediately but you giggled and tilted away, planting a kiss instead against his cheek.

“Tch,” he mutters, but you only laughed again, moving lower. You kissed along the sharp cut of his jaw, slow and deliberate, feeling the subtle twitch of the muscle beneath your lips. He exhaled through his nose, trying to keep control, but you knew you had him wound tight.

Your mouth hovered at his ear, your words a sinful whisper. “You like fake dating me, then?” you teased, lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath. “Is this how you’d treat me if I was yours?”

He groaned under his breath, his hands clenching against your hips as though debating whether to hold you still or let you drive him mad. His chest heaved against yours, hot and solid, and when you kissed lower down his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

And then, almost in the same breath, you were pulling at each other’s clothes, the tension too much to keep contained. His hands fumbled your satin vest before he pulled it over your head meanwhile you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his briefs, tugging impatiently. He then stripped you of your shorts as you shoved his last layer down.

When his lips crashed back onto yours, your words slipped out between ragged breaths, needy but daring: “It was sexy… watching you defend me at dinner.”

Crosshair froze for only a moment, pulling back just enough to smirk down at you. “Sexy, huh?” His voice was a rasp of sin. “Did it turn you on?”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a verbal answer. Instead, your hand slid boldly between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his rigid heat. The sound that left him was a low, primal and guttural groan that vibrated in his chest and into your palm. His head dropped against yours, lips parting as his eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in his body shuddering under your touch.

Your smirk was wicked as he whispered, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Confidence blooming inside you, you gave him a little push that made Crosshair fall back into the mattress. His long body stretched out beneath you, skin lit faintly by the bedside glow.

You straddled him, your bare skin sliding against his as you pressed down into the lines of his chest and abdomen. Lower still, the thick weight of him rested against your thigh, hot and heavy. His eyes tracked you like a predator and yet… there was awe in them too, something reverent, almost disbelieving.

It made you ache.

“Cross…” you purred, dragging your palms down his chest, tracing the scars and sharp dips of muscle, before raking your nails ever so lightly across his stomach. He hissed, the muscles flexing beneath your touch, his fists knotting in the sheets.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest before sliding lower.

Your hand wrapped boldly around him then—thick, hard and burning against your palm. His whole body jerked at the contact, a sound low in his throat. You gave him a slow, deliberate pump, feeling him twitch against your hand, and his breath hitched.

He bit his lip, sharp eyes flicking away as he tried to choke back the groan threatening to break free.

Now that wouldn’t do.

You leaned down, lips brushing against the swollen head of his cock as you looked up at him. “No,” you whispered, sultry and commanding. Your tongue flicked out, teasing a slow lick across his length, tasting the salt of him. His hips bucked despite himself. “Don’t hold back from me. I want to hear you, husband.”

That broke him. His marriage kink unable to be tamed any longer.

A guttural moan spilled free, raw and gravelly, vibrating through his chest as his head tipped back into the pillow. His long fingers shot into your hair, not forcing, but clutching like he needed to anchor himself.

“Fuck…” he rasped, eyes squeezing shut as you stroked him firmly, your tongue teasing at his tip. His voice dropped lower, almost desperate now. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

You let your lips ghost over the head of his cock, just enough to make him twitch. His sharp inhale was music, the kind of sound that made your pussy ache. You opened your mouth slowly, letting him slide past your lips inch by inch, your tongue flattening against the underside to savour.

Crosshair’s body went rigid, another deep groan breaking from his chest before he managed to stifle it behind his teeth. His hand clenched tighter in your hair, the other curling into the sheets so hard the fabric threatened to tear.

“Stars…” he hissed, voice gravel rough. His eyes cracked open to watch you, his pupils blown wide, jaw tight as he fought for control. “You’re—.”

“Mhmm? A good cock-sucking wife?” You hummed around him, the vibration making his hips twitch up involuntarily before you slap his cock against your tongue.

He cursed again, raw and breathless, as you then sank lower, taking more of him into your throat with a languid patience. When you finally pulled back, strings of saliva connected your lips to him. You stroked him with your hand, pumping lazily as you licked your lips, gaze never leaving his.

