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precious-little-scoundrel · 1 month

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Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: yes…Virgin!Gale + Maureen/Gale bonding

Universe: Friends in the Crucible (pacific au)

Summary: “Get laid, Buck.” Doc Egan prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve your jitters better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

Warnings: all the sex! 18+.|| both tender and feral || Doc Egan being a unorthodox but loving menace, a theme of ptsd and body tremors/insomnia -poor Gale is going through it after a whole war, drug mentions, erectile disfunction, Maureen is aggressive but everything’s consensual, usage of the word “Jap”. Graphic descriptions of Gale’s virginity loss, male overstimulation and an amusing amount of thought given to Bucky’s existence during the act … im sure that won’t lead to anything when Maureen returns to base and reports to Egan about it, right? Hahaha of course not, that would be craaazy

Word count: 10k

“Buck, come on now, it’s not a prison sentence, it’s just a little time off.”

“I don’t need time off.” Gale reiterated, a panicked sort of fierceness creeping into his tone as his appeal now stretched into something longer than the usual flippant favors Egan was customarily so eager to dole out.

“Those hands suggest ya do.” John gave a not unkind glance of sympathy at the twitching fingers rattling on the armrests of Cleven’s chair.

12 rescue missions in 15 days. Flying upwards of ten hours each. He’d done worse before, but then again, that had been when he was fresh, younger, less banged up from the head hitting the cockpit wall.

“Sending me to go watch flamingos and contemplate sand or some shit isn’t gonna make me steadier.” Gale very much feared his gripes were beginning to sound like begs, “Don’t send me off like this. Don’t.”

“Petrified of flamingos?” John hummed, glancing down at his chart as if contemplating making a note of this new malady, “Maybe if your dad had taken you to a zoo once or twice as a kid you’d not be scared stiff of the prospect.”

Cleven stared back at him with the most hurt eyes John had ever seen. He balled his own fist up to remember the rightness of his point, even if he’d delivered it about as clumsily as a marriage proposal at a funeral. “The hell would you say something like that?” Buck whispered, not even angry, just utterly lost.

“Buck, I’m just sayin’ -inability to slow or be alone, it’s classic symptoms of battle fatigue.”

“I don’t wanna sit on a beach when I could be helping, I’m perfectly capable of still helping! You know it!”

“But you can’t sleep.” John circled back to where this all began, with Gale asking if there was anything to knock a fella out when 82 hours of insomnia wasn’t sufficiently exhausting.

“Give me something, you’re a doctor! Goddamnit, John!” Gale finally broke, voice raising and fists clenched.

“Surgeon, technically.” John gave him a wane smile, “And I can’t dope up an active pilot.”

“Just an active surgeon.” Gale sneered, tit for tat on the insults.

John nodded grimly but murmured, “The day Gale Cleven becomes John Egan is a day this whole operation can pack up and go home.”

“So you're being the better man,” Gale scoffed, “-sending me to watch flamingos.”

“I’m not givin’ you shit.“ he confirmed, “Unless it’s an assignment.”

“Will it keep me outta the flak asylum?”

“If you comply to all the regulations, maybe.” Egan shrugged.

“Go on?”

“Get laid, Buck.” his friend prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve you better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

“That’s your ultimatum?”

“No, no, my ultimatum is that you go on a little sabbatical with one of my nurses, she’ll keep an eye on you and you can make yourself useful, helping her unload heavy shit at the aid station they’re setting up at Peleliu. My recommendation is that when she comes into your room at the end of the day and drops her knickers, you lay back and think of Wyoming.”

Major Cleven had thought of a million and one ways to bribe or ally the prospective nurse to his side of the deal once he knew which unfortunate female Egan was going to pick for this deplorable detail. Calling his friend a pimp and a bastard had done little good, threatening malpractice and a hardness of heart towards Gale’s own principles -even less. So Gale figured when the time came he’d just gently turn the well meaning comfort gal away and maybe pay her off to lie that they’d done it: for his hand’s sake.

After all, if she was willing to do this, was she even a nurse or was she someone Bucky dressed up in Red Cross arm bands like some sleazy fantasy? Gale didn’t think any of the nurses he’d encountered would be willing to go along with such a sordid “assignment.” Sure, some of them were -carefree. Indulgent. Easy, as the men sometimes called them before getting a stinging cheek that proved them wrong. But they were a proud bunch and they had earned it.

Rolling a toothpick in his cheek, Buck pondered these things while sat on the bench of a Goony Bird waiting for his nurse to hop into the cargo hold with him and off they’d go to Pelilu. The situation was made worse by the suspense of who it might be and the insulting foreignness of being on a plane but not piloting. It made Gale feel an odd sort of feeling close to self pity that he hadn’t felt in ages, not since he was a kid and the nostalgia of it wrung him out of all energy. He made himself sit on that metal bench motionless as the heat index rose on the tarmac and made up a fun little game involving trying to see if he could get his hands to stop tremoring for five seconds straight.

So far he’d lost his own wager each time. He told himself if he could make it to five seconds then the nurse Bucky had sent would be a gray haired matron and this really was just a sabbatical to lift boxes and breathe ocean air and get Gale to laugh at himself.

Then Maureen Kendeigh climbed into the hold and squeezed past their cargo of medicine crates and plopped down right next to him, leg bumping his and breathing like a race horse. “I have jogged here the entire way from administration.” she wheezed, tugging at the collar of her shirt where her glistening throat was bobbing in thirst. “Sorry I’m so late, Major. Am I late?”

It could have been Bucky sat next to him: the choice of phrasing was so familiar, the damnable ability to force forgiveness for tardiness with a single smile so predictable. Gale found dread knotting his stomach at the realization it would be her, even as a warmth spread all over him at her sweet presence that had the odd effect of steadying his hands despite the panicked fuzz of his brain at her proximity.

Oh he didn’t want this. No, no, no. He’d like to think of Maureen very much apart, apart from anything but her heroism, not her wide spread stance on the bench beside him or the idea of her dropping her knickers and making him think of Wyoming. He preferred her very much not attainable in the deeper ways and very much not what he saw himself with when all this was over. Whatever she and Doc Egan had was between them and he’d held it up like a shield to keep himself in check, a boy's code of honor about not encroaching on his friend’s girl. Even if said friend didn’t have the decency to make said girl “his” girl.

But to have Maureen dished up to him on a platter by John when John must have suspected some of Gale’s appreciation for her professional merits -it was somehow worse than any dressed up floozy or the easy new intern. He’d not be able to pay Maureen off without insulting her. Or outing Egan’s intent. Maybe she didn’t know. What if Gale spilled the beans and she was as harmless as himself? What if—

“God, Major, did you sleep at all?” Maureen’s steady fingers were gripping his expressionless face and suddenly turned him towards her, one thumb swiping a tender crescent in his under eyes.

Gale’s eyes seemed to forget blinking was a thing, they grew wide and stayed wide at her inspection and the sandy wind blowing in from the tarmac stung at them as they dried out. “No,” he found his voice and it came out more winded than hers, “you’re not late.” he lied.

Once they get to the island, touchdown and unload, there’s then three hours of driving around the pitted old warzone to the aid station. There’s more foliage the more they go, less mortar pitted earth, but the increasing tropical paradise surroundings put Gale on edge. Maureen drives them to their unexplored destination as confident and recklessly as Bucky would, little surprise there. Gale can’t help glancing at her with unabashed amusement for the way she keeps her pistol propped on top of the steering wheel with one grip, facing out like a top turret for their hood, while keeping the map balanced on her thigh.

He cradles his own BAR with loose arms, ready to use it. Sure they secured the island months ago, but still, not infrequently some Jap comes out of his hiding hole, a cave, or whatever fucking tree he resides in and surrenders. Or, conversely, some of them have charged with guns blazing or sword drawn, deciding to go out and a bang of glory and take with them whichever hapless American happens to be nearby. That Emperor worship shit ain’t happening on on Gale’s watch, and so Maureen gets to drive -she didn’t have to beg like that, he was going to let her- and he shoulders the duty of keeping his eyes peeled for the next bush becoming animate and running at them, pulled pin grenade in hand.

“Some relaxation.” he jokes as their jeep lurches into another crater. If it’s not the bomb pits it’s the massive roots crawling over the smashed earth the Marine Corps call a road.

“It’s a reverse strategy!” she informs, grin wide as a shark’s and Gale could almost draw a little pencil mustache above that top lip and pretend it’s Bucky torturing him thus -hey, that might be a good mode of thought to keep everything strictly professional- “Like when nothing else works, you kick the broken thing.” Gale politely ignores the urge to argue about being broken, that’s not her point… he hopes, “You’re all shook up,” she goes on, voice raised to be heard over the rev of her driving, “and calm hasn’t worked, so why not shake you up worse?!”

He squints at her, fully aware he isn’t being chummy like she is trying to be, knowing he’s being a stick in the mud but he’s dying under the uncertainty, chafing under the pretense. Does she know? Or does she not? Five times today he’s resisted the urge to slap her chest like he would Demarco’s and ask her levelly, man to man, if she knows. “If this doesn’t work then what?” he asks anyway, sober as hell despite the comedic jostling and even Maureen’s joviality dims in the face of his dour mood.

“Then we’ll have to get real unorthodox.” she replies, allowing something close to annoyance at his attitude to seep into her own expression and Gale refuses to pull his eyes off her.

Do you know? He wants to ask.

“Stop scowling at me and watch for Japs.” she snaps at him so suddenly and so heated he genuinely spooks and turns his body back towards their horizon.

It’s worse than he thought. Worse than he imagined on the times he lost the bet with his hands and let his mind go somewhere besides a practical joke from Bucky and a gray haired spinster nurse as his companion. The aid station is on the edge of the new camp, far off enough to be genuinely secluded from both sights and smells of the navy station. It’s a tiki hut, thatched roof and swinging mesh door and lovely little veranda and palm trees and waves lapping up the back steps.

It looks like the sorta place people advertise for honeymoons and Gale stares at it with a 100 yard stare once Maureen grinds the gears to park.

“Jesus.” he knows his mouth is curling in disgust and beside him Maureen huffs in disgust with him.

She jumps out of her side of the jeep, not a shred of amusement left on her face. Gale sits and stares and listens to the roar of surf and the clinking of the cooling engine.

“Not bad.” she grunts under the burden of a crate which Gale should be lifting if he could just make his legs work and his mind obey. “But I bet it’s gonna be a bitch to keep the gnats out though, so much foliage around.”

Her hips sway like a tantalizing pendulum when she jogs up the bungalow stairs, her waist somehow accentuated by the way her arms are lifted to keep the crate hoisted on her strong shoulder and Gale has the perfect seat to watch it. How did he never notice the lines on her before she was doing hard labor? Then he recalls, she’s mostly been in flight suits around him, he’s never seen her paired down to collared shirts and belted pants. How’d he never notice the lines on that gi-

“Don’t make me drive this thing in the surf to wake you up.” her slap on his listless forearm rouses him to realize she’s back out at the jeep, standing beside him looking at him as he sits here catatonic like the mental case he’s showing symptoms of being. “And take your jacket off, you’re gonna get overheated being so formal.”

“Are you in on it?” he snaps suddenly as she grins at him over his first crate. He can’t tell if she’s mocking him or not but he’s damn tired of it.

“In on what?” Her face falls.

He can’t do it. He just can’t do it and he hates himself for being such a coward. “This.” he chooses vagueness and it tastes foreign and awful on his tongue.

“It’s a week out of the cockpit in paradise, Cleven,” Maureen’s own expression holds back no disdain for his pissy attitude, “man the hell up.”

What Maureen, Gale and five other technicians had loaded into the jeep and it’s buggy in the course of two hours, takes the mere two of them close to four to unload. And that’s even with Gale keeping a rapid pace to his work like a sweating maniac, feverishly wanting to stop thinking for once. His jacket and shirt are thrown over the chairs that are actually provided as furniture in the place and Maureen’s tie lays discarded on the accompanying desk. The rooms are bare but there’s two beds in the bedroom with crisp sheets that have only a bit of pollen dusting them and there’s a desk, as mentioned, three chairs in the main room and Maureen insists they can use crates for a table.

The back room is for the actual medical aid, and Maureen insists nothing gets moved into it until she can sanitize the whole place. So they stack the boxes in the main room and in the bedroom and when the sun gets lower they’re relieved to find there’s some dubious provisions for electricity in the place.

“I can get it to work.” Gale decides as Maureen tries flicking the light switch ten times as if to see if the bare bulb will grow a will of its own and turn on for her. It reminds him so much of Bucky’s brand of idiocy that Gale almost forgets himself and reaches out to swat her hand away from the futile flicking.

“Ok, then you do that while I keep unloading.” she insists, “Won’t be able to do anything if it’s pitch dark in here.”

So Gale drags a chair over and begins to fiddle with the wires tacked to the ceiling, risking electrocution so Maureen Kendeigh can see her way around as she tromps past him again and again in the same path with yet another crate.

He’s good with his hands. Excellent, in fact, judging by how one bulb flickers then stays steady, then another and another until the inside of the bungalow is aglow with cozy light: enough light for Maureen to appreciate his sweat soaked singlet and the way it rides up his belly when his arms are up and how it’s bright enough for her to scrub the exam room effectively when laying in a room with an insomniatic Gale Cleven gets to her at 3:00 am.

As it surely will. God! -the man is as impossible as he is beautiful, and while she doubted she’d manage it with him before, the sheer amount of fury she feels towards him right now leaves no doubt. She’ll shake him up. Like a Fuckin’ Martini. And he doesn’t have to like it, probably won’t, but they’ll both feel better after. “In on it” -he’s got the gall to ask but not the balls to spell it out, she can’t abide a quasi gentleman and so far Gale Cleven’s been nothing but the genuine article. Until now, now when he can’t accept certain human things about himself like fatigue or attraction, and he takes it out on her with a sullenness belonging to a much older man.

Maureen’s fine with that, she thinks as ogles the glowing golden skin of his sheened shoulders on one of her passes with a crate, she can take her mad out on him, too. And she’s got a lot of it. More than John Egan was ever able to lick away.

By 15:00, and some change to the second hand, Gale Cleven was still awake. Little surprise there, not to him, but even though it didn’t matter he found himself thoroughly annoyed and taking it out with a lethal glare at the vague gray ceiling, lit by a massive moon over the ocean. Wire and chairs but no curtains -an oversight about the furnishings. It wouldn’t have mattered, he knew that, and still the racket Maureen was making put his teeth on edge. It wasn’t Benny’s snoring or John’s drunken mumbling but it was a consistent *swoosh, swish* of industry that had Gale feeling a mixture of guilt and determination to keep lying here while she scrubbed.

It had not occurred to him she might’ve needed this break, too. Such as it was, effective as it was not proving. He knew she’d seen some combat in the beginning at Manila, maybe even worse than Iwo but long hours doing what she was doing now, where she was doing it, was no joke.

The urge to get up and help her was strong but then, so was the crippling fear of being around her in the dead of night and inviting any more of the bossy familiarity she’d tucked him into bed with. A magnesium capsule! She’d made him take three of the maternity horse pills and told him to calm the hell down as if he didn't have ample reason to be on edge with her laying a foot away on another bed, stripped down to her cotton slip. Of course Gale would cite war horrors if anyone asked why he couldn’t sleep but to be frank, he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t managing it these days and it had started awhile ago. Before Maureen Kendeigh glowed sweaty and luminous in the moonlight while gripping his cheeks and puckering his protesting mouth and plopping pills on his lolling tongue.

Thinking of it made his face flame with embarrassment for such a childish resistance. But god, her nursley familiarity sent a cross signal to his brain each time she helped herself to his flesh and no amount of berating himself while sweating in these rough sheets could dislodge the reaction. Closer to fifteen hundred than was remotely chivalrous, Gale threw off his sweat soaked bedding and tromped into the glow of light outside their bedroom, shuffling blearily into the little exam room. He faltered for a brief ten seconds at the doorway watching her undulating movements with sponge in hand and knees on the floor, white slip clinging like a second skin from the sweat.

He felt the sudden medical urge to lick her like the cattle back home lick at the salt block, a strange way of quenching thirst. Was ninety two hours without sleep considered genuine grounds for insanity? He felt like maybe he should be keeping a diary of these fevered thoughts to report back to John and see if he needed to get turned in. This wasn’t horniness, this was salt cravings. Yeah, yeah that’s what it was.

“You hypocrite.” he felt emboldened to tease and his voice came out rough and lower than even he expected, the disuse of laying there for ages taking a toll.