“Sloppy enough for you, sniper?” you teased, your voice husky.

He swallowed hard, chest heaving. His eyes darted to your mouth, wet and swollen, then back to your gaze. “Fuck—don’t tease.”

You smirked and slid him back between your lips, this time messy, unrestrained. Your spit coated him as you bobbed your head, tongue working every sensitive ridge. The wet sounds filled the room were obscene and echoing.

And Crosshair lost the last of his composure.

His hips thrust up, shallow at first, testing your tolerance. When you moaned around him in approval, he swore viciously and gave in, driving himself into your mouth with snapping thrusts. His groans grew louder, unfiltered now of pure need.

“Fuck—sweetheart—you feel so—” His head tipped back, tendons straining in his neck as he lost himself in the wet heat of your throat. His grip on your hair was tight but not cruel, guiding the momentum. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop.”

Your eyes watered, spit dripping from your lips and chin as you let him use your mouth, the sight of his unraveling making you slick between your thighs.

The more he thrust into your mouth, the less control he had, his rhythm breaking into jagged, needy snaps of his hips. His jaw slackened, head tipped back and his voice dropped into a low, desperate growl.

“Stars—” his hand fisted your hair tighter, his thighs tensing under you, “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You hollowed your cheeks and moaned, and that did it. Crosshair groaned in pleasure as he spilled hot and thick into your mouth, the taste of him flooding your tongue. You swallowed around him greedily, gulping down every drop, your eyes fixed on him while his face contorted with the kind of pleasure he’d never let anyone else see.

When his hips finally stilled, his chest heaving, you pulled back slowly, breathless, lips shining. A stray strand of saliva clung to your chin as you licked him clean and swallowed the last of him with a shaky exhale.

Crosshair stared at you like you were a miracle. In a blur, he sat up and pulled you into him, his mouth crashing onto yours. The kiss was searing, teeth and tongue, his taste mingling with the faint salt still lingering on your tongue. His hands framed your face like he couldn’t get enough, like he was starved for you.

Then he was easing you down onto the bed, his body covering yours as he grabbed a pillow, slipping it beneath your head with an odd, almost tender care. His lips broke from yours only long enough to mutter against them, voice rough and hungry:

“My turn.”

His breath fanned hot over your lips before he started kissing lower—your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. His hands roamed as though he had to touch every inch of you, his mouth trailing fire down your body.

When he finally reached the edge of the bed, Crosshair settled between your thighs, his sharp gaze fixed on your glistening pussy like it was the only thing in the galaxy worth worshiping. His lips parted, his breath hitching audibly, and he muttered low—more to himself than you—

“Fuck… you’re perfect.”

Crosshair didn’t dive in straight away. He hovered, eyes locked on your pussy as though the sight alone could undo him. His lips curved into a lazy smirk, and he dragged two long fingers down your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him most.

“Maker…” he murmured, “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

Your breath hitched as he finally let his fingers ghost over your folds, feather-light, so teasing you nearly whimpered. He let them trail lower, then flicked—just the faintest tap against your clit. The jolt of sensation had your hips twitching and a broken whine slipping from your lips before you could swallow it back.

His smirk deepened. “There it is. Thought you were gonna keep all those sweet little sounds from me, hm?” Another tap, deliberate this time, making your thighs clench around him.

“Cross…” you gasped, tangling your hands into your hair in frustration as he refused to give you what you wanted.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he drawled, his breath ghosting hot over you as he leaned closer. “Gonna take my time with you.”

And then, instead of another flick, he pressed his lips to your pussy. Not a lick. Not a graze. A kiss—slow, tender, as if he were kissing your mouth. His nose brushed your clit as his lips molded against your folds, and your back arched helplessly.

“Oh, stars—” you whimpered, every nerve alight.

“Mmm,” he hummed against you, his lips moving in lazy, wet kisses over every inch of your cunt, the sound obscene and intimate all at once. Between each press of his mouth, he whispered filth in that low gravel of his:

“So soft…” kiss.

“So sweet…” kiss.

“Mine…” another kiss, deeper, his tongue teasing past his lips just enough to taste you.

Your thighs trembled around his shoulders as his hands held you steady, his kisses reverent and filthy all at once. The sensation was maddening, tender enough to make you shiver but edged with hunger that had your body straining for more.

When he finally let his tongue part your folds and give one long, deliberate lick, he groaned into you like he was the one unraveling. “Fuck, you taste better than I imagined.”

And then he was back to kissing, savouring and making you whimper and writhe with every press of his lips.

Your breath hitched when Crosshair finally gave in to what you’d been silently begging for. His lips parted and his tongue slid between your folds, slow at first and deliberate. He pushed deeper, tongue-fucking you with unhurried precision, dragging every needy whimper out of your chest.

Your fingers fisted the duvet, crushing a rose petal or two between them as your back arched off the bed. “Baby—” your voice broke, strangled, your thighs trembling against his shoulders.

He groaned low, the vibration making you gasp, before his tongue left you only to wrap his lips around your clit. He sucked once, hard enough to make you cry out, then let it go with a wet pop, smirking up at you with his mouth glistening.

“That’s it,” he cooed, voice soaked in lust. His grip shifted, long arms sliding under your thighs so he could pin your hips down, your body useless against his strength. “Such a good wife, taking it just like that.”

The filthy words made your pussy clench, heat flooding you in a new wave, and you let out something between a whimper and a moan. “Fuck…Crosshair…”

He chuckled against you, the bastard, and dragged his tongue back through your slit before sucking your clit again, longer this time. Your body jolted against his hold, toes curling, fingers grabbing fistfuls of bedding and petals alike.

“I’m so glad it’s you who volunteered,” you gasped, words spilling out broken, your thighs tightening around him. “So glad it’s—ah—fuck!”

His chuckle was muffled against your folds, his tongue relentless, before he pulled back just enough to mutter against your swollen pussy:

“The others wouldn’t treat you like this.” His teeth grazed your clit, playful, making you shudder. “They wouldn’t know how to worship you.”

Then his mouth sealed over you again, sucking hard, tongue teasing, his hands keeping you caged and helpless as he devoured you.

Crosshair pulled back again with that maddening pop of his lips leaving your clit, strings of spit shining between you. He didn’t go far though—just hovered, breath hot against your swollen flesh, and you swore the sound of him inhaling your scent was almost louder than your whimpers.

“Maker, look at you,” he murmured, thumb coming up to flick your clit once, twice—sharp little sparks that made your hips buck against his unrelenting grip. “All puffy and dripping for me. For your husband.”

“Cross—” you tried, but it came out as a broken moan, your thighs twitching around his shoulders.

“You like this, don’t you?” His tongue darted out, giving a light, taunting lap over your slit before moving away again. “Being spread out like this, my mouth on your sweet cunt, making a mess of my face.” He chuckled, low and dark, and flicked his thumb over your clit harder, making you cry out. “Bet you’d let me keep you here all night if I wanted.”

Your hands tangled in your own hair, pulling at the strands, desperate. “Please—” you gasped, voice shaking as your body jerked when he suddenly tapped your clit with his fingers, light but fast, like he was testing how far he could push you. “Fuck, please!”

He groaned, sounding almost feral, like your begging was better than any victory he’d ever had in battle. His teeth grazed you again, soft nips that made you jolt. “Not yet,” he rasped, giving your clit another sharp flick that made your whole body seize. “I want you begging properly first.”

You sobbed his name, hips fighting his hold as he alternated between sucking you into his mouth and pulling away with those obscene, wet pops that echoed in the quiet room. Each time he left you empty you wanted to scream, and each time he came back it was too much, your orgasm building like a storm he refused to let break.

“Tell me,” he drawled, lips brushing your clit, not giving you the pressure you craved. “Tell me you want to come for me. Tell me no one else could get you this way.”

Your head thrashed side to side against the pillows, sweat beading at your temple. “I—fuck—I want to come for you, Cross. Please. No one else—no one could—just please let me—”

He hummed in satisfaction, mouth closing over you again, sucking slow and deep while his fingers tapped in time with your racing pulse. “Good wife,” he muttered against your soaked heat, “that’s my girl…”

Your whole body tightened, teetering right on the edge, held hostage by his mouth.