Maureen looked up like she’d been spooked herself, a slip and stall of her scrubbing, hair hanging about her face so unprofessionally he realized he’d never seen it in such…disarray. “Oh, the baby’s awake.” she grinned back and he felt an indulgence settle in his gut for her he didn’t know existed, “I see my magnesium capsules were a cure all.”

“Oh yeah, knock a horse out.” he agreed derisively.

“Your eyes are droopier.” she found a silver lining and as if reminded of the grit in them, his large fists came up and rubbed them meanly.

Like a little boy, she thought, watching him in the harsh light of the bare bulb, warm wood all around him the same color as all that sweaty skin and those skivvies hanging onto the lithest set of hips she may have ever seen. Looked as if one deep breath of that lean belly and the fabric would be goners, slipping down to the floor dramatically like a woman’s pantyhose in those unfortunate comics where that’s always occurring just when she wants to cross a busy street. Maybe if she could make him belly laugh-

She wished she knew how. She wondered if he knew how.

“Got another Sponge?” he asked and she was reminded why she liked him so much.

“Top crate, there, left, there that one.” She directed him with jerks of her chin until he was at the right one, “I’m using antiseptic.” she warned.

“I know,” he answered, dropping to his knees beside her and making use of her bucket to dunk his sponge, “smell’s been givin’ me a headache.”

Maureen’s mouth twitched at his tired grumpiness, more endearing now he was still putting effort into being near the caustic shit and the way his golden hair flopped on his forehead with his scrubbing movements. If his hips were that fluid, that rhythmic in cleaning a floor, how much more could she teach him to be—“Yeah, I’m sure it’s the anti-septic giving you a headache.” she snarked.

They ate sandwiches he’d gotten from the navy camp’s mess on the back porch, letting the sea water lap at their feet. A little stale but it was a much needed breakfast and Gale brought fresh water back, too, and a report that they were nice fellas and entirely too undressed for her to ever go see. That suited her fine, they’d be a pest if they knew a woman was up here and personally speaking she only needed one man for company, crate lifting, and doing the job well. And she rather had her heart set on it being Gale Cleven. Especially now she got to stare at him under the bright morning sun with a tropical breeze and more skin on display than at a swimsuit contest. He’d put on a singlet, as if to mark that a day had begun even if they hadn’t slept the night, but that was promptly sweat soaked and tiny nipples were pebbling under it from the breeze.

“Did they ask if a nurse came with you?” she pressed him between bites.

“Yeah.” he swallowed his bite thickly and licked at the mayo collecting at the corner of his mouth with typical precision, “And I lied.”

“Well, well,” she cooed, making him roll his eyes, “how’d that feel?”

“I have lied before.” he balked.

The look he gave her was both thunderous and remincent and she repented that line of questioning, used to distinguishing in her patients whether a wound was from wartime or stemmed from childhood. “Well who’d you say came with?” she asked.

“A technician.” he mumbled, blushing for some reason.

“Mm, someone nice and hairy and stinky-“

“Stop.” he begged.

“-not anyone they’d wanna meet.”

“I did it for you!”

“-if that makes you sleep at night, Cleven.” she humored him and like lightning, the back of his hand had flicked out and thumped her on the sternum, hard.

“Shit!” Maureen clutched the place, more in surprise than pain although he’d walloped her good and well.

“Shit!” He parroted in mortification, holding his hand like it was an offensive weapon.

“What was that for?” she laughed, “Do I remind you that much of Benny? Are you missing him that bad? Is that who you pretended was with you up here? Huh? Huh? Benny Demarco, now that’s a beauty to hide under a bushel-“

She was crowding him in on the steps and he was teetering towards falling off, too alarmed at his own outburst to trust his instincts now to shove her off without causing harm -and she knew it. She pressed her advantage and crawled over him with her teasing comments about Demarco until his long body had bowed so far away from her’s it was levitating and then toppled predictably into the surf.

“Fuck it’s cold!” he wheezed out as the embrace of the old pacific drenched him and rolled him about at her feet for a few delightful moments before he got his footing and rose, shaking his hair out of his eyes and grabbing for the steps.

“Sea bathing was in doctor Egan’s regimen.” she informed remorselessly before extending a merciful hand to help him up. He was slippery and shiny as an eel coming up and the grip of his hand was as strong as she expected. And still she found it intoxicating, the duality of him as he stood there pouting and bitchy over being cooled off. “Stay right there baby, I’ll get you a towel.” she patted his chest, right where he’d smacked hers, and went inside.

“I’m not your baby.” She heard him holler to her through the door-less porch. “I’m not your baby.” he reiterated vehemently but lower again when she came out with the towel.

“Yes you are.” she argued, “For this week you’re my baby, whether that’s a literal infant or not is your choice -and don’t start arguing, you’ve got to stop it, no one’s making you do a damn thing.” she insisted, hand raised and his mouth closed satisfyingly as a result, “You’ll be my baby. I know you already had a baby, no? Our baby? Shared her with ten other men, that’s generous of you-“

“-Ensign!-“

“-so I’m not gonna be your baby. You’ll be mine and you can find me something to be for the week.” she watched closely as recognition of her logic began to dawn and settle on him, “I could be anyone. I could be Benny Demarco, for instance. If that’s who you wanna lay next to.”

Gale didn’t speak for a long while, eyes off to the side watching the surf lap at the steps and she was still standing there, holding his unused towel. “Who do you want me to be?” he asked finally and his grave perception just about winded her in its raw honesty.

“You.” she replied honestly, “Whichever version of you made it here with me.”

“An infant -a baby.” he scoffed and she was suspicious those eyes were watery. And too delayed for it to be from the salt.

“My baby.” she replied, “Never had one before.”

“With respect ma’am, that’s Bullshit.” he argued in a fierce hiss, “I know you have, with John and -and-“

“I’ve been somebody’s,” she clarified, “but I think I’ve grown out of that. You’ll be my baby, huh? It’s not marriage, Cleven, it’s a week in paradise and hopefully some shut eye, too. So do you want me to be Benny?”

Those watery eyes let one single tear go trickling down his pink cheek alongside the rivulets of ocean water dripping from his hair and Maureen had never felt a single thing heat her up quite like it. “No,” his chuckle was thick and he sniffed, “not Benny. Maybe uh, God, I dunno, I’ve never had anyone.”

“Then we can make it up entirely.” she was pleased by the idea of not being a stand-in, although god knows she and John could sympathize more about the need for that than anyone. “We’ll be castaways.” she suggested, sitting back down on the porch now the confrontation was dwindling and in full confirmation of her suspicions, he sat again beside her without fuss.

“Marooned.” he disagreed, chin resting on his hands and a boyish tug pulling up the corner of his lips. “Something insane you did landed us here.”

“Mm, took liberties with the captain's daughter, perhaps?” she teased, daring to run a finger along those golden shoulders and collect a few salt drops. He shuddered under her but stayed put.

“I’m not playing fair maiden for you.” he retorted but his eyes were fond.

“Mm, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Maureen was still impossible and Gale felt his gut burn in a bizzare sort of drive to prove her wrong. He’d hardly ever felt this even with all the jokes from the boys, not even with all the temptations from the girls, it just hadn’t seemed something that needed proving. Every flea and salmon could do it, he never doubted when he got married he could manage it credibly enough.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” his voice sounded like he’d come to a decision and Maureen squinted at his profile until it clicked.

“I’ve never been married before.” she observed breezily.

“And I never planned on being married for just a week.” he replied.

“Isn’t there a film about this?” she asked, “Cary Grant gets stuck on an island and he marries his castaway but then they get rescued and there’s a first wife?”

“Yeah, I think so, actually.” he thumbed at his bottom lip in contemplation and Maureen found it endlessly distracting, along with the bird song and the ocean crash and the sunshine.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” she agreed then, settling back on her elbows to stare up at the sun and let it add a few freckles, “And when it’s over and you’re rescued, I’ll be the better woman and let Our Baby have you.”

“You’ll always be the best of women, Maureen.” he sounded like the admittance took every fiber of his resolve to say, but she’d heard it before in his voice weeks ago when she was patching him up.

If a tear slipped out the corner of her shut eyes and down a sun warmed cheek, she wasn’t going to make a deal of it, not until she felt his finger catch it tenderly before it dropped from her jaw and rolled it back up.

She felt her lip wobble traitorously and perhaps there were more tears planning to follow and betray her but the shivering shock of his full lips, pressed to her bare shoulder, stemmed the flood. Maureen held her breath and kept her eyelids sealed, an orange glow of sunshine behind them as all her senses attuned to the drag of his caresses up to the juncture of her shoulder, the press of his body next to her on the porch boards, the suspenseful absence of his hands. They were soft as marshmallows, those lips, and a stray tip of his tongue caught her clavicle as he worked his way up a path that almost seemed premeditated, as if he’d thought of doing this a million times but held back. Now he allowed himself and the assured intimacy of his mouth made her body heat soar almost beyond her endurance as he crept up her throat and onto her cheek.

A kitten lick to that tear track down her cheek and Maureen was whimpering from something else entirely, breaking ranks and turning her head to gaze at him, nearly stunned by how close he was, how alive, how beautiful, how blue. There were his hands now, one propped beneath her shoulder, the other cupping her cheek. Her lips were tingling with anticipation by the time he’d lowered his face far enough and brushed her mouth with his.

Maybe he’d done his fair share of kissing the girls back home goodbye, or maybe it was a talent given along with this impossible lips, or perhaps she’d wanted it so long that the final having of it sent Maureen spiraling with something oddly like obsession.

Kissing was enough for the longest time, the shore sounds and the squawking of ocean birds and the feel of Gale Cleven laying more and more atop her as his tongue met hers and danced. She scratched the back of that tanned neck like she dreamed of doing a dozen times, little scritches to his hairline that had him sagging against her kisses to the point of crushing.

She allowed herself the liberty of running her hands along his lean sides, taking in the graceful taper of his waist, the dip of his back, the sopping wet waistband of his briefs. She wondered if this is how men feel with a young girl, when there’s so much loveliness one wants to maul it and mark it and watch it respond. Anything to make him moan again into her mouth, wrenched and helpless and appreciative of her all at once, anything for him to hump his hips against her thigh in a manner so mindless he didn’t seem himself at all.

When he pulled away, dazed and winded from his own exertions, he seemed to have left behind all his inhibitions, stark need written on his face and only some doubt of what he was allowed yet remaining. “Are we gonna?-“ he trailed off, raspy voiced and trembling with suspense.

“Going to what?” she couldn’t abide it any longer, his demureness, “Say your mind, Cleven.”

“Do it.” he let out with a wince.

“Well I don’t know, Mr. Jones, you tell me. Are we gonna?”

Gale huffed and threw his head back, trying to regain some sense of mind, lip savagely pulled between his teeth. “Yeah. We are.” he decided.

“Then finish your sandwich.” she patted his waist and pushed him off.

“I can’t!” he begged with a groan from where he’d spilled out on the porch like a boneless dummy. “Not now.”

“You’re gonna need it, the water too, trust me on this.”

“Are we gonna -make love? Or go for a forced march?” he protested but lifted the canteen to his lips anyways when she gave him a look and proceeded to drink it dry.

“How would you know the difference?” she teased and he had the good humor to roll his eyes. If all went according to Egan’s plan, they oughta hibernate for twelve hours of sleep afterwards and she wanted him hydrated and ready for that. Maureen had a plan of her own, which certainly might lead to such a sleep, but it also involved not getting off that boy for love of God or money until he was as useless as a wet rag and the impertinent gnawing between her own legs was replaced by a good ache.

Cleven was staring at his sandwich remorsefully, “I can’t get this down, Maureen.” he declared with sudden finality and then, without preamble he threw it into the sea. “C’mon, Mrs Jones.” he held out his hand for her as he stood up, something close to an excited grin taking over his face.

He was so confident now, having come to a decision, and Maureen found herself naturally bending to his direction, placing her hand in his large palm and allowing him to haul her to her feet as gently as a dance partner. “We’ve got a bed.” she reminded blissfully into another kiss, anchored to his face by the persistent hands snarled lovingly into her salt tousled curls: this hair Maureen, this hair drove me mad.

“And we’re gonna use it.” he agreed, walking her backwards up the porch until he feet were skidding over the threshold, his tongue still sucking her own.

She stopped him there with a hand to the willowy plane of his belly, a regulated, principled woman to the last, and snapped the still soaked waistband of his drawers. “Off, you’ll make the sheets wet and sandy.”

Their sweat would accomplish dampening them enough in this muggy heat, they didn’t need sand and ocean water to boot. Maureen ducked beneath his arm and went back out to grab the discarded towel.

“I don’t want a trail of drips on our clean floor.”

Gale smiled softly at the usage of “our” -it felt right somehow, to share things with her. They’d been at it for some time, it came naturally like it had with Bucky and the few other boys who he knew would be something special and unlike anything else after this. It was a little bittersweet to know he was living the best days of his life, right here and now, enviable, irretrievable moments of raw connection slipping away with each drip, drip, drip onto the threshold. It was a heartache in the making and it was a spur for the moment. Back home they’d never understand, and any old observer would see nothing unique, but Gale could allow himself the rightness of sharing just one more thing. Why not cement it fully, irrevocably, as the closest brush he’d ever come to with another soul- he’d asked himself the same with Bucky, knew it was already an established fact.

Maureen’s lips were warm where they pressed to his back, the space between his shoulders, towel held to his waist. “You’re not shy of me, are ya, baby?” she whispered in his ear, thumbing at the still worn briefs.

He could feel himself this past hour hardening and softening, so many times in the space of so many minutes he was dizzy with it, the way his brain would have the upper hand and then, suddenly no, it all rushed south. Which now left shyness as the only real excuse for the way he burned and shrank and burned and shrank in turn at each of her touches.

“You gonna give me the towel?” he asked instead.

“Once it’s safe to do so.” she replied primly, in her familiar nursing voice, and he hated the shudder that tore through him. She stepped under his arm again, around him and into the house, and stood in the shade of the it with the towel spread invitingly, tauntingly. A whole yard and a half between then and she’d decreed no drips past the threshold. Gale’s cheeks burned as did his eyes, smarting with brimming tears from an odd frustration he’d only ever felt over a botched mission, an anger at not being able to bomb his target and make it worthwhile, a petty frustration he always felt before the cold rage of lost men fully registered.

Futile tears: Gale yanked the skivvies down and stepped out of them efficiently.

Maureen wasn’t smiling at him from the shade anymore, not even a smirk, she looked hungry. She looked like Bucky, taking in “a view.” Gale didn’t know ladies ticked that way -or maybe they didn’t, maybe only Maureen did. The blush in his cheeks ran down his chest and spilled onto his belly and his fists clenched without thought.

“When the man of the house,” Maureen was reciting some inane pamphlet she no doubt did not heed or else they’d never be here, “respects the whims of the lady in small matters, he will find the lady more submissive to issues of larger stake such a-“

Gale made a dash at her, to shut her up, and she fled from him to the bedroom, feet smacking on the hardwood and cotton slip fluttering up her thighs -his towel with her.

“I want you bare.” he told her when he had her, struggling in his arms before the bed, a lush friction where he pressed tightly behind her.

“Then sit,” she sounded genuinely breathy, trapped to him and he had never heard her like that before, it made him want to hold fast, “and I’ll make your dreams come true.”

It was just a slip, no garters and no braisere or girdle, yet still Gale sat himself on the bed and Maureen bit her cheek to keep from laughing at the modest way he deposited the towel on his lap, covering what she’d been eyeing and thanking her luck for. A cock as pretty as his face -now if she could just make it stand up fully.

“You ready?” she deferred to him as she stood there before the bed, being looked on with all the reverence and trepidation of a goddess by this seated acolyte.

“Please,” he nodded furiously, “please show me.”

It felt a little wrong to expose oneself in front of such an angelic being, curtainless windows throwing in the sun on him all golden and untouched, white scratchy sheets and white draped towel making it a bower of innocence for a brief moment. It also felt right, to throw off everything but what they’d been born with. Off went rank, obligations and expectations, as easily as dragging the slip over her head.

She tossed the article of clothing behind her for good measure -and dramatic effect- then noted with satisfaction the bleary eyed comprehension of her charms from Gale Cleven where he sat with his mouth hung so slack he was liable to drool.

“Incredible.” he muttered, husky and a little slurred, his hand raising without his own volition to beckon her closer, a plea, command.

Maureen swayed on her feet, nearer and nearer until she was standing above him, between his parted legs and she shuddered as he laid that broad palm on her hip and dragged it up her side in an admiring swath, thumbing at her belly and catching her ribs in his hold.