Crosshair must have the way every muscle in your body went taut beneath his grasp. How your breath came in sharp little gasps like your lungs couldn’t keep up. He groaned into your cunt, and then mercifully gave you what you’d been begging for.

His mouth sealed over your clit, sucking hard and steady, tongue flicking in relentless little strokes that pushed you right past the edge. His grip on your thighs tightened, locking you down as your body jolted violently against him.

The orgasm ripped through you like fire, so sharp it almost hurt, and you cried out his name in an almost a sob as you broke apart as your vision blurred.

Crosshair didn’t stop. He groaned against you, drinking every drop of you down, his lips and chin slick as he worked you through it. “That’s it,” he rasped between licks, voice ruined but steady. “Good girl. Come on, give it to me. Give it all to me.”

You were shaking, trembling uncontrollably under his hold, pleasure crashing in waves so strong it left you breathless. He eased the pressure only when you began to whimper from overstimulation, his kisses softer now, soothing little laps that felt almost adoring against your swollen clit.

When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistened and he tenderly kissed the inside of your thigh before crawling up the bed. His body caged yours in, the hard weight of his cock pressing heavy against your hip as he gathered you into his arms.

You were still gasping, chest heaving, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity of it all. He brushed damp hair away from your face with surprising gentleness, thumb swiping at the sweat along your temple.

“Good girl,” he whispered again, voice gravelly, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “You did so well cyare.”

You hummed weakly against his mouth, lazy and sated but achingly aware of the thick length pressed against you. He groaned as your thigh shifted, brushing it on purpose, and his hips twitched forward helplessly.

“Fuck,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours, his cock throbbing now and resting against your stomach.

He kissed you slowly as though you hadn’t just come undone screaming his name minutes before. His tongue brushed yours, unhurried, while his hand slid down your hip, anchoring you. “More,” you moan beautifully into his mouth, “I want more.”

When he shifted, rolling halfway onto his side beside you, you felt the slick head of him glide down against your folds. You gasped, shuddering at the sudden jolt of sensation as your pussy was still swollen and tender from his mouth. He didn’t push in, though. Just stroked his length along your soaked slit, letting the tip bump your clit in maddening, teasing drags.

Your hips did a desperate little roll that had his lips curve into that infuriating smirk. “Still sensitive, huh?” he rasped, the gravel in his voice betraying just how tightly he was holding back. You tried to answer, but all that left you was a breathy whimper as he dragged himself down and back up again, coating his cock in your wetness.

“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze locked to your face as his hand tilted your thigh open wider. His tip nudged right at your entrance, circling but not pushing in yet. “So fucking ready for me.”

He then lowered his head, lips kissing your shoulder so tenderly that your heart melts. You caught his eyes when he finally lifted his head. Neither of you spoke, but the air between you thrummed with silent consent, the kind that left no room for doubt.

His forehead brushed yours, lips hovering as he rasped low, “I’ll go slow.”

And then, slow but steady as he promised, he started to press forward. His breath stuttered the second his tip pushed inside, the blunt head parting you inch by inch.

Heat—wet and velvet-tight—closed around him, and Crosshair almost crumbled then and there, his body trembling faintly as he held himself back. “Ffff—” He bit off a curse, jaw tightening.

You whimpered softly, the initial stretch making your walls flutter around him. It wasn’t painful. Just thick and slow. A fullness that made you gasp. Your fingers clutched at his arm, nails grazing the skin as you whispered, “Cross…”—your voice shaky, needy, urging.

His cock twitched deep inside at the sound, his hips rolling forward another careful inch. “You alright?” he rasped, voice breaking low.

You gave a quick nod, looking down as his cock disappeared inside you with every slow movement.

He didn’t slam, didn’t shove. He inched forward, then drew halfway back, then pressed in again with a rhythm of patience. The drag of him pulled a breathless moan from your throat.

“Breathe,” he muttered, his lips brushing your temple as if grounding you as much as himself. He let you cling, let you adjust, every tiny movement deliberate. “I’ve got you, mesh’la.”

The way he said it made your heart lurch, like it wasn’t just about sex…like he meant all of it.

And when you finally tilted your hips, just slightly, letting him know you were ready for more, his control frayed. He sank in deeper, a low moan slipping out of his throat at the way your body welcomed him.

Crosshair bent close, lips brushing over the shell of your ear as he murmured, voice roughened with memory, “When you called me ‘your stars’ back at that meal…” His hips pressed deeper, making your body jolt against the mattress. “…Maker, I wanted you then and there. Didn’t care who was watching.”

Your mouth fell open, breath catching, a whimper spilling out with the way his words wrapped around you as intimately as his body did. You tilted your head back, enough to find his lips. The kiss was soft, slow, your tongues brushing as his cock slid out and then back in with a steady glide.

Each thrust melted into the next, your body clenching around him instinctively as you clung into his chest. His groan rumbled against your mouth, and when he broke away, his forehead pressed to yours. “Feels so good like this. You, wrapped around me, taking me slow.”

The pace wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t about release. It was about every inch of him inside you, every shiver of your body responding, every sigh and moan you gave him like it was for him alone.

He kissed you again, even more gentler this time, lips brushing yours in little whispers of touch before pulling back to watch your face twist in pleasure as he filled you over and over.

His rhythm stuttered for a moment, pulling all the way out of you with a slick, obscene sound that made your body twitch in protest. The sudden emptiness tore a desperate whine from your throat, your hands clutching at the sheets.

“Shh,” he rasped, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Already needy, aren’t you?”

Before you could form a reply, he shifted up, long fingers curling under your thighs. In one smooth move he lifted your legs and hooked them over his shoulders, folding you open for him as he sat on his knees. You gasped at the change and at how vulnerable it made you feel… owned.

And you fucking loved it.

Crosshair smirked, eyes gleaming as he angled himself, the fat head of his cock nudging back against your soaked entrance. “Yeah,” he murmured, dragging it through your folds, coating himself in you. “That’s it. This is where you want me, isn’t it?”

You nodded helplessly, breathless. “Yes—fuck, yes, Cross—”

He slid back inside with a single, deliberate thrust that made your vision spark, filling you to the hilt. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your back arching against the bed. He groaned deep in his chest, bending forward so your calves squeezed tighter against his neck. “Shit, you feel so good. So fucking tight. Like you were made to take me.”

The pace changed—no longer slow and sweet, but harder, sharper, his hips snapping against yours with wet, slapping sounds that echoed in the suite. Every thrust pushed you further up the bed, rose petals clinging to your damp skin.

Crosshair turned his head to the side, his lips brushing your calf before biting lightly, sending another shiver racing through you. “Look at you,” he muttered against your skin, voice dark and possessive. “Spread out for me. Letting me fuck you like you’re mine.”

Your nails clawed at the duvet, head tipping back as the words spilled out of you before you could stop them. “I am yours, Cross. No one else—just you.”

The admission made his hips slam harder, a ragged growl leaving him. His hands wrap around your legs, holding them tight to his body, keeping you pinned. “Say it again,” he demanded, amber eyes burning into you as he drove deeper, harder.

“I’m yours!” you cried out, voice shaking, tears stinging your lashes with the force of it. “All yours, Crosshair!”

He smirked, satisfaction dripping from every thrust as he fucked you rougher, his possessiveness unraveling in every movement. “Good wife,” he groaned, bending lower so your thighs framed his face, “my perfect fucking wife.”

He didn’t even pause to catch his breath, just gripped your hips and dragged you to the edge of the bed. With a swift, fluid motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, and you gasped at the sudden change of angle, the cool sheets against your bare skin.

“You like it when I take control, don’t you?” he rasped, one hand landing hard on your arse, sending a delicious shock through your body. You grinned, breath hitching, letting out a low laugh that was part pleasure, part defiance.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, sliding himself back inside you from behind.

Your legs instinctively spread wider as he pulled you closer, his hand tangling in your hair. He tugged sharply, bringing your head back so you bounced against his cock with each controlled thrust. “That’s it, bounce for me. Show me how good it feels, wife,” he growled, every word thick with control.