“Those flight suits of yours, they don’t…they don’t let show the half of it.” Gale declared, mesmerized, face hovering closer and closer until his lips were pressing against her flesh, right under her sternum, his forehead pressed to the underside of one pendulous breast, nuzzling as he became aware of that, bunting like a calf at her breast with his face, gone silly with access.

“Whadda ya think?” she giggled, the silliness of Gale Cleven gone stupid over making yams jiggle being the exact sort of thing that made life worth living, and being a woman exquisitely satisfying.

“They’re so goddamn soft.” he moaned around a bit of the underside, still hadn’t worked his way to a nipple. He seemed too preoccupied with their give and bounce to make a more calculated use of them. Maybe if men hadn’t been told what to do with them, they’d do what Gale Cleven was doing and rub their face against them and let them rest on their foreheads. There was a charm to this ignorance as he licked the salty sweat from their undersides with a surprisingly brave tongue.

The clumsy misuse was oddly effective for Maureen, what Gale lacked in skill he made up for in unstudied appreciation and nothing got her quite so ready as being appreciated to the point of foolishness. Her first conquest had been a boy at school who hadn’t minded tripping in his track shoes, day after day, to try to catch up to her on her bicycle, just to give her a flower or trinket. He was laughed at for his devotion until he broke the school track record next year, and Maureen was sure to remind him of her role in his success. They’d soon found a mutually beneficial reward system and Maureen had adopted that attitude as a maxim for the future, her dates and conquests may have been many but each of them in their own way had been appreciative -or else she was jumping out the window, damn the twelve foot drop out the dormitory.

No one, however, had looked quite so gifted by her mere existence as Gale Cleven did while he clutched at her hips and smushed her flesh between his hands like it were some fine dough and he was an artisan.

Discreetly, and it was easy to be so with his face buried in her bosoms, Maureen glanced between them at the tool she had such hopes for and found it, unsurprisingly, twitching and dribbling against his thigh, half hard but flapping about like a fish on dry land, the discarded towel no match for its movement. He’d need a hand, literally and metaphorically, and as she raked her nails through his blond curls and directed his slick mouth to a nipple, she felt him sag even further into her hold. Maureen weighed her next step carefully, trying to tamp down her own wants. She’d need to be sure but slow, careful not to spook him, or antagonize or embarrass.

She wondered if he even realized the same banged-up-head condition that sent him out here was most likely responsible for the jitters that kept him flopping. She wasn’t so conceited as to assume he’d not bedded a woman yet out of mere dysfunction, Cleven was a man of principle and strict notions regarding how the world should be, and he wasn’t one to build those notions on passing medical conditions.

“You like ‘em?” Maureen teased him, shocked at how hoarse her own voice had gone in the interim.

“Gonna make a home in here.” he mumbled in the affirmative, slack grin molded to the valley between them, blue eyes wide as the skies outside peering up at her.

“Got a job for you, baby.” she murmured, thumbing at the scar on his cheek.

“What’s that Mrs. Jones?” his voice alone made her mad with need, as did the saucy turn of his mouth so wonderfully foreign she didn’t know how she’d control herself until he was ready.

“Need you to lick a little landing strip, right here.” she ran her finger along the somewhat tacky skin between her breasts, sweat and his sloppy kisses having partway done the job already.

“What for?” Gale asked, hushed and curious.

“You’ll see soon enough.” she recalled how effective her nursing voice had been on him, and pulled it out now it seemed beneficial.

She had been right, with only a hesitant spark of aggravated defiance, Gale dipped his head and stuck out that pink tongue, lapping a swath up between her breasts as directed, flaming eyes locked on hers as she shivered from the breeze on spit slicked flesh.

“Again.” she told him, and his hands came up to hold her breasts apart as he did it again, and again and once more under his own direction until it was shiny and messy and his nose was gleaming, too.

“What’s it for?” He demanded once more, pink cheeked and swallowing hard as his mouth had dried out from his efforts.

“I told you, silly,” she replied casually, “it’s a landing strip.” and with as little fuss as possible she got to her knees before he’d registered the absence of her standing above him. “Gale, let go of the damned towel.”

She held in a laugh of delight at the tortured color he had grown to, veins running like so much ivy up and down him and a vibrant pink tip that matched his lips. Maureen wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look him in the face again without thinking of this drizzling little pink mushroom.

“You oughta count your blessings, Gale Cleven, it was a close call, my coming along at all.” she informed him soberly while his mind visibly vacated his body at the repeated sighting of his sputtering cock emerging from between the pillowy press of her breasts, “It was pretty touch and go there for a bit, I was quite sure in fact, that Bucky was gonna help himself to this assignment.”

“Maureen!” Gale thundered, except his usual imposing ire was much diluted by his quivering belly and hoarse voice.

“What?” she brushed off his scandalized displeasure with a grin, feeling cocky herself as he hadn’t flagged on her in minutes and was beginning to gush in earnest, “Bucky loves the beach.”

“Sure, Maureen.”

“In the end he decided I had what it takes.” she went on conversationally, ignoring the inhuman sounds that came out of him when she casually spit on his tip, the better to work her lips around him, “These.” she clarified, pressing her breasts to his thighs as she wrapped her mouth around him and sucked.

“Fuck, hell, Maureen! Sorry, sorry, oh fuck!” -not even Gale Cleven had expected his hips to fly up that hard and fast, knocking on the back of her throat.

She laid her hands on his squirmy hips and did her best impression of a Listerine gargle round his tip, which sent a shudder through him so strong she thought he might’ve climaxed already.

“Maureen, Maureen come on, get up here, please.” now he yanked at her hair, desperate for once and that was a pleasure to hear.

“What baby?” she pulled off him.

“Gotta kiss you.” he told her firmly, and hauled her bodily up by her armpits, rolling her under him in the bed.

Kisses -sure, Gale, kisses.

He was moaning atop her, wiry and flexing his hips against her, wriggling to get between her thighs and she let him, hungry and expectant when he slotted easily in place. He pressed his lips to hers ardently, then reared back in shock at the taste of his own precum in her mouth and on her lips.

“Salty.” he whispered as if to himself before licking his lips and going back for more. “What do I need’to do?” he whispered urgently against her mouth as she rocked against him and he rocked back until they’d frustrated each other thoroughly with mere caresses.

“Put it in, my baby.” she whispered back.

“First though, don’t I need to-to do- something? Something first?” he could barely think straight but he’d heard enough talk about this, about gentlemen and the necessity of some form of chivalrous preparation. The way discipline and intuition set apart an average pilot from an excellent one. Bucky had talked a lot about getting girls ready, making them squirm, revving them up, for all his apparent disinterest during the topic, Gale had been listening.

“You’ve done it already, Mr. Jones.” she giggled, reaching between them to drag him more firmly through the wanton swamp he’d made of her. “I’m ready, I’m so ready.”

“Oh fuck, s’wet.” he mumbled the obvious before willingly letting her guide him in, his body following her tug like his cock were a leash.

“Jesus,— Gale!” Maureen choked as he bottomed out in a sudden plunge, shocked at the stretch despite the gauging of his size. “You’re so deep, oh baby you’re a big one aren't ya.”

“You ok?” he whimpered, shuddering on top of her again and again at the incomparable feeling of being inside another’s body.

“Oh yeah, yeah I’m fine,” she gasped, “Hurts so good, you can move, baby.”

“You’re so warm.” he sounded close to worshipful he was so drunk off her, and Maureen spared a moment to smirk at the fate of man: come tearing their way out of a woman to begin their lives only to spend the rest of it trying to and needing to get back in.

He did try to move, she’d give him that. And while Maureen was more than half expecting it, still, it was mildly comical to see the confusion flash across his blissful face right as the buildup was snatched from him and he was suddenly shaking into the real event before he knew it, betrayed and euphoric all at once. The muscles in his belly and back and neck seized and his hips lunged in a series of uncoordinated pumps and she could read the panic in his eyes right before they rolled back -a begrudging admittance that this was nothing at all like the steady predictability of his hand.

“That’s it baby, that’s my baby, feel nice, huh?”

Gale didn’t answer her, too occupied whimpering with a taut throat and jaw clenched so tight he could snap a hinge like that. He was shaking worse than before when the spasms subsided and the tiniest pressure to his sweat slicked neck had him buckling to lay pressed against her, half senseless from the force of his release.

Maureen had always loved this part of sex, the pliable, bewildered, smushed man atop her like she’d sucked his soul out, when he’d rendered it up to her so willingly, so desperately, forcefully even, chasing his own eventual weakness. Long limbs aligning on top of hers, the hot pants of winded breath against her breasts, the hands listlessly holding on wherever that had last tried to grip and control her. The view from above with Gale Cleven was something additional, beautiful and glistening with bronzed swaths of sun exposed skin and the pale whites of his thighs and ass making a perfect little outline of absent shorts, his golden hair tousled beyond salvaging and that luscious mouth, drooling like a babe’s.

“So this is what Bucky’s been talkin’ about.” he mumbled into her breast, cheek smashed and enunciation shot to hell.

Maureen laughed in disbelief, “Thinking of him even now? Really, he’s going to be impossible if we tell him.”

“Just sayin’, now I know.” he defended, lazily rubbing his partly softened cock inside her with a shimmy of his hips that was quickly followed by an overly sensitive mewl.

“You don’t know anything, Angel boy.” she insisted and Gale raised his head at that, sour that she’d still contradict him after thirty seconds of vigorous pumping. “Let me see your hands.”

He had some trouble recalling where he put them but eventually he found them under her hips and withdrew them from their warm shelter to present them, warily. “Well, damn.” he muttered to himself, somewhat shocked by just how badly the shakes had worsened. “Looks like that treatment backfired.”

“More of a dose dependent case, I’d say.” Maureen corrected and circled each wrist with her hands and brought them up to her lips to kiss.

Gale’s face smoothed at her softness and a shy smile lit up his bleary eyes while she felt a twitch of his spent cock deep inside her, swishing about the mess he’d made like a dog’s tail after getting pats. “You have the most beautiful hands.” she informed him earnestly and balls deep inside her she watched as one single innocuous compliment sent him scarlet with a blush. “And they’ll be yours again soon.” she promised.

His gentle expression and bright red cheeks crumpled rather suddenly and before either of them seemed to expect it, fat teardrops had escaped the blue of his eyes and rolled down the crimson flesh of his face.

“Goddamnit.” he cursed hoarsely, in an absolute rage at himself, regaining his hands from her grip insistently to bring them up to his own face, hiding from her behind harsh fists that rubbed at his wet eyes like he could grind the grief and weariness out between his knuckles.

Unbalanced as he was without hands to support him, and legs gone jellied from his fast fading pleasure, Maureen chose to capitalize on it as a nurse would a brief state of insensibility to move a patient to a cleaner cot. Remorselessly she pressed at his shoulder and lifted their still joined hips until he tipped over, rolling onto his back beneath her. “We’ll have none of that.” she told him with loving adamance from her new perch, prying his hands away and pressing them to the sheets beside his head. “The hiding, I mean.” she clarified and he looked all of hardly past twenty laying there with wobbly lips and wet eyes unobscured, “I’m a very great proponent of crying,” she went on conversationally which confused him more but kept him too preoccupied to stifle his tears, “De-sanguination is still a highly esteemed practice, you know, it means to drain the body. One type of draining often triggers the other.”

“You gonna start bleeding me?” he asked wryly.

“Oh, maybe, you’d look so pretty all streaked up.” she teased and ran a sharp thumbnail over his pinned wrist.

Well, that got him hard again. Fascinating.

“You know what’s got your hands like this-“ she whispered softly, “-probably the same reason you flop, too.”

“Huh.”

“Pretty common.” she assured.

“Quit tellin’ me I’m common.” He growled, tickling her sides and she grabbed his hands, pinning them again playfully.

“Nothing common about you, sweet baby.” she swore, leaning down to kiss him and enjoying the way he met her strongly, surely, “Gale, can I move?” she asked, half strangled by the taut string of need coiled in her belly, tugged to madness by the bulk of him still resting limply inside.

“Move?” he was perplexed.

“I’m going to die if I don’t get some friction.” she whispered, somehow shy to admit that in the face of his innocent bewilderment, “God -please tell me someone has informed you women finish, too?”

“Bucky says they clamp up so tight you can’t help but blow.” Gale recited dutifully, “Which is what just happened, right?”

Maureen grinned wide and wicked before dragging her hips up till he was barely in, then plopping down into the cradle of his hips, making him let out a “oomph.”

“Maureen?” he questioned, half knowing already he had been mistaken but hell, to go again? “Maureen- I’ll die if we go again.”

“What a way to go.” she muttered, her pace atop him increasing as did the tortured gasps tumbling from his lips. His spunk was making terribly wet, lewdly sloppy sounds of suction each time she slammed down on his cock and the visual of her exerting herself on top of him was something so blatant and jiggly he could hardly endure the visual feast of it.

“Shit, shit I can’t-“ he growled while his trembling hands latched onto her hips in a grip that was anything but dissuading. “Maureen.” he begged her for…he knew not what.

“Come on Mr. Jones,” she clasped her hands around his face and aligned their noses, rubbing like a kiss with each movement of her lower body, “you’re not one to leave your missus needy, I know you’re not. Not when you’ve got such pretty hands-“

-a shudder from him.

“and a clever tongue-“

-a whine from him that sounded close to a wounded dog’s it was so lasting.

“-or a tool this capable.”

“Maureen.” he groaned.

“Baby, my baby.” she begged, “You’ve got what I need, come on, take me apart.”

Like he trusted himself for the first time since they began this endeavor, she felt his body bow up beneath her, his arm flexing strongly across her hips, his legs braced beneath her and a heavy hand clutching her neck, then he was driving up into her with a wild abandon she only ever hoped was simmering beneath that cool exterior. When she finished he hadn’t stopped, and Maureen found herself crying out like a feral thing into the hollow of his clavicle as the brutal pummeling went on, satisfaction drug out of her over and over in harsh ruts.

“That more like it?” he panted the harsher he grew, a hand around her jaw pushing her face away from his so he might see the damage he was doing.

“Yes, yes oh baby, yes!” she swore through clenched teeth, it had been too long and each blissful peak only aggravated her further, made her hungrier, that and the fact he was so proportioned as to be a constant delight just shy of pain, “Hell Gale, do ya hear us?” she gloated, propping herself back on his thighs to watch the shiny pink of him flash in and out of her wet sheath.

Mesmerized, Gale didn’t reply, but he dragged a hand up her belly and felt for the way it tensed at each intrusion, the span of his fingers an incredible thing across her skin. “Can’t believe you can take it, easy as that.” he marveled, his thumb straying and pulling apart her petals the better to watch.

“Thumb it right there.” she directed gently, reaching down to move his calloused finger over her bud, right above where he split her apart, “That’s it, ya feel that too, huh?”

“Fuck you’re tight.” his voice cracked and his eyes shot wide again.

“Are you -?”

“Maybe.” there was a wobble of blissed uncertainty in his voice until she stopped her movements and he let out a sob before he could catch it. “Maureen, please.”

“Please what, baby?” she was chuckling at him, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead, “I let you-“ he pleaded, still thinking things worked that way, “-now I need, please Maureen...”

“Oh you can.” she assured and his face lightened but his eyes stayed wary, “But just know, I won’t be stopping.”

“What?”

“You remember how that feels, don’t ya baby?” she reminded, gently pushing him to lie back and beginning their movements anew, “So good you can’t stand it, so messy and easy for me, so tender and much for you?”

“Jesus.” he wheezed, his lean belly caving in with his heavy pants, but she felt him throbbing inside her and his pupils were large as saucers, “You’re as mean as Bucky.” he whined, voice gone high in panicked pleasure.

“Thank you, but really I’m not.” she laughed, gently thumbing away an errant tear that rolled down his cheek. “Not quite.”

“Maureen, please, please you’re too pretty!” he begged nonsensically even as his hips began to snap into hers, invigorated and forceful.

“Hold it Gale, try to hold it.” Maureen gasped, staring down at the prettiest face she’d ever seen as his brow began to furrow, “Or don’t, all the same to me.”

“I’m gonna flip you.” he swore and a few seconds of inaction passed, marked by the slam of her hips down onto his, and she thought he didn’t mean it until she gave him a daring look and suddenly she was careening backwards, head jolting against the sheets and body laid out firmly beneath him.

“Goddamn.” she swore at the way he hadn’t dislodged an inch during the whole maneuver, suddenly pressed just as deeply as before, his hips working like a piston and his hands tight and strong on her neck. “Goddamn baby. Oh goddamn that’s good.”

“S’good?” he begged her to repeat, some dizzying natural force propelling him harder and faster and needier.

“You’re so good.” she was adamant as she hung about his neck and locked her ankles in the small of his back. “You’re so good I’m - I’m -gonna-“

“What was that about holdin’ it?” he hissed, smile cocky and smug.

“Bull ain’t out of the gate yet Cleven,” she cautioned but her hips had begun to lift of their own accord, a tremble taking hold of her, “But I’m close, I’m, i'm real cl- oh God!”

“Come on sweet Maureen, wanna make ya -wanna do it for ya. Give ya what you need, Mrs Jones.” Gale’s hoarse and sweet nothings poured hot and breathy in her ear and Maureen found herself locked and gripping him before she knew it, moaning into his neck as he moved in and out, in and out as she’d only ever dreamed of.

When she cracked her dazzled eyes open again he was panting above her, the clink of his dog tags gently bumping her chin with each sway deeper, lashes batting in a golden flutter as he too began to lose himself, slower, more drawn out and yet every bit as desperate as the first time.

“Look at me baby, look at me when ya do.” she pleaded, gently gripping his chin as his mouth fell open in a series of little noises of effort that went straight to her belly grown hot and molten with the feeling of him spurting inside.

“Ugh, ugh, ugh,” Gale was working atop her in pained delight, lips so smeared and face so sweaty he looked like he might melt at any minute, “thank you, oh fuck, thank you, sweet Maureen.” he chanted low and dreamy, again and again until he drove in once more and stayed.

Those clear blue eyes fagged in an exhausted ecstasy, his head dropping impossibly further with each ragged pant until his face was barely hovering over her breasts, neck bent and forhead slowly pressing into the swell of them. His forearms gave out and those hands of his stayed trapped beneath her shoulder blades.

“Sleep Angel baby,” Maureen coaxed, hand cradling the back of his dear head to her breasts, feeling a low lazy peace settle over her at the feel of his dead weight plugging her up and the lovely wringing out she’d just endured, “let’s just sleep, dear boy.”

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sunmoonjune · 2 years

Text

gods and monsters

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru (poly!) [pacific rim!au]

warnings: minors dni!! gore, death, injuries, blood, allusions to wanting to die, enemies/rivals to friends to lovers (I guess?), fighting, monsters, angst with a happy ending, single parent au! with megumi (I can’t resist this trope with satosugu for some reason), tons of fluff too!, heavy suggestive themes but no actual smut, reader has a brother, reader is never referred to as [name] or y/n, only as nicknames or ‘Red’ (a pilot nickname), plenty of references to the first Pacific Rim movie, apologies for any ooc behavior :((

word count: 27.6k

a/n: ok, so maybe I have a problem. I definitely didn’t intend for this to be so long, I just kept imagining a new scene and getting more ideas and I just couldn’t stop writing them down. somehow satosugu rattles my brain and makes insane amounts of dopamine just like rush through me. anyway, I hope y’all enjoy this fic, it’s definitely a monster :D

here’s the ao3 link if Tumblr crashes

The last time you were in a Jaeger, the smell of smoke and ash filtered through your lungs and the grime of blood and soot rubbed your wounds raw under your drive-suit. The metallic sound of gears grinding and fire roaring are dull to your ears as the influx of graphic, hellish memories filter through your consciousness.

The once two-hundred foot hunk of metal had been brought to its knees, left arm ripped from its side and electrical fires clouding the air around its hull in a dark haze. The Scarlet Dragon, previously a crimson-red, Mark-3 mass of destruction, was now nothing more than scraps – the dull, sanguine metal tilting forward to collapse onto the coastline.

As the whirring of the Jaeger’s engine silences, the air is filled with only the sounds of roaring flames and waves breaking against the machinery. Inside the Scarlet Dragon’s cockpit, you - the only remaining pilot, fight for your life: battling against the needles dug into your spine and attempting to free yourself from the technology that bound you to the pilot seat. When the hair thin needles finally pull away from your skin, you heave a wet cough, choking on the smoke that fills the hull. Left arm numb and nearly paralyzed, blood dripping into the drive-suit, you pull yourself to your knees.

Ears roaring from the fight and the breach in the Dragon’s hull, you can’t hear anything over the ringing sound that echoes in your skull. Shrieking a pained cry, you fall onto your hands and knees, unable to support your own weight with your injuries. Eyes shifting over to the side of the cockpit, you exhale an anguished sob at the empty space to your left. There’s a gaping hole in the Jaeger’s left side, where both the arm and half the Scarlet Dragon’s head have been ripped to pieces.

The space of the missing pilot’s seat stares menacingly back at the only remaining form in the Jaeger’s skull.

An agonizing sob rips from your throat, tearing a guttural sound from your lips. A bolt of pain echoes through your heart, the screams of your copilot still filtering through your ears and the mind-melding agony of their body being torn apart still lingers under your skin.

Shaking your head to get rid of the memory, you drag yourself to the cavernous hole in the Scarlet Dragon’s cockpit. Hands slicing open over the pointed shrapnel, you manage to pull yourself through the massive gap in the crimson metal. Your body falls a few feet to the packed sand below, a throbbing bolt of pain flowing through your chest, where cracked ribs and bruised skin lay.

Laying immobile on the sand, you can’t hear anything over the memory of your brother being ripped from his seat, crying out his name as sparks crack through the empty cockpit. Around you, fires continue to roar as the shattered Jaeger continues to fall apart.

It’ll only be moments before rescue helicopters manage to reach your location – the tracker in the drive-suit is seldom wrong. All your broken form can do is force yourself to breathe. The rise and fall of your chest sparks only more pain, but it’s all you can do under the circumstances. You almost give into the darkness, ready to join your brother and succumb to the agony that overtakes your senses. However, the echo of your brother’s voice sinks into your brain, startling your senses and reminding you of the reason you became a pilot.

Heaving another sob, you cry out as the shift of your ribs throbs painfully in your chest. The sounds of a helicopter’s wings beating through the air fill your ears, and a shining light burns brightly into your cornea as the search light finally finds your defeated body. Outside your mind, there’s a cacophony of noise as search-and-rescue soldiers scramble to save your broken form; orders are being shouted through headsets and questions are passed about the vital signs that your drive-suit is still reporting.

However, you can't hear any of it over the memory that still flashes back and forth in front of your vision. You can still see your brother’s face when he turns to look at you. His eyes were wide and anxious, lips parted as he tried to pass along his final wishes. You can still feel his shock and agony through the Drift.

Every moment of his dying anguish was your own.

You were still connected in the Drift when he’d been torn from his seat. All his thoughts - all his feelings - were your own. Connected in both mind and body in the Jaeger; you could feel his pain as if it was your own skin being ripped from bone.

After being ripped from the cockpit, you were left in agony. Chest screaming under the weight of both your emotions coupled with your brothers, your brain seems to crumple under the strain of piloting the Scarlet Dragon on your own.

Jaegers were not meant to be piloted alone.

The mental and physical strain was too much for a single neurological system to maintain. With your copilot gone, the weight begins to sink onto your skull. It feels as though the mass of the machine itself was collapsing onto your body. With no one else to share the load, you were forced to battle the remaining monster alone; the first soldier to ever pilot a Jaeger and slaughter a Kaiju alone.

When you cough out another breath, there’s blood on your lips. Your cracked, possibly shattered, ribcage has likely pierced your lungs. It’s agonizing to breathe, but you keep the rise and fall of your chest as steady as you can.

Around you, there’s chaos. Soldiers, having reached the sand from the rescue helicopters, are frantically pulling gauze tight over the wound in your chest. You don’t even have the energy to wince when the fabric is pulled tight across your ribs. There's more shouting, but it's so muffled to your eardrums. A soldier waves a flashlight over your eyes, scanning your pupils and attempting to gauge your response to the stimulation.

The soldier clicks the light off, whipping his head over his shoulder to shout something at another. Their eyes are frantic, bodies stiff as they load your form into a rescue stretcher. Once it’s secured tightly by rope to the helicopter, the soldier gives a circled wave of his hand, a muffled shout of confirmation ripping through his headset.

As your body is airlifted into the sky, a final glimpse of the Scarlet Dragon’s defeated form reaches your weakened eyes – the sanguine metal glinting in the fading sunlight. Smoke still burning high into the sky and orange flames licking at the crushed machinery.

It’s one last look at the Mark-3 Jaeger; a final farewell to the piece of machinery that you had once held so dearly in your heart.

As you turn your head away from the burning metal, the fading sun shines into your eyes as you begin to succumb to the weight on your body. Darkness closes around your vision, and despite your best efforts to hold on, each breath becomes harder than the last. With a fading breath and eyes drooping closed, you make a promise. To both your brother and yourself, you promise that your fight is now over. You can’t imagine continuing on with another pilot – the thought of someone else in your head, poking through your memories, your thoughts and dreams – terrifies you. With your brother, it was different: only nine months apart, you had practically been twins. You’d been at each other’s side for everything, and the thought of piloting a Jaeger with a copilot who wasn’t him, was a task too daunting to imagine.

So you promise. As your body succumbs to its wounds and your mind fades to darkness, you promise.

This was the last time you’d ever be in a Jaeger.

It’s six years later when the Marshall finds you.

You've been working on-and-off jobs, just trying to make ends meet and keep yourself busy. The work is good. It’s not healthy, but burying yourself in a strenuous job doesn’t leave much time for your brain to relive old memories. For the past year and a half, you’ve been working on the coastal wall. It’s not a job you had planned to ever take, knowing it wouldn’t withstand any Kaiju stronger than a Class Two, but it pays pretty well. The added bonus of manual labor ensures that you’ll be too tired in the evenings to stay awake and lament in past tragedy.

You’re hauling a bag of powdered cement to the next workplace when you hear the familiar sound of helicopter blades beating against the wind. It’s loud, but not overpowering as the sounds of metal scraping against each other and saw blades whirling fill the atmosphere. You ignore it in favor of finishing your tasks, continuing to lug heavy bags over your shoulder before continuing onto the next job.

When the final bag hits the floor with an echoing thud, the atmosphere falls quiet. The silence is eerie and unsettling. You’re used to the wall being filled with chatter and boots scuffing against concrete. The sounds of metal being welded and tools rattling come to a stop, a foreboding stillness falling into its place.

Eyes fall to your form. Workers turn their heads to look at you, their gazes slip away from their tasks in order to settle on you. You ignore them, continuing to adjust your gloves instead. Tightening the straps around your wrists, you fiddle with the thick material. You can feel eyes piercing into your skin, but it’s nothing you’re not used to. Being a Jaeger pilot meant all eyes were on you, a feeling you had hated when you were on active duty. Now, the feeling just irks you. It settles like grime on your skin, and you long to wipe the feeling off to get rid of their leering stares.

The echo of heavy footsteps is heard behind you. The steps are sharp and dutiful, each step falling in the exact succession as the last. They’re military footsteps, you easily recognize. However, you already had a lingering suspicion when the room fell quiet. You don't look up. Instead, a deep sigh filters through your lungs as you stare directly in front of you.

“Long time no see, Marshall.”

Your voice fills the quiet room, echoing through the silence as you greet your former employer. When you turn to face the stoic face of the Marshall, your lips tighten in their blank expression. You greet him with a sharp nod; it’s been years since you’d saluted your former commanding officer, and you’re not sure you’re ready to start again.

“Officer Red.”

You stare at each other for a moment, neither speaking a word as the silence in the room becomes uncanny. The workers have not returned to their posts, still watching the two of you in a quiet stand-off. Their gazes are inquisitive and you hate the way it burns into your skin.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been referred to as your ‘call-sign’. The name ‘Red’ had been tagged to you like an aviator’s call-sign after you and your brother became synonymous with your Jaeger. The Scarlet Dragon had been your namesake, giving you the sort of nickname after the machine’s sanguine red color.

Eventually, the Marshall’s body turns, inclining his shoulder to motion behind him. His deadpan expression does not change, so neither does yours.

“May I speak to you for a moment?” Though it’s phrased as a question, you know the Marshall is not asking for permission. He turns on his heel and begins walking back towards the helicopter, knowing there won’t be any prying eyes or inquisitive ears further away. You dutifully follow. You’ve never been one to defy direct orders, even if he’s no longer your commanding officer.

Your footsteps match in time, the pilot’s mindset never quite leaving your brain. When you exit the wall’s interior, you’re met with a blistering cold. It’s snowing out, thick white flakes clouding the skies outside the overhang you and the Marshall take shelter under. The thick winter coat keeps you warm, but you still sniffle at the change in temperature.

“With all due respect, Sir -” you begin. “Could this not wait a few more days? You know I’m headed to visit Megumi at base - why come all this way?”

You know the Marshall is well aware of your near weekly visits. They had to be cleared by his signature, so there’s no reason he would be unaware of your planned stop at your old headquarters. You don’t often go further in the base than the little orphanage housed near the front, but you still visit frequently. The little house positioned not far from the entrance of the secluded base is home to the few orphaned children that live in the Shatterdome. Most are kids from pilots that haven’t survived; they’re taken care of by the medicinal staff on site, and all their needs are provided for. Some get adopted and others don’t, but you still visit weekly to see Megumi.

The kid’s almost ten now.

He’d been so young when his parents had died, only a few years old when Toji Fushiguro and his wife’s Jaeger had been destroyed. They’d been close friends of yours - the Fushiguro’s, and their deaths had been a heavy toll in your heart. The incident weighed greatly on your consciousness, leaving you and your brother devastated for months. Toji had been a childhood friend of your family. You and your brother had grown up alongside the burly child, though your brother had always been closer to Toji than you.

However, it had been you, that Toji had pulled aside after Megumi’s birth.

He’d muttered grimly under his breath, hands clutching your forearm when he’d made you promise. Toji’s eyes were wary, as if unsure of what he was asking, but he continued nevertheless. He shifted on his feet, looking down at the floor and grunted under his breath. Toji was never good at showing emotions, unlike his wife. Though he persisted, his words spoke in silent volumes as he asked you to take care of Megumi should anything happen to his wife or himself.

You hadn’t realized the weight of his words then. It had seemed silly since you were all so young - just in your early twenties. However, you agreed, knowing that you would never let anything happen to Megumi should the worse occur.

When it did happen - the worst, you mean - you and your brother had been shattered. You mourned the loss of your friends, stepping away from piloting for a few weeks to cope with the gaping hole that had been left in your heart. However, you knew you couldn’t grieve for too long – there was someone who needed you more than you needed to mourn.

While there was still a bleeding wound aching in your chest, Megumi Fushiguro had just lost his parents. It was a blow more devastating than much else - one you and your brother had already experienced. You knew that you had to be there for the kid. He wouldn’t understand yet, being too young to realize that his parents were truly gone, but you followed through on your promise to Toji.

You looked after Megumi in the following years, becoming his only parental figure aside from your brother. Though he was older than you, your brother became more of a friend for Megumi, rather than a parental figure. You, on the other hand, cared for Megumi like a mother, knowing that he had no one else to lean on. You had not let the higher-ups force the boy into the base’s orphan program at first, insisting that you could care for him on your own. However, after some persuasion from the Marshall, you realized that letting the boy stay at the orphanage did not mean you wouldn’t be his primary caretaker. The Marshall signed off on the order, letting the program know that Megumi was not to be set up for adoption. You expressed wanting to adopt him when he was ready, a sentiment you made clear to Megumi in his later years.

For now, you resolved with visiting him weekly at the base. When you had the chance, you tried to drop by as often as you could, making your face known to the few other children at the program. For now, Megumi was content with waiting at the base’s orphanage, knowing you didn’t have a stable place to reside just yet. You weren’t ready to take him away from his only friends either, knowing he’d bonded strongly to Itadori Yuuji, another one of the children cared for at the base.

The Marshall answers your question with a quick shake of his head. His fists are held in front of him in a wide stance, his shoulders set low as he begins to explain.

“The Jaeger program has been scrapped, Red. Command believes that the Wall is sufficient protection for the future and has revoked funds towards the Jaeger program.”

You still.

The coastal wall will not hold as Command believes. You’ve seen footage of Class Three Kaiju tearing through the wall in less than an hour. It will not protect the human population in the future as they believe it will. A sinking feeling forms in your gut. Without the Jaegers, there is little hope for a future without the destruction of the Kaiju.

“They’ve allowed enough funding to finish the year through, then all Jaeger’s will be decommissioned and the pilots will be dismissed. No further machines will be built.”

You shift on your feet, wringing your hands together in the thick gloves that cover them. A lingering anxiety is beginning to settle in the depths of your stomach.

“So, what does that mean?” You whisper, still not understanding his presence at the wall, nor his urge to speak with you.

“It means we have enough funding to take one final shot at The Breach.”

“But, Sir -” you start, stepping forward with a furrow in your eyebrows.

The Marshall raises a hand to silence your interruption. You fall silent, recognizing the command and knowing you’ve stepped out of line.

“We need as many pilots as we can get to run an operation like this. Only six Jaeger’s remain, and we have even fewer pilots.” He finishes. In the silence that follows, you recognize why he’s come to the wall. He hasn’t come to inform you of the program’s demolition, nor the dismissal of the pilots – he’s come to ask you to pilot a Jaeger.

Already shaking your head in disagreement, you step back away from the Marshall. There's twisting in your stomach and a faint ringing in your ears. You can still feel the phantom pain in your left arm, and you rub the shoulder to ease the ache.

“Sir, I’ve been very clear that I no longer wish to pilot a Jaeger.” Your words are firm and final, offering no room for argument. You’ve had this conversation with the Marshall before. It ended in similar circumstances, with your refusal to enter another machine and the Marshall’s exasperation.

The Marshall opens his mouth to protest, beginning to offer an argument to persuade you to change your mind, but you cut him off.

“I was still connected to my brother when he died, Marshall.” Your words are heavy and your tone offers some sense of guilt. “In the Drift, I felt everything he did – every glimpse of fear and every wave of pain. I can’t do that again. I can’t let another pilot in my head like that.”

The Marshall sighs, looking down at his feet. It’s the first time he’s looked away from you since he’d arrived. You know that your brother’s death weighed heavily on his mind too. Your brother had been a good pilot and an even better friend. Nearly everyone on the base had known him, including the Marshall. He feels the same lingering guilt in his chest at the memory of the incident.

“Officer -” The Marshall begins. “I’m not asking you to come back to pilot – not yet, anyways. I’m asking you to come back to the Shatterdome. If you won’t enter another Jaeger, at least help train the cadets. They could use the knowledge you have.”

You sigh, looking away from the Marshall again and consider his offer. You know if you return he’ll continue to attempt to persuade you, but it’s not as if he wouldn’t persist regardless. Though you’ve sworn off piloting, helping the new recruits with real combat experience could aid in the operation to take The Breach.

Besides, the offer to stay closer to Megumi is tempting.

“Red.” The Marshall’s tense voice fills the silence. “You’re the only pilot to ever survive controlling a Jaeger on your own. We can’t lose that kind of strength.”

You toe the snow with your boot, mulling the offer over in your head. The smell of the Shatterdome nearly wafts through your senses as you reminisce in memories of the place you once called ‘home.’ While it brings back agonizing memories of those you’ve lost, you also filter through happier memories; those with old friends, sharing dinners and loudly laughing over the cacophony of the cafeteria’s dining area. You muse about the happier times when you and your fellow pilots gathered around small tables to play card games and share stories in the faint light of the Jaegers.

Looking back up at the Marshall, you take a deep sigh and offer him a tense-lipped, barely-there smile. You pull your arms over your chest, crossing them to rest against you.

“Alright, Marshall.” You decide. “But I want plenty of time to spend with the kid.”

He nods, accepting your terms as he lets out a breath of relief. When he sets his shoulders back into a stiff, formal position, there’s a sense of reprieve on his face. It’s as if he had expected to return to the Shatterdome alone. With a roll of your eyes, you tilt your shoulder back towards the entrance to the Wall. The bitter cold is starting to sink under your coat and you ache to return to the interior.

“Let me pack my things, Marshall.” You finally decide. “I can be ready in fifteen.”

When you step foot onto the wet concrete of the Shatterdome, it’s as if nothing has changed. The smell of oil and metal fill your senses, and the sounds of gears grinding and engines whirling enter your ears. It fills you with an aura of pure nostalgia that settles over your chest in a blanket of both fond and painful memories. The weight, though heavy on your ribs, is almost comforting. There's so many good memories that have a way of drowning out the mournful ones.

The rain falls in constant sheets, beating against the black material of your umbrella. Though loud, you find a bit of peace in the thunderous sound. Your addled brain welcomes the white noise as you take in the sights of the Shatterdome.

Towering walls greet your entrance, the familiar stone unchanged to the whims of time. You and the Marshall enter through the massive doors; they’re meant for Jaegers, the sliding machinery on the floor beneath you indicative of their necessary transportation. Since no Jaeger is being shuttled to battle at the moment, the doors remain open for soldiers to move to and from the Shatterdome.

Sliding into the elevator in silence, you shut your umbrella and shake off the excess water from its damp sides. Neither you nor the Marshall speak, but you’re grateful for the silence. It’s been years since you’ve entered the main hub of the Shatterdome, only entering the front rooms to visit and take care of Megumi. You had previously feared the rush of agonizing memories that you worried may take hold of your grieving mind. There was an inkling of caution in your gut, a suspicion that if you gave into the grief and visited your old ‘home,’ you would find yourself drowning in a sea of guilt with no anchor to grasp onto.

Now, the feeling is still there. It sits at the bottom of your gut in a solid lump that continues to twist your intestines in knots. However, it's less profound than you had imagined. While lingering, it doesn’t clog your throat or squeeze your chest tight. There’s a burning in your throat, but you’re able to suppress it.

There’s a feeling of enduring excitement, one you did not think would reappear when you entered the Shatterdome. While you had ceased the thought of piloting again, being around the Jaegers - around your old home - brought back lively memories. There are flashes of moments between your and your brother, of you and the Fushiguro’s – moments where you were so genuinely happy for the first time in a long time.

With a sad smile and a burning behind your eyes, you look down at your feet. You can barely resist the urge to cry, sucking in a breath to suppress the tears that push against the back of your eyelids. You’re unsure if they’re tears of grief or tears of happy nostalgia, but you refuse to cry in front of the Marshall.

He doesn’t appear to be looking at you, for which you are eternally grateful. Shuffling on his feet in the silence, he alerts you of the elevator reaching the main hub. You look up, eyes a little weary, but give him a determined smile nonetheless. The Marshall, ever a stoic man, merely returns the gesture with a slight incline of his head, and you find yourself chuckling under your breath.

When the elevator thuds against the bottom floor, you regain your steady balance and set your shoulders back with a determined huff. The creaking metal slides open and you’re met with the familiar noise of the hub of the Shatterdome. Carts are moving around, shuffling necessary gear to their proper terminals, and soldiers are striding back and forth. There’s sparks in the air from machinery working against the metal of the Jaegers and the familiar smell of steel in your nose.

It feels like home.

As much as you wish it wasn’t, the Shatterdome had always been your home.

Stepping out of the quiet elevator and into the chaos, a small smile graces your features. You inhale deeply and take in the sights of the Jaegers before you. It had been so long since their magnificence caught your eyes. They stand so tall, so daunting to any normal human. To you, they’re beautiful – machines of great capacity and eternal strength. You can almost feel the familiar hum of the Drift under their gaze.

You shake off the haze. While you still find yourself reveling in your love of the machines, you’re not quite ready to relive the Drift.

In front of you, there’s figures approaching the elevators. They're familiar, tall statures standing out of the crowd of nameless bodies. A wide grin falls onto your lips as your mouth stretches open to greet them.

“Kento! Yu!”

The familiar pilots of the Black Flash, a Mark-Four Jaeger of incredible speed and strength, smile as they approach you and the Marshall. Both men are tall, the crowds of soldiers parting to let the two pilots through the wake. The Black Flash is the second strongest Jaeger ever created, and the combination of its speed and agility with the intense drift compatibility of Kento Nanami and Yu Haibara makes the Black Flash a formidable opponent.

However, you simply know the two as old friends.

The Black Flash was once the Scarlet Dragon’s sideman. The four of you fought valiantly at each other’s side, rebounding off each other’s movements and brainstorming strategies as if it was the four of you connected in the Drift rather than two.

You held the two men dearly in your heart, the bonds between the three of you was nearly as close as you and your brother. It had been so long since you were able to spend moments in each other’s presence, having been interrupted by both your grief and your departure from the Jaeger Program.

You drop the formalities, chest aching in a nostalgic glee, and take off towards your old friends. Footsteps colliding with the ground at a rapid pace, you let ecstatic joy propel you towards the two.

Kento Nanami’s chest huffs a deep laugh when your body collides with his front. The impact is swift and powerful, nearly knocking Nanami off his feet, but he takes a step back to balance the combined weight of both your forms. Haibara laughs heartily at your side, his hand clapping Nanami’s shoulder with a wide smile. Nanami lets his arms wrap around your back in a friendly hug, squeezing tighter when you grasp him just as firmly.

You huff into his shoulder, overcome with both the joy of reuniting and the ache of separation. A piece of you regrets ever leaving the Shatterdome, You’d left behind good friends and Megumi, the kid you hoped to one day adopt when he was ready. However, you knew the separation had been good for you. There were too many painful memories in the Jaeger base to keep your grieving mind from recovering.

Nanami squeezes your form tight once more before you shift to hug Haibara. Your embrace with the darker haired man is just as firm, the two of you swaying in good natured joy as you hold each other tight.

“We’ve missed you, Red.” The warm tone of Haibara greets your ears. He mumbles the words just loud enough for you and Nanami to hear. When he lets you go, you smile happily at him with the weight in your stomach beginning to lift.

“God - I’ve missed you guys too.” There’s a hint of regret in your voice, the tone low and weary. You shuffle in between the two men, happy to be back at their side.

“You look good, Kid,” Nanami mumbles as he scans your figure. You had dug up the old uniform from years back, the material not too worn as it rubs against your skin. It feels nice to wear the suit once more.

You nudge Nanami with your hip with a giggle. “I told you not to call me that! I’m older than you, Kento.”

The blonde lets another soft chuckle fall from his lips, looking down at you as you laugh. He’s happy to see the smile on your features once more. When you’d left all those years ago, there had been nothing but cold-faced grief on your face. It brings a twist in his stomach to see the glee again.

The name had been one he’d picked up from your brother. Despite being a year younger than you, Nanami had always been the responsible one between you and your little quartet of chaos. Your brother had followed in the leadership role after Kento, despite being the oldest of you four. He had always taken to calling you ‘Kiddo,’ a name that Nanami soon picked up after years of fighting alongside you. While you were still older than him, Nanami nearly always acted older than you, taking a more responsible stance than you and Haibara. The nickname ‘Kid’ seemed to fall too naturally from his lips.

“You been taking good care of my kid while I was gone, Kento?”

Nanami nods in reference to Megumi. Since you were not living at the base and could only visit so often, Nanami had taken over caring for Megumi when you weren’t available. It wasn’t difficult, seeing as Nanami was usually visiting the orphanage for a certain pink-haired bundle of joy anyway. You were ecstatic when Megumi and Yuuji got along well, so happy that your future son got along well with Nanami’s future kid.

The two of you planned to adopt the respective boys as soon as you were able. It was taking a little longer than expected, seeing as Nanami was still a pilot and you were out of commission for a while, but you still dreamed of being able to care for the dark haired boy as your own.

Nanami nods, his glasses glinting in the light of the jaegers as he moves. “Gojo-san and Geto-san have been helping too.”

Your eyebrows furrow.

The mention of the two pilots has you frazzled. You never got along well with the pair, always rivaling them in training. Neither of them were very close to you or your brother, just competing against each other in passing, but you never took well to their cocky attitude and over-confidence in battle. While you didn’t necessarily despise either of them, you were still quite unsure of your feelings for either pilot.

You had heard their Jaeger, Limitless, had skyrocketed in fame after your departure from the program. Their Mark-4 Jaeger was incredibly strong. It was propelled by the strongest drift compatibility ever seen. Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru had an incredible closeness that launched their drift compatibility to unknown heights. They seemed to be able to read each other’s minds even without the Drift connecting them. Their Jaeger was by far the strongest the program had ever seen. Like Toji and his wife, Gojo and Geto were connected by more than the Drift – having been together since the moment you met them.

Lips turning downward in a frown as you think of their daring grins, you grimly reply. “What do they want with Megumi?”

“Nothing, Red -” Nanami responds. “They’ve just taken to the kid. He’s got a good heart, you know?”

The mention of Megumi has the frown on your lips drifting away, instead a warm smile taking its place. While he wasn't a very emotional kid, often keeping a neutral face and keeping his voice monotone, Megumi had a big heart. He always made sure to make the other kids feel welcome, and even was the first to reach out to Yuuji when he’d been brought to the orphanage.

“Yeah,” you sigh. There’s a warmth in your eyes when you speak of the boy, something Nanami has noticed. “He’s a really good kid.”

Haibara laughs, swinging his arm over your shoulder as he nudges you towards a direction over your shoulder.

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

At his words, your head whips upward and over your shoulder. A few yards away, stands a little boy with ruffled black hair and dark eyes. While his features are settled into a sort of blank look, there's a shine in his eyes when he sets them on you. His little body seems to almost jerk upwards as he realizes who has entered the base. With his mouth falling open and eyes widening, he cries out.

“Okaasan!”

Your heart stutters in your chest and you inhale a sharp breath as your feet begin to move towards Megumi. He’s always taken to referring to you in a more formal manner, something you never minded. It still seemed to warm your heart and squeeze a lump in your throat when he still referred to you as his mother. You hadn’t really expected it. Megumi wasn’t one to refer to people as such, always speaking with good manners and calling others by their last names with the proper formality attached. When he first referred to you as his mother, you think you nearly cried. Knowing that he treasured you as his mother despite everything that happened was a gift you would never take for granted.

“Gumi!”

You drop to your knees when you’re close enough, allowing Megumi’s little body to crash into your chest. He looks so much like Toji. The features of your old friend bring a sense of warmth to your chest as you hug Megumi tight. You laugh with tears stinging in your eyes as you wrap your arms around his small form. Though he's almost ten, Megumi will always be a young boy in your eyes. He’s growing everyday, but you still feel the same sense of motherly affection when you see his face.

“Hey, Bub,” you mumble sweetly. “How are you feeling? Did ya’ miss me?”

Megumi nods against your chest, hair rubbing at your collarbone. There’s a little grin on his lips, one that many don’t often get to see, and it causes you to let out a little giggle. He squirms slightly when you squeeze him tight, always a little shy when it comes to affection. Megumi buries his face in your neck and a watery smile forms on your lips when you feel him mumble a little affirmation into your skin.

You grin again, hoisting the boy onto your hip as you stand. Megumi clutches your neck, legs hanging over your sides as you carry him. His expression is blank again, but you can see the little hints of joy in his features. His lips are curled just the slightest and his cheeks and eyes are relaxed. You bring your face closer to the boy, bumping your foreheads together with a giggle. Megumi pushes a little hand against your cheeks, whining a little when you rub your foreheads back and forth. While he’s still bashful when it comes to affection, you treasure every touch that Megumi allows.

Nanami and Haibara follow behind you, with the Marshall allowing them to show you towards your bunker. There’s soft smiles on both their lips, savoring the sight of you and your nearly-adopted son. The sight is familiar to them, one that used to be commonplace before you left. While you still frequently came back to visit Megumi, neither man had seen the welcome sight of the two of you together in a long while.

“What are you doing here, Fushiguro?” Nanami questions. His voice isn’t angry, only curious as to why the younger boy had been wandering the main hub. It was quite the distance from the upper level orphanage, and even though Megumi had grown up on base, wandering around was still a little dangerous.

“I heard Okaasan was coming home today,” he mumbles quietly into your neck. You bounce a little from side to side as you squeeze the boy tight, heart singing with a glee that you seldom experience without Megumi by your side.

Haibara ruffles Megumi’s hair with another laugh, turning back to Nanami as the three of you laugh amongst yourselves. Your conversation is only interrupted when the alarm sound of a Jaeger being transported echoes through the hub. Gears start to grind as the Shatterdome’s transport system comes alive. Jaegers are transported on moving platforms as soon as they dock, the massive machinery moving the Jaegers slowly and steadily back to their designated hangers.

When you turn towards the opening doors, the wind whips from outside as the hulking, dark form of Limitless becomes apparent. You clutch Megumi closer to your front, shielding his smaller body from the cold that sweeps into the indoor hub. As soon as the Jaeger’s feet lock into place, it begins to shut down, allowing Main Control to disconnect the pilots and take over for docking.

You don’t tear your eyes away from Limitless’ massive build. You clench your jaw as the sounds of the two pilots begin making their way down to the deck. Apparently, some press had forced their way on site; their camera drones hovering over the Jaeger’s body and whirring in the air. Cameras begin to flash as Gojo and Geto emerge from the transport elevator that connected them to the cockpit.

A rush of noise fills the hub as reporters begin shouting questions at the two pilots, and your lips draw back in a sneer as the two smirk and give the cameras cocky looks. You despise pilots who fight for fame. A sinking feeling of animosity lingers in your stomach as you watch Geto and Gojo answer questions and boast yet another Kaiju kill to the crowd. Turning away from the shouting, you look back at Nanami and Haibara, tilting your head towards the bunkers.

“Do you want to help me get settled in?”

Haibara nods, his gentle smile still lingering though he senses your unease. He and Nanami turn to make their way out of the hanger, feet twisting to move when a shout is heard from behind. Both men stop in their tracks, turning back to look at you, as if asking for your next move before proceeding. You sigh deeply, clutching Megumi tighter as he buries his head in your neck. He isn’t a big fan of the flashing lights that come with the crowds of reporters – something you’re very aware of.

“Hey, Sunshine!” The call comes from an all too familiar voice, one that you weren’t particularly excited to hear.

You whip your head over your shoulder, barely looking back at the two approaching pilots. Still wary of the journalists who begin to edge closer, you shoot a glare at the cameras. You despise being filmed by the media, especially after they pressed and crowded you after your brother’s death. They should know better than to approach, which it seems like they do. With a grunt you finally look back at Gojo, the white-haired pilot being the one to call out for you.

“What do you want, Six Eyes?”

Gojo doesn’t seem perturbed by the mutter of his call-sign, simply sticking his hands in his pockets and continuing to saunter over to you. Geto trails behind him, a similar sort of smirk on his lips. You often forget how similar they are. Though Geto hides it better, they’re both menaces in their own way. The two pilots amble towards you, an aura of confidence exuding from their forms.

“Here to reclaim your title?” Gojo questions, a grin falling too easily onto his features. His question furthers the ache in your gut, and you hoist Megumi farther up onto your hip. You shift him to face away from the pair, not wanting the boy to be involved.

“I’m afraid it might be a little difficult,” Geto continues, finishing his partner’s question. “Seeing as the Scarlet Dragon is out of commission, of course.”

You barely conceal a wince at the mention of your Jaeger. You can’t tell if he meant to jeer at your dead co-pilot, but the slightest edge in his voice still causes your body to shake in a scarcely hidden rage. Huffing out a deep sigh over the lump in your throat, you lean your head against Megumi when he tries to comfort you with a little squeeze. He likely can’t understand the conversation, but he probably senses your rising anger. Your heart throbs at his touching comfort, letting your forehead bump his before you turn to address Gojo and Geto.

“I couldn’t care less about your kill count, Stitches.” The words come out in a grunt, the tone clipped with a hint of anger. “I’m not here to pilot.”

“Then what are you here for?” Gojo questions, his hands crossing over his chest. His head is held high, and you hate the aura of superiority he’s protecting. “Last I checked, this program has no place for washed up pilots who got a little scared.”

You freeze.

The pit in your stomach is turning over itself in rage. Your skin is hot and the hairs stand on end. Barely able to repress the angry words you ache to spit back at the white-haired pilot, you instead fix your eyes in a cold glare. Face dropping to a blank, unnerving look, your lids shrink into a bitter look.

From behind Gojo, Geto lays a hand on his lover’s shoulder. He squeezes firmly, a sinking feeling in his gut erupting. You’ve gone too far, his knowing look says. Gojo doesn’t turn to face him, but Geto knows he understood, their bond too deep to miss the silent comment.

“Fuck off, Gojo.” You spit, pressing Megumi’s head back into your neck with the other hand to shield his ears from the words. You’re already turning to make your way back down the hall, the silence of the hub now seeming too loud. “That’s low, even for you.”

You don’t stick around to hear either man’s response, already shuffling away with Megumi now clinging to your front. Nanami and Haibara send blank looks over their shoulders, flanking either of your sides as the three of you begin to exit the quiet room.

“I won’t have them belittle me in front of my kid,” you mutter as you walk away. Geto doesn’t think he was meant to hear the words, but the twisting in his gut intensifies when he does. He rubs his hand down Gojo’s back with a rough sigh.

From over your shoulder, Megumi’s little head peeks out from over your shoulder. His dark hair ruffles against the wind from the still-opened bay doors, and his deep blue eyes look back at Gojo with a glimpse of sadness in his pupils. Gojo can’t seem to maintain eye contact with Megumi, a twisting feeling of guilt turning in his stomach. He looks down at his feet quickly, before turning to look at Suguru.

The dark-haired man seems to give Gojo a similar look, one of a guilty sadness that only his lover could decipher. Both men keep their emotions hidden well. They’re too aware of the clicking of cameras behind them, instead choosing to communicate in the silent way they know best. Gojo shrugs off the sinking feeling, sighing deeply and turning back to the cameras with a practiced smile.

“Sorry,” he mumbles under his breath towards Geto. “You know how they make me.” He offers a flick of his hand towards the reporters, the clicking of their cameras echoing through the silence. His gesture is vague, looking like a wave, Gojo’s moves practiced so that the camera cannot differentiate the angry undertone that Gojo wants to project.

“S’alright, ‘Toru,” Geto mutters back, his words hidden as he speaks from behind Gojo’s back. “But it’s not me you should apologize to.”

Gojo nods silently, resisting a glance behind him.

Behind the pair, your form disappears behind the elevator doors. With tears barely concealed, you press your face back into Megumi’s hair, letting his little body squeeze you tight as Haibara rubs a hand across your shoulders.

Sniffling a little, you pull back to give Megumi a watery smile. Memories of your brother and your last mission are hard to hide away, but you manage as you keep looking down at Megumi’s bright eyes. You don’t want to give Gojo and Geto the satisfaction of shaking you.

“Hey, Bud.” You whisper the words quietly, managing to muster a slightly cheerful tone. “You want to sleep in my room tonight?”

Nanami and Haibara muffle their chuckles as Megumi nods his head fervently in response to your question. You giggle, placing a kiss on Megumi’s dark hair despite his protests. Away from the chaos, the four of you manage an atmosphere of quiet happiness that you’ll never fail to miss. You savor their peace, looking back up at your old friends with watery eyes and a sad smile. Haibara leans into Nanami, the three of you happy to savor your friends once more.

Over the next few weeks, you can tell Gojo and Geto are trying to speak to you. Every time you stumble into the cafeteria area of the main hub, Megumi by your side - like always, both pilots perk up at your entrance. Gojo is usually the first to stand, stepping out from the table he’s seated at with his lips pressed into a gentle sort of smile. His eyes are covered, something he’s done since you’d met him, whether by dark glasses or a blindfold. You don’t know how he sees when the white cloth covers his eyes, but you’ve never had the opportunity to ask.

When Gojo shifts to make his way towards you, Nanami is typically the one to step in. He shifts, covering your form with his own so Gojo can’t see you. Haibara takes up your other side, chatting easily with you and making silly faces at Megumi to make the shy boy giggle and hide his face in your leg. Haibara doesn’t take any insult to Megumi’s shy, blank-faced behavior, used to the boy’s mannerisms. You’re grateful to both him and Nanami for their seemingly never ending patience.

Later in the afternoon, when you’re headed to watch over a class of cadets, you catch Geto’s dark eyes from the other end of the hall. They’re softened, as if there’s some lingering ache he wishes to soothe, but you ignore it. Despite how kind he looks, with gentle eyes and a soft smile, you turn quickly into your designated training space, letting the door fall shut behind you.

Over time, you find yourself noticing the two more and more. When there’s no reporters around, Gojo and Geto seem more easy going. Gojo, still as energetic as ever, slings his arm over Geto’s shoulders and whines something that you can’t hear. The teasing frown on his face is silly, and you turn away to muffle a giggle when Geto shoves his head away with a jesting smile and a roll of his eyes. Gojo’s whines increase in volume as his lover gently shoves him away with a laugh, but they quickly cease when Geto nudges him with his elbow and presses a quick kiss to Gojo’s head.

It’s quick. You almost miss the subtle movement of Geto’s lips against Gojo’s skin, as though you weren't meant to see it. Their affection for each other is subtle, as if they don’t like when the gaggle of media outlets catch their subtle touches. You sort of understand it, your own hatred for the flashing cameras may make you biased, but you understand the avoidance. Perhaps they don’t want their relationship in the limelight, something you have to give them credit for.

Despite all the confident smirks and easy remarks they hand out to reporters, it seems the two pilots hide a similar distaste for the media as you do.

However, you’re still not ready to speak with either of them quite yet. The twisted knots of anger still sit in your stomach in reference to the stab Gojo had taken on your first day back. Though, with each passing day, you begin to wonder if the enduring rage is focused at the two pilots, or if it settles into your gut next to the guilt that still lingers after losing your brother.

Either way, you know you’ll have to speak to them soon. Nanami and Haibara can only keep them away for so long.

It’s at a routine training session when you see them next. A few days a week, you take charge of a group of cadets and pair them against each other. In one of the Shatterdome’s practice halls, mats are laid out so that the hardened concrete floor doesn’t hurt anyone. In this room, your chosen pairs fight against each other, sometimes bare-fisted and sometimes with wooden staffs. As they battle against each other, in a match to seven points, you gauge their drift compatibility.

Each time a pair takes the floor, you watch each movement. You mark notes on the clipboard in your hands, writing down remarks of battle strategies and techniques of each cadet. You compare compatibility against other cadets, lining them up with their next partner to see if they’d make a better match than the previous.

As the next opponent gets thrown to the floor, a wooden staff at his head, you dryly call the match. “4 points to 3.”

Scribbling down your notes with a frown, you go through the list of cadets you’ve been tasked to train. There’s both negative and positive feedback, however, more improvements have been listed than anything else.

“What’s your problem?”

Your head shoots up at the angry voice. One of the cadets from the previous match stands at the head of the mat, his lips pulled back in an enraged look. He scans your form, stiff in the pilot’s uniform despite your status as a Captain. Your posture is formal, keeping your head held high and feet shoulder width apart.

You know both Geto and Gojo have been watching. Their forms linger at the back of the room, eyes scanning each match as you do. You allow them to stay, not wanting to call them out in front of all the soldiers. You find that you honestly don’t mind their presence that much. They’re both quiet, eyes flicking back and forth from the match to you. You manage to keep yourself calm under their gaze, a little perturbed at the hopeful feeling that washes over you knowing that they’re still waiting for you.

At the kid’s voice, Geto stands straighter. His eyebrows furrow and his lips turn downward into a frown. His black hair is tied back into its usual bun, a few strands peeking out from his bangs. They shift when he stands upright, leaning into Gojo’s side to murmur something that you don’t catch.

“Excuse me, Cadet?” Your voice is clipped, eyes scanning his form. He addressed you out of order, his panting form seeming angry despite his win in the previous match.

“Every time a match ends, you make this face - like you’re disappointed in the outcome,” the cadet grunts. One end of the wooden staff he’d been using is placed against the ground, his body leaning onto it for stability.

You tilt your head, scribbling down another piece of information before you look back at the kid with a blank expression. “I am disappointed. The match could have ended three moves previously.”

The kid huffs out an irate sound, shifting on his feet. “How do you know?”

“His weight was forced onto his non-dominant side. You had the upper-hand, yet you failed to knock him off balance when you struck his chest rather than delivering a blow that would force him to fall.”

Your explanation only seems to anger the cadet. He steps forward, lips pursed and eyebrows pulled together in rage. He nearly snarls as he approaches you, but you’re not intimidated. Silence has fallen over the room, the other cadets watching closely as the boy attempts to make his way towards you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Geto move from his place against the wall. He steps forward, stomach twisting when Gojo lays a hand on his chest. Neither man has taken their eyes off you, keenly watching your body for any command that you may need help. Gojo knows you’re strong – especially after the conversation you’d had. He knows that you’d ask for help if you need it. Though his stomach twists too, wanting to knock the kid away from you and soothe your anger, Gojo knows that you can handle yourself.

“You think you can do better?” The cadet snarls, almost at your feet. You haven’t moved, stance still formal and head held high. This kid doesn’t intimidate you, even if he was taller or broader than you. Refusing to move, you lock eyes with the boy, pressing him with a blank look and dead eyes.

“That’s enough, Cadet.” You command, voice sharp. “I am your Captain, and you will address me as such.”

Not backing down, the cadet continues to advance. Geto nearly moves to step forward once more when the kid speaks again.

“Why are you holding back then, Captain?” He sneers the words in a cocky tone. “You scared or something? You must be some kind of coward, then – it’s probably what got your brother kill -”

His words are cut off by the sharp point of your hand jabbing roughly into his kidney. Your movements were so quick, even Gojo missed them. When the cadet doubles over his stomach, one hand clutching the area where you’d punched him, you pull the staff out of his other limp hand. It comes free quickly, your hands sliding over the material with practiced ease. Before the cadet can move, you pull the end of the staff upwards, knocking the dull end under his chin with a resounding thud.

He cries out, the contact of the staff against his skin likely ringing through his head. As he does so, you’ve already dropped low, spinning with your feet and swiping the end of the staff under the cadet. With his balance interrupted, he falls to the ground with a dull thump, body hitting the floor as he wheezes for breath.

You’d laugh if the contemptuous anger wasn't sitting in your throat. He’d gone down so easily, just as you’d explained, yet he failed to see the error in his tactic.

You step forward, feet brushing the clipboard you dropped. Standing over the boy, you point the dull end of the staff under his chin. The silence in the room is loud, the other cadet’s seem to hold their breath as you frown. With his chest heaving and his chin pointed upwards away from your threatening staff, the boy’s eyes shake.

With the cold glare still in your eyes, you snarl down at the kid, “Don’t ever speak my brother’s name again. Do you hear me, Cadet?”

At your feet, the kid seems to shake. He’s challenged a direct order from his Captain, something he’s just realized. You’d knocked him on his ass for it too. Eyeing his form up and down with a pitiful curl of your lip, you huff with distaste.

“Next time you step out of line, I’ll drop your ass like a sack of Kaiju shit. Do you understand?”

Nodding fervently again, the boy’s chest shakes as he pants. He’s still clutching his chin, eyes wide in comparison to his previous anger. You press the end of your staff into his chest with your eyes fixed on him.

“I said - do you understand, Cadet?”

“Yes, Captain.” He mutters quickly, shifting his eyes to avoid your angry gaze.

“Good. Now get out of my sight,” you command. The boy scrambles up, nearly tripping when he tries to run towards the exit of the training room.

Gojo muffles a laugh under his breath, hiding his smile behind his hand as he does so. The ache in his gut vanishes, and in its place lies newfound warmth. The white haired pilot feels his stomach turn, but this time it’s not in anger or guilt. With your body movements so agile and your words so commanding, Gojo feels a twinge of heat in his stomach. The way you take charge of everyone in the room, standing tall and holding your head high is enchanting. Gojo finds himself looking at you even long after you��ve turned away.

Geto is no different. Despite the sultry look he sends Gojo in a good-natured tease, Geto too feels the lingering arousal in his gut. When you turn to face the rest of the cadets with the faintest smirk on your lips, Suguru swears he can feel his pants tighten in the slightest.

“Next two cadets, step forward.” You gesture to the training mats, tossing the wooden staff in your hands towards the oncoming soldier. When he catches it, you nod firmly and turn to pick up the clipboard you had dropped.

Standing up and regaining your formal stance, you peek a glance at your two onlookers. Gojo and Geto are leaning against each other in the back of the room, mumbling something between themselves. There’s a smirk pulled onto Geto’s lips, something you’ve grown used to seeing. It doesn’t spark the same rage it used to, now only bringing you confusion. You’re unsure of your quickly changing feelings for the two pilots, and you don’t necessarily have time to decipher them for now.

When Geto looks up, he meets your eyes. His smirk changes to something a little more gentle, and he nods his head softly in question. Though this silent language is something you often see passing between him and Gojo, you seem to be able to decipher it quickly. You okay? The nod seems to ask.

You return his gesture with one of your own, watching as the two exchange another look before turning to make their way out of the training room. You don’t know why the ache in your chest sings when they leave.

As the door falls shut behind him, Geto is already moving to hang off his lover. Resting his weight onto Satoru’s back, Suguru throws an arm over his partner. Laughing under his breath, Suguru pokes his finger into Satoru’s ribs.

“You thought that was hot, didn’t you?” Suguru’s voice is teasing, another sultry smirk pulled onto his lips as he addresses Satoru. He’s not angry. God - Suguru could never be disgruntled when it’s apparent that he feels the same way. The ache in his gut is the same for Suguru as it is for Satoru. They’re aligned in more ways than one - always have been.

“I did not!” Satoru groans as he shoves his lover off. Though his voice is whiny, Satoru’s reply is lighthearted. His tone is bright and there's a faint pinkish tint to his ears, a clear sign he’s growing embarrassed. This side of Satoru is one even Suguru doesn’t often see. Though he tries to pull it out of him, more often than not, Satoru is typically very composed. While his childish demeanor may appear otherwise, deep underneath, Gojo Satoru is usually in control.

Though Suguru loves to be the one to grace the tips of Satoru’s ears in that faint pink, he decides he loves it all the same when it’s you that brings the blush to his lover’s features.

“You did!” Suguru teases, moving back to lean against Satoru again. Behind closed doors, the two are incredibly touch starved, usually leaning onto each other or just linking fingers whenever possible. “S’alright, ‘Toru - I’d let her ruin me too.”

Satoru’s gaze shifts back to his partner, letting his weight fall onto Suguru’s as he sighs.

“And what if I want to be the one to ruin her?” His voice is sultry, the tip of his head tilting to look down at Suguru in a dangerously suggestive manner. His lover returns the salacious gaze, licking his lips as he leans closer to Satoru.

“Then I guess we’ll have to take turns.”

A few hours later, after your class has long finished, you find yourself climbing the high rising platforms that scale Limitless. The Jaeger is undergoing routine maintenance, something that occurs after every fight in order to ensure its systems all run perfectly. Since it’s positioned in the center of the other hangers, you have taken to climbing the supports for other mechanics after hours.

Letting your feet dangle over the edge of the metal platform, you sit and face Limitless in all its glory. It’s technically the first Mark-4 Jaeger you’ve ever seen. The Scarlet Dragon had been the last of her kind, a nuclear powered Mark-3 Jaeger of uncanny ability. Geto and Gojo’s Jaeger was created a little while later, allowing the technology to boost their new machinery into Mark-4 capabilities.

You admire the engine as it softly whirs, letting Main Control run tests late into the night. Inhaling deeply, you savor in the scent of salt air from the ocean coupled with the metallic smell from the Jaegers. The calming scent does wonders for your addled brain.

After the incident during training, you found yourself stewing in some existential guilt. It took a long time to work yourself out of the guilty episode that haunted over your head, but the night air seemed to help. Now, you sit and watch the mechanics tinker, allowing the repetitive motions of their work drown out the turmoil in your head. Rubbing your fingers together, you begin picking at your cuticles once more: a habit you could never break.

Over your shoulder, the sound of metal clanging reaches your ears as someone climbs up the high-rise platform behind you. You don’t speak, simply allowing them to join you, despite your mind being elsewhere. Too lost in memories, focusing on the events of the past and trying to determine if you really were a coward, you don’t hear Geto and Gojo climb onto the metallic terrace.

You’re broken from your trance when there are two forms settled on either side of you. They’re quiet for a moment, letting the clicking of tools and the humming of Limitless’ engine fill the space instead. It’s nice, you decide; sitting beside the two pilots is comforting in a way you can’t understand.

“You alright, Pretty?” It’s Geto’s voice. The deep timber is unmistakable as it sends faint shivers down your spine. He’s looking at you, his eyes scanning your face and attempting to gauge your feelings. In your turmoil, you miss the nickname, one that would have sent your heart into stuttered beats and your stomach in knots, if you were paying attention.

On your other side, Gojo is staring out at his Jaeger. He appears to be mulling something over in his head, though you can never be quite sure with the blindfold covering his eyes.

You nod, a little numbly. It’s difficult to explain. You’re not quite sure what you’re feeling, but there’s too much of it. You don’t know how to explain that to either man, simply letting out a little hum. There's a tightness in your chest that you can’t describe and your stomach feels heavy. Geto seems to understand, shifting a little closer.

After another beat of silence, it’s Gojo who speaks.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” he starts, still mulling over his words as he speaks. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

You know he’s referencing your first meeting weeks ago. Nodding, you finally turn to look at him. Gojo’s upper body shifts to face you, and despite his eyes obscured by the blindfold, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Gojo look so sincere. His lips are softened into a gentle smile and his shoulders are relaxed, a position you’ve only seen him express under the presence of his lover. When you don’t respond, Gojo continues speaking.

“I get a little heated with all the reporters hanging around, and I pushed you too far. I’m sorry.” His words are precise and to the point, something you greatly appreciate in communication. Though you often have a little trouble expressing your own feelings, Gojo seems fairly adept at ensuring that you understand his own. You appreciate his concern, finally breaking free of your haze for another moment and gracing him with a gentle smile.

Gojo returns your soft smile, a tumble of butterflies in his stomach erupting into a flutter when he takes in your sweet look. From behind him, Geto’s shoulders soften as he leans forward. His eyes curl into a loving grin, his own chest singing with quickened pulses as he watches his lover interact with you. It’s one of the first conversations the three of you have had without some sort of lingering anger. Geto savors in the peaceful aura that settles over the three of you.

It appears you have judged Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru too quickly.

While they can both be complete menaces, they also have a deeper, calmer demeanor that shines so brightly when they’re alone. Both Geto and Gojo went out of their way to ensure that you were alright after training today, even mentioning the incident to the Marshall. After ensuring your well-being, the Marshall had the cadet shifted to another training schedule, a much more rigorous training meant for lower cadets. The notion made you stifle a smile when the Marshall had forwarded the news.

Gojo, while sometimes silly and overdramatic, was nothing short of incredibly caring. You’d heard from Nanami that he’d been sneaking in treats for Megumi and Itadori whenever he could, a sentiment that warmed your heart. Geto too, got along well with the kids. You’ve often seen Itadori rush towards him whenever he was out with Nanami. Geto’s strong arms hoisted up the toddler, lifting him onto his broad shoulders as he conversed with Nanami and Haibara. You lingered in the doorway, unsure if any of them had seen you. Savoring the pleasant environment, you watched Gojo crouch to greet Megumi, who Nanami had picked up alongside his own son. Megumi, ever the ‘emotionless’ child, pushed past Gojo’s wiggling fingers as he asked for a hug.

You giggled under your breath as Gojo whined about wanting a hug, but you later watched Megumi climb into Gojo’s lap when they were eating.

“I think -” you hesitate, as if still trying to decide what to say. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Geto chuckles, turning his head back to Limitless as the three of you smile. “Yeah, I think so too.”

Gojo nods along, his own lips stretched into a gentle grin.

“Do you think -” you try, attempting to word the question you’re trying to ask. The words fall flat on your tongue as you try to speak them, but Gojo picks up where you left off.

“Would you be alright with starting over?”

With a happy sigh, you nod your head fervently. Eyes wide, but happy, you look back at Gojo with a determined grin. Geto laughs again, agreeing with a warm look in his eyes.

After a beat of silence, the three of you burst into giggles, feeling a little silly for a moment. Your body relaxes, letting the anxiety melt off your shoulders as you sink in the comforting presence of Geto and Gojo. The storming sea that tormented your mind begins to melt away, sunshine peeking out from the clouds as you finally grasp onto an anchor to hold your ship steady.

When you finally quiet into another beat of silence, there’s a warm hum under your skin. It makes your skin hot, but it’s a pleasant heat so you don’t mind. It melts away the icy cold that once had a tight grip on your chest.

In front of you, Limitless’ chest plate is being removed, the core exposed as the three of you marvel over the engineering that maintains the Jaeger. It’s magnificent, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. You can remember why you wanted to become a pilot in the first place as the awe of the Jaeger’s core never ceases to amaze you.

With a warm sigh, Gojo mumbles under his breath, “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

You nod, not taking your eyes off Limitless.

Next to you, you’re completely unaware of Gojo’s eyes on your face rather than his Jaeger. His question honestly hadn’t even been addressing you, but rather Geto. On your other side, Geto’s eyes glaze over with a warm, loving look as his sight focuses on you and his lover.

Neither man is looking at Limitless.

Instead they’re transfixed on your form as you revel in the beauty of the Jaegers.

As Geto hums in response to his lover’s question, both men know that Gojo was not referring to the Jaeger, but rather you: the shine of your eyes glistening in the glow Limitless’ core and your soft lips pulled into a sweet smile.

You get a month of your newfound, growing relationship with Geto and Gojo when everything goes to shit.

Awoken by the shrilling alarm, you quickly slide off your bed and shuffle towards Megumi’s. Since you’d established a more permanent residence on base, the orphanage had allowed him to sleep in your bunker most nights, something you cherished deeply.

Hushing him gently as he rouses from his sleep in a panic, you hoist his drowsy form into your arms. You sway on your feet, brushing your fingers through Megumi’s hair as he whines, sleepily. Rubbing the fog out of your eyes, you pull the handle by your door that silences the alarm.

“M’sorry, Bub,” you whisper. Pressing a soft kiss to Megumi’s forehead, you continue to sway gently to send him back to sleep. He’s far too grown for this sort of treatment now, but you can’t help but baby him sometimes. You don’t get many chances, so you savor in the feeling when he allows it.

“Go back to sleep, ‘Gumi. S’just a warning alarm for pilots.”

He hums against your neck, grasping your shirt in his fists as he quickly falls back into a slumber. You’re jealous of his ability to knock out so quickly, humming as you settle him back into his bed.

When Megumi is settled, you glance back at the red screen in the middle of the room. Scanning the contents of the alarm, your stomach seizes tight. You bring a hand to cover your mouth as you gnaw on the tip of your finger.

A Category Four Kaiju is headed towards the coastline, only about twenty miles from the Shatterdome. It hasn’t reached the land yet, but left unchecked, it will soon. It’s the first Category Four Kaiju in years, the last being - well, you can’t finish your thought.

You nibble on the tip of your finger as you scan the list of pilot names that is being dispatched. A sinking feeling begins to form as you read both Limitless and Black Flash as two of the appointed Jaegers. Your breath catches in your throat and your other hand comes up to fiddle with the front of your shirt. Shifting back and forth on your feet, your mind races as you debate your next move.

If you head to Main Control, you’re unsure if they’ll allow you to stay. While you may be a Captain, the Marshall is very particular about those who are allowed inside the Command Deck during operation. You’re not sure you’ll be any help either. With the anxious pit in your stomach growing, you'll likely be unable to provide much aid to the battle strategists nor systems control. Both Limitless and Black Flash are likely already prepped for dispatch at this point. The pilots will be in their drive-suits, hair-thin needles sliding into their spine as they connect to the framework of their Jaegers. Drift commenced, both teams are probably headed out of the Shatterdome.

You continue shifting, trying to resist pacing along the concrete floors of your bunker so that you don’t wake Megumi. With a sigh and a glance back at your son, lip still gnawing at the skin of your fingers. You have another training session in three hours. There won’t be much you can do until then, though you know the anxiety in your stomach will keep you awake. There's no use trying to fall back asleep now.

Climbing into Megumi’s bed, you slide your body behind the little boy. He mumbles something in his sleep and turns over, sensing your shift. With his dark eyes barely blinking open and his lips tucked into a sweet, sleepy pout, Megumi crawls forward into your lap. You lean back against the wall behind you, legs laid out in front of you so that Megumi can settle between them.

Knocking your head back, you gently hit the concrete wall with your skull. Letting the cool material distract you, you brush your fingers through Megumi’s hair. When Megumi lets out a little huff, a sign he’s comfortable, you smile gently despite the tight grip of worry in your chest.

Closing your eyes, all you can do is wait for the pilots to return. You refuse to scan through tabloids, not wanting the constant updates to twist your stomach in nausea. You allow a sense of anxious calm to settle over the room, sitting and waiting for the hours to dwindle away on their own.

When three hours finally pass, the silent ticking echoing through the room and splitting the quiet atmosphere, you slide out of Megumi’s bed and hoist him up into your arms once more. Meandering through your morning tasks, you get both you and Megumi ready for the day. You shuffle into your uniform and zip the suit up to your neck, adjusting the fit as you do so.

After ensuring Megumi was alright, you swing by the orphanage. Crouching down beside your son, you allow yourself a little giggle when an energetic ball of pink fluff comes barreling your way.

“Fushiguro! Red-san!”

Megumi, knowing his best friend’s routine, steps aside just as Itadori Yuuji reaches the two of you. Yuuji crashes into your chest, a movement you had expected. With your arms open wide, you smile as the pink-haired boy grasps hold of you. Despite seeing him just yesterday, it warms your heart that Yuuji still exudes the same excitement each and every time he sees you and Megumi.

“Hello, Yuuji-kun!” You mumble warmly as he squeezes you tight. Bent at the knee and crouched low, Yuuji is able to wrap his arms around your upper body to hug you tight. You squeeze back just as firm, allowing the little boy to pull away when he’s ready.

When he does, there’s a vibrant smile on his cheeks, one that radiates happiness throughout the room. You wonder how anyone could resist his sweet smile, knowing even Megumi fell for his kind demeanor and ecstatic grin.

“I have to go to work this morning, Yuuji,” you remind the boy. He frowns a little, a signature pout pulling his lower lip into his mouth. You have to look away to resist giving into his sad smile. “I’ll be back before you know it! Can you keep Megumi company while I’m gone?”

Nodding fervently, Yuuji moves away to stand by his friend. It’s quite funny, you muse. Megumi’s blank-faced expression looks a little silly next to his energetic friend. However, you know Megumi is very happy to spend the day with his friend. He may not look like he does, but Megumi treasures his close friends well.

You give the boys another gentle smile before standing back up. Looking back at Megumi you ruffle both boy’s hair and chuckle at the whine it raises from both. Your son softly smacks your hand away, and your chest shakes with your laughter.

“Alright, boys. You know how to contact me if you need anything, right?” Both boys nod diligently, hair shaking as they wiggle.

With a final wave and a greeting to the nearby staffing nurse, you head back out into the winding halls of the Shatterdome. Despite the swarms of soldiers wandering through the hangers, there’s a tightness in your chest that makes you feel so lonely. Without an update from the Marshall, you are left to stew in your worried anxiety, clutching onto the hope that both Jaegers and their pilots will return safely to base.

Entering your usual training area, you force a stoic look onto your features and set your shoulders back to appear composed. The group of familiar cadets are already waiting inside, ready for another lesson. You forgo combat training today, knowing you’ll be too absent minded to pay close attention to each cadet’s compatibility. Instead, you turn their attention to group exercises. You separate them into smaller groups and point them towards one of the obstacle courses in the indoor training gym. It’s a physical course, but it takes teamwork to complete. Each obstacle can only be surpassed if all four group members work together. You hope the exercise will tune their relationships so that they one day may battle seamlessly together.

A few hours into your training exercise, your hands tighten in their stiff position behind your back as a Lieutenant steps into the truing grounds. The cadets look up from their places, shifting to turn their attention to both you and the newcomer.

You hold up your hand in a silent command, and the soldiers turn away, proceeding with their exercise while you step away.

Stomach in knots, you feel your heart begin to beat wildly in your chest. You know the Lieutenant is here to inform you of both Limitless and Black Flash’s status. With a stuttering pulse and tense limbs, you follow after them as they step away from your group of students. You’re grateful for the space, not wanting the cadets to see your unease.

When they come to a stop, they pivot on their feet to address you, “Captain.”

You nod, settling into the appropriate stance with your arms still stiff behind you. In this position, you’re able to resist the urge to pull at your cuticles. It’s difficult to stop yourself from shifting on your feet, but you manage as you press your lips together tightly. You suck in a breath, nodding as the turmoil continues to contort inside you.

“Lieutenant,” you reply stiffly. Your tone is clipped, but thankfully they don’t seem to take offense to your firm tone. It’s apparent that you’re worried for the outcome of your friends. Despite your hopes to appear professional, you must reveal an inkling of anxiety in your tense stance and apprehensive eyes.

“The Black Flash and Limitless have returned to the Shatterdome.”

Inhaling sharply, you nod and allow them to continue. Eyes hard, you keep your stance stiff despite the ache in your chest and the longing to sag under the anxiety.

“Pilots Nanami and Haibara have sustained minor injuries, but are otherwise unharmed.” The update has your shoulders sagging in relief, but the lack of knowledge of Limitless keeps your stomach turning.

“And the others?” You prompt, eyes scanning the Lieutenant for signs of grief.

“The Jaeger Limitless endured heavy damage against the Category Four Kaiju. The hull was breached during battle and the mechanics failed upon their return. Limitless will be decommissioned upon the Marshall’s command – the destruction is beyond repair.”

You suck in a heavy breath and nearly step away from the form in front of you. The sinking feeling returns, and a lump swells in your throat. Chest tightening, you swear you can hear your pulse in your ears. A hull rupture. You’re too familiar with the words. Memories flick past your eyes, and they’re difficult to shake away. Flashes of concern race through your head, and you can barely manage your next question.

“The pilots?” You muster, voice a little shaky. “Are they -”

The Lieutenant makes eye contact for the first time since their arrival. “Pilots Gojo and Geto are recovering in the emergency Medbay. Gojo Satoru experienced severe injury to his arm during battle and was transported alongside Geto Suguru as soon as they finished docking.”

Recovering. That’s good. Recovering means they’re not dead. That’s all you can think as you thank the Lieutenant for the update. You dismiss them with a nod.

As soon as they disappear around the corner, you let your shoulders sag. Collapsing inward, you heave a shuddering breath and suppress a sob of relief. Heavy injuries, the words bounce around in your head. Heavy injuries are alright, as long as they’re both still breathing. You can handle the recovery. It’s difficult to even think of any other scenario. You’re not sure you can handle losing another one of your friends.

Hunching over, you rest your hands on your knees and muffle a sob. Squeezing your eyes shut, you allow your chest to shake through another panicked breath. There’s both relief and worry still rolling in your chest, but you try to remain optimistic.

Pausing for a moment, you take a deep breath before righting yourself. Swaying on your feet, you push back the lump in your throat and the tears that ache behind your eyelids. Stepping back into the training area, you beckon your group of cadets back to your side.

With a short explanation, you dismiss the cadets early, knowing you’ll have to let the Marshall know later. The ache in your chest that longs to rush to Gojo and Geto’s side is too strong, and you know you won’t be able to focus on the training session any longer.

Waving your hand, you watch the cadets exit the space before you push off your heels. Trying your hardest not to race, you take quick strides towards the Medbay. You can’t explain why your heart pulses against your chest so rapidly, nor can you decipher the discord of emotions that ache in your mind for both Geto and Gojo. All you can do is continue navigating the winding hallways of the Shatterdome, bringing your steps closer to the two pilots that have been ingrained in your mind lately.

It’s only moments later when you push open the Medbay doors with a resounding thud. Eyes shift to your form, but you ignore their curious gazes in favor of locating a nurse. Striding towards an unoccupied shift nurse, you question Geto and Gojo’s location. They meekly give you the room number, before you turn quickly on your heel towards the correct direction.

Scanning room numbers with a racing mind, you finally locate the one you’re looking for. With a lump steadily pushing into your throat, you force open the door gently despite your rattled mind.

Suguru is the first you lay eyes on.

He’s got bandages wrapped around his shoulder and gauze pressed against his cheek. Hair ruffled and falling from its bun, there are wrinkled lines of worry on his forehead, but he seems otherwise unharmed. You let out a heavy sigh of relief, one that turns Suguru’s attention away from his lover and towards the door.

When he meets your gaze, he lets out a shaky breath. You let your chest sag in relief once more and follow his command as he waves you forward.

Stepping towards him, you let your heart jump into your throat as you finally let a tear squeeze past your eyes. It sinks onto your cheek, and Suguru aches to brush it away with his fingers. He wants to feel the softness of your skin under his fingertips and force away all the melancholy that has your face twisted into such sadness.

Though, he knows he doesn’t look much better.

With his arm bandaged from the nasty scrape, Suguru got lucky. The fight could have ended much worse if not for Satoru’s quick thinking. He lets out a heavy sigh that sounds too much like a sob. Motioning with a wave of his hand, you approach Suguru with a sad smile.

“Suguru,” you nearly whimper. It’s a watery sound, barely able to be forced out of your throat with the lump that sits in the way. The dark-haired pilot’s eyes soften into a look of loving agony that you can’t quite place. The sound of your voice strikes a chord in his chest and he hates the way it makes his heart throb. Allowing himself a moment of weakness, Suguru’s hand reaches out when you’re close enough to his side.

Looking weaker than you’ve ever seen him, Geto’s hand extends towards you. Heart stuttering, you grasp ahold of his outstretched fingers and allow him to pull you into his side. Suguru, uncharacteristically small under your gaze, wraps his arms around your waist. Pulling you into him, he rests his head directly onto your chest, hiding the teary eyes he’s barely managing to suppress. He hums a broken sound, muffling it into the thick material of your uniform.

Your heart aches at the sound, bringing your hands up to rest them on his shoulders. Geto clutches you tight, hands gripping your hips as he inhales another shuddering breath.

Over his shoulder, you finally get a glance at Satoru.

He’s laying in an infirmary bed, eyes shut but without his blindfold. Looking beaten, there's gauze wrapped around his forehead, likely from a head injury, and his arms are wrapped in similar material. It’s his left arm you're worried about – the one that had been sliced open when the hull ruptured. A deep slice ran along the length of his arm, sanguine smudges evidence of the blood that continued to leak through the bandages. You wince in memory of a similar scar that now runs along the length of your own left arm.

“How is he?” You whisper, voice just loud enough for Geto to hear. Your chest is a bit lighter now, the anxious turmoil being soothed by Suguru’s fingers as they rub gentle circles into your hips. The motion makes your heart stutter and your stomach flips, but it’s a much more pleasant feeling that the bubble of worry.

Still pressed into your chest, Suguru mumbles his response into your form.

“Alright, I think. He took a hit meant for the Black Flash,” Geto mutters. His chest vibrates with his words, the feeling radiating into your own skin and sending shivers down your spine.

“What?” You mutter under your breath, a little confused. You pull Geto’s face out of your chest gently. Placing one of your hands against his cheek, face heating a little at the intimate gesture, you question him. “What do you mean?”

“The Kaiju was smarter than we anticipated,” he grunts, face pulled into a frown. You nearly brush your finger across his soft lips, but resist the urge when Geto continues speaking. “It separated us from Kento and Yu. When it was in Black Flash’s blind spot, it lunged to take them out, but ‘Toru had already forced Limitless in between. The Kaiju’s teeth damaged the hull, and Satoru was too close to the shrapnel that was expelled.”

You suck in another breath, eyes looking back at Satoru in his bed. Still asleep, he looks more peaceful now that you can see his eyes. Though he’s injured, you’ve never seen the tension leave his form as it has now. Letting out a little huff of relief, you mentally thank him. Satoru saved the Black Flash today. Without him and Suguru, you may not have seen Nanami and Haibara again.

With a tight chest and pursed lips, you shift your eyes back to Geto. He’s looking at you now, eyes still soft and a little watery. It’s hard to tell, but you’ve gotten used to both Geto and Gojo’s emotional intricacies in the past few weeks. You know he aches for his lover. He probably feels a little guilty too, something you know you’ve taken your fair share of as a pilot.

Brushing your fingers over his cheek, Suguru feels another pleasant hum radiate through his chest. He loves the feeling of your skin against his, longing to press his body further into your own. Looking back at his wounded partner, Suguru sags against your chest again with a heavy sigh.

“S’alright, Suguru,” you whisper once more. “You’re both safe now.”

You’ve never felt closer to either pilot than you do now. Whatever strings connected you before, are now pulled taut; no more loose loops and tangled knots. You can almost feel the bond between the three of you sing stronger with each passing moment. The notion fills you with another bout of warmth.

Letting yourself be a little selfish, you lift the hand that was pressed against Suguru’s shoulder. Hesitantly, you drop it onto his scalp with a shaky movement. Unsure of proceeding, you go still with a racing heart. Suguru, who’s heart now matches yours in pace, softly nudges his head further into your stomach. With his permission, you let your fingers delicately scratch against his scalp. His soft, silken hair brushes against your skin, and he lets out a quiet, audible groan when you scratch once more.

The sound has your ears heating and brain stuttering, but you continue your motions regardless. Suguru appears to melt, his body going lax against you as he tilts his head further into your fingers. With a soft smile, you let your heart hum happily despite the emotional turmoil.

You’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening once more.

Turning towards the entrance, your eyes meet the little form of Megumi, who shifts back and forth on his feet with wary eyes. He’s fiddling with his hands and looking a little perturbed. Leaning away from Suguru, who nearly audibly whines when your fingers leave his skin, you shuffle towards the door and drop to your knees.

“Hey, Bub,” you mumble, hands coming up to grasp his smaller fingers in your own. “S’going on?”

Megumi’s lips press together as he peers around you to look once at Geto and then at Gojo’s sleeping form. He wrings his fingers together again, feeling nervous. You notice his eyes linger on Gojo’s injured form, his body nearly rocking back and forth as he fidgets. You manage a little smile and lift off your knees, offering your hand to your son.

“S’okay, ‘Gumi. Gojo’s alright now.” Your words seem to ease the boy for now, but he still flicks his gaze back and forth between you and the white-haired pilot. “You wanna see him?”

Megumi manages a little nod, grasping onto your fingers as you lead him towards Gojo’s bedside. Geto’s eyes follow you, a gentle look in his gander. He loves to watch you and Megumi interact, feeling a little bubble of warmth in his stomach when you ensure the boy is comfortable with every new interaction. Shifting in his seat, Geto offers a little wave at Megumi, who sends a small smile back.

Crouching again, you pick Megumi up into your arms. Fidgeting as you place him onto your hip, Geto stands to shuffle over to your side. You flick your attention to him for a moment, ensuring that he's not in any pain as he moves. Suguru waves off your concern, coming to stand behind you and Megumi.

The three of you stand at Gojo’s bedside, your fingers rubbing comforting circles into Megumi’s back as he scans Satoru’s injured form. With perfect timing, Gojo is just beginning to wake. His pupils shift behind his eyelids and he muffles a little groan. From behind you, Geto lays his big hand across Gojo’s forearm.

When Satoru’s crystalline blue eyes open, he's met with three figures standing over his bedside. True to Gojo’s nature, he musters a little smirk that raises the corners of his lips. You nearly scoff lightheartedly when he murmurs under his breath.

“Aw, were ya’ worried about me?”

Geto chuckles when Megumi turns away from Gojo, pressing his face into your chest. You let out a little giggle as well, shielding your son from Gojo in his faint embarrassment. Even with his injuries, Satoru still manages to muster his energetic demeanor, hiding a wince when he sits up on his bed.

You send Gojo a look, eyes soft and expressing your thanks silently. He meets your gaze, a sweet look in his own vibrant, blue eyes. Satoru sends you a little nod, letting his fingers brush against yours when you’re close enough. The touch sends a little shiver down your spine and Megumi wiggles against you.

In the light of the infirmary, the four of you are in your own little world.

Geto watches happily as you and Megumi speak quietly to Gojo, your son’s body now sitting on the edge of Gojo’s bed. Geto savors in the secluded atmosphere, – just the four of you and no one else to interrupt. He hopes there are many more moments like these, especially some without an injured partner. With a soft sigh, Geto finally presses closer to you, and you let him. He rests his chin on your head with his chest pressed against your back. Exchanging a knowing look with his lover, the two of them sink into the happy aura and let themselves relax in the presence of you and your son.

Satoru recovers steadily, his arm healing nicely and scarring over in the days that follow. The stitches were removed a little more than a week later, the wounds having closed without any signs of infection. When you greet him that afternoon, Gojo pulls your body next to his, comparing his scarred arm against your own. You laugh when he murmurs that you now match, enjoying that Satoru can find little bits of happiness even in his own pain.

Limitless, the once hulking, Mark-4 Jaeger is decommissioned shortly after they had docked. Both pilots had been devastated, watching as their beloved machine slowly powers down for the last time. You stand at their side, rubbing Gojo’s side when he’s forced to look away with a tightened chest. Geto leans into you, forcing a deep sigh as he wonders what will happen next.

You are informed a few days later, of a new Jaeger, one that’s been remodeled and updated from its previous Mark-3 status. With a sharp, breathy inhale, you listen as the Marshall reveals the news.

The Scarlet Dragon, after its final battle, was refurbished. Brought back to life after tragedy, the Jaeger’s core had been saved, allowing mechanics to rebuild its body from the ground up. Now standing taller than before, the new Jaeger is no longer a sanguine color. The metallic, shining white illuminates a rainbow shine when the light hits the paint. It’s beautiful. Unlike any other built before it, the machine stands tall and proud under your stare.

No longer The Scarlet Dragon, the new Mark-5 machine - first of its kind - has a new name: The Rainbow Dragon.

Built with your previous Jaeger in mind, it looks just like the one from your memories. Though the paint is different and it’s taller than before, with new weapons and updated technology, you can still see the Scarlet Dragon before you.

The ache in your chest feels heavier than ever. You can almost feel your brother at your side as you stand in front of the Rainbow Dragon. After the Marshall had explained the machine he’d hidden from the public eye, you’d taken refuge in its hulking form. Mind racing, you consider the Marshall’s terse words.

“First of her kind,” he mutters under his breath. “As the first Mark-5 Jaeger in history, the mechanics had to work around the necessity of a stronger, enchanted Drift mechanism.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means: the Rainbow Dragon needs three pilots.”

The Marshall hadn’t continued, but you understand the subtext regardless.

The new machine was capable of immense strength and agility, one that surpassed any Jaeger before it. However, in order to operate the new apparatus, it needed a third pilot to handle the heavier neurological load. You hadn’t asked who he was going to choose for the job, but you already knew who his choices were.

Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru were two of the best pilots the Jaeger Program had ever seen. Their abilities would be wasted anywhere else. Both men were incredible pilots, capable of thinking on their feet and coming out victorious despite heavy losses.

The third pilot had to be someone that knew them well. Someone that understood their emotions and their bond – a soldier who had experience operating a Jaeger and knew how to handle the Drift. It had to be someone who was close to both Geto and Gojo, being able to understand them even without the aid of the neurological connection.

The Marshall didn’t need to say a name, because you already knew you were the only pilot he considered.

Quickly after dismissing you, you shuffled into the new hanger. Climbing the rafters, you pulled your heaving body onto the high platforms in front of The Rainbow Dragon and finally collapsed.

Feeling weaker than ever, you mulled over the information, letting your brain spiral into darker territory as you relived your final moments in The Scarlet Dragon. The memories are painful. Seeing your brother ripped from his seat and your voice rubbing raw as you screamed for him, you felt tears drip from your lower lids. Lifting a hand to scrub them away, you huffed a small sob.

The task seems too daunting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be ready to climb inside another Jaeger, your memories too strong and the wound still fresh. Your chest is heavy, a weight sitting on your ribs as you recall your loving brother.

“Hey, Kiddo,” his voice rings in your memory. “Look at me, Kid. Everything’s gonna be fine, okay? M’always gonna be right here – you can always find me in the Drift.”

The words have never left you, radiating through your being as his deep voice murmurs in your mind. You know he’d have wanted better for you. He always pushed you to greater heights, claiming you deserved more than what you were given. The weight in your chest seems to only get heavier when you think of him. You know he wouldn’t want you to stop fighting because of him. He’d probably drag your ass back into a Jaeger himself, if he could. He’d be murmuring under his breath the whole time, grunting good-natured jabs as he pushes you into the pilot’s seat.

Startled out of your thoughts as someone climbs the rafters behind you, you scrub your tears away as their form enters the metal overhang. You’re surprised to see both Nanami and Haibara, your son’s body between their feet.

“Hey, Kid.” Nanami’s voice breaks the silence. His lips are pressed together, eyes soft as he takes in your watery eyes and sad smile.

Megumi crawls forward quickly, his little hands coming up to your face to gently wipe away your falling tears. You melt at his comforting gesture, wrapping your arms around his body to pull him into your lap. He settles into you swiftly, wiggling his form to situate himself.

Nanami and Haibara settle at your sides, the four of you sitting in a quiet silence for a few moments before you break it.

“I assume you heard the news?”

Both men nod, their heads shaking as they shift to look at you. Megumi leans back into your chest, looking out at the Rainbow Dragon in wonder. Dark eyes wide, your son gasps at the magnificence of the Jaeger before you.

“Okaasan, do you miss your brother?” His little voice questions. He’s taken to fiddling with your fingers, rubbing his own short ones against the tips of yours as he speaks.

Megumi was young when your brother died, so you don’t expect him to remember much of him. He knows you were close with him, especially with all the stories you tell the younger boy. Though he may not recall your brother clearly, Megumi can still see faint flashes of both you and you brother, alongside two blurry figures that he assumes are his parents. He doesn’t remember either of them, they had died long before he could ever recall their faces. Since he was young, you were his only parental figure – something he’s more than fine with now.

You nod softly, looking down at Megumi as Haibara rubs a hand across your back. Leaning into your friend’s hand, you whisper back to Megumi, “Very much.”

Voice watery, Megumi leans his head back against your chest to look up at you. Hair ruffled and dark eyes shining, the boy’s lips turn upwards in a small smile.

“He must have been a very good person,” the boy mumbles as he twists your fingers. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be so sad, right?”

Nodding again, you look back up at the Jaeger before you and mull over Megumi’s words. Nanami and Haibara are still silent at your sides, but you savor their quiet comfort regardless. Your two oldest friends already seem to know when their muted