You cried out, loud and unrestrained, the bed creaking under the force of him driving into you. “Oh, Cross—yes! Harder! Please—don’t stop!”

He chuckled darkly, leaning over you so your cheek pressed into the sheets, his lips brushing the back of your neck. “Good girl,” he praised, hand slapping your arse again, rough and loving at the same time. “So fucking good for me. Look at you, taking me so well.”

Your chest heaved, legs trembling but you kept bouncing back, your body obedient and desperate, lips parted in a moan that didn’t care who could hear.

He angled himself just right, hitting deep and slow at first, then snapping his hips faster, letting you feel every inch. “Maker, you’re perfect,” he groaned, voice low and commanding. “So wet, so tight… all mine.”

You pressed your face further into the sheets, moaning around the muffled sounds, your body arching up instinctively. “Crosshair! Oh—yes! I’m yours! Always yours!”

He responded by tugging your hair harder, his cock driving into you with relentless force, hand roaming over your hips and arse, marking you with every movement, praising and claiming you at once.

You turned your head just enough to catch his burning eyes over your shoulder. Your lips curved into a wicked grin even as your body shuddered with every rough slam of his cock.

“Look at you,” you moaned, voice sharp and sultry, “losing yourself inside me. You can’t help it, can you? I’ve got you wrapped around my finger just as tight as I’ve got you wrapped inside me.”

His thrust faltered—just for a second—as if the words themselves had tripped him. His eyes narrowed, mouth falling open, but the sound that came out was a raw and pathetic whimper betraying how undone he really was.

“You love it,” you taunted, rolling your hips back against him with a delicious grind that had him growling through clenched teeth. “My good husband, falling apart because of me. Cockdrunk.”

“F-fuck—” he hissed, the word tearing out of him. His pace grew erratic, desperate, like he was chasing something he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Then suddenly he hauled you, panting and trembling, onto your back again. Your legs spread wide as he pressed himself flush against you, cock sliding right back into your soaked heat without hesitation.

The air punched from your lungs as he buried his face in your neck, breath hot and ragged, his weight pinning you down deliciously. Your nails raked down his back, dragging red marks into his skin while he drove into you with merciless force. The headboard slammed rhythmically into the wall with every thrust, each clap of wood-on-wall punctuated by your screams and sobs of pleasure.

“Yes—yes, Crosshair, please—” your voice broke, cracking under the relentless pace. Your body arched under him, sweat slick between you, every nerve ending aflame as his hips pounded into yours.

“Where—” he groaned into your throat, biting your skin like he needed to anchor himself, “where do you want it, baby? Tell me—fuck—where should I come?”

Your head snapped back, eyes wild, desperate tears clinging to your lashes. You clutched at his back, pulling him tighter, legs wrapping around his waist to lock him in place.

“Inside!” you cried, voice shaking, pleading. “Please, Cross, come inside me. I want it, I need it—fill me with your hot cum. P-please!”

He groans like a man possessed, hips snapping even harder, his control shredding as he buried himself deeper and deeper.

Crosshair’s movements became almost frantic, hips stuttering as he drove into you with a desperate rhythm. His hand slid down between your bodies, fingers landing squarely on your clit, rubbing with perfect pressure and speed, coaxing you closer and closer to your edge.

“Come for me, right now, right now,” he growled, his teeth grazing your neck as he slammed his cock into you. “I’m going to fill you up, good girl—come on my cock.”

Your body convulsed at his words, every nerve screaming as your climax hit with a white-hot force. You grabbed his face, forcing your lips to his, biting his lower lip as you panted hotly into his mouth, gasping, moaning and utterly undon. .

“Baby…” you whispered between ragged breaths, your fingers tangling in his hair as your body shuddered uncontrollably around him.

Crosshair’s groan deep as he tensed, shuddered, and finally spilled inside you. Warm and overwhelming. You felt him pulse inside you, his hips stuttering with each breathless thrust, as your own climax trembled out against his hand, still pressing your clit with maddening rhythm.

Even after he came, he stayed buried deep, hips rocking slightly, his chest pressing to yours, letting you feel every lingering pulse of him. He nuzzled against your neck.

Crosshair let out a low, almost inaudible sigh of relief, his forehead resting against yours as you melted into his side. His hand lingered soflty on your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip.

There was a small tension as you saw him look down where his hands had been on you. You use your finger to angle his face back to you and say reassuringly, “you didn’t hurt me.”

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you rasp, voice trembling slightly from exertion and lingering arousal.

He hesitated for a moment, the usually unshakable Crosshair sounding almost vulnerable. “Do… do you regret it?”

You cupped his jaw with one hand and silenced any doubt with a slow, deliberate kiss. And when you pulled back, your eyes softened.

“Definitely not, my stars,” you said fondly, voice carrying sincerity. His lips twitched, almost a smile, though he’d never admit it outright. Relief settled into his posture, the tension leaving his shoulders, and for the first time since the two of you had been tangled together, he seemed… at peace.

Your fingers brushed over his chest, tracing the rapid rise and fall of his breath. “You feel… amazing,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your lips.

He let out a low hum, nudging you closer with his shoulder. “So do you,” he murmured, still holding you like he was afraid to let go.

The two of you lay there, sweaty, sticky, and utterly spent, yet somehow more connected than ever.

You do eventually shift, muscles sore but tingling from the aftermath of everything, and groan quietly as you attempt to tug your nightwear back over your body. Crosshair watches you with a glint in his eyes, “You look ridiculous like that,” he teases.

You shoot him a mock glare, though your cheeks betray the flush of heat and lingering pleasure. “Oh, and you don’t?” you retort, finally wriggling into your nightwear.

He hums, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Maybe not,” he admits, voice edged with amusement, “but I think we’ve earned a bit more… relaxation.”

Your brow quirks, intrigued. “Relaxation?”

Crosshair tilts his head, smirk growing. “The jacuzzi,” he says simply, climbing off the bed. “Warm water, bubbles… think you can handle that after an hour like this?”

You let out a breathy laugh, the soreness in your thighs reminding you just how much fun you’d had. “I think I could manage. Maybe,” you tease, still rolling your shoulders to loosen the tension.

He steps closer, eyes tracking your movements, and reaches for your hand. “Then come on,” he says, dragging you toward the bathroom. “Let’s make the next hour… just as enjoyable.”

You let him lead you to the jacuzzi once it’s filled, the scent of soap and warm water filling the room. And as you both sink into the bubbling warmth, the world outside ceases to exist.

Crosshair leans back, one arm draped across your shoulders, and you curl against him, feeling both soothed and mischievous as you ponder just how long you two could stay here.

Silence stretched comfortably between you. He shifted after a moment, reaching for a bar of soap resting at the edge. Without a word, he lathered it between his hands, then pressed his palms gently against your back, his fingers smoothing over sore muscles. He was careful as he washed down your arms, sliding his touch from your shoulders to your wrists. Every stroke was accompanied by a quiet kiss to the back of your head, your temple, the damp strands of your hair sticking to his lips.

“You’re spoiling me,” you teased softly.

“Good,” he muttered against your crown, fingertips tracing over your skin like he was memorising it.

A sly smile pulled at your lips. “You know, you enjoyed calling me your wife a little too much back there.”

You felt him stiffen almost imperceptibly, his hands faltering just for a second before resuming. “…You noticed.”

You turned your head, grinning up at him. “Hard not to. You sounded like you meant it.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, eyes fixed on the water, jaw tight. But then his shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled, lips brushing your temple once more. “…That’s because I did.” His voice was low, almost grudging, but the truth in it made your heart soar.

“Crosshair—”

“You’re… marriage material,” he cut in, avoiding your gaze as you tilt your head back, as though the words embarrassed him more than any of the filthy things he’d whispered between the sheets. His thumb traced circles absently on your shoulder. “Don’t ask me to say it twice.”

You blinked, stunned into silence for a moment before a soft laugh slipped free. The sound made him glance down, eyes narrowing like he regretted saying anything at all—until you leaned up and pressed your lips against his.

“Good thing I only need to hear it once,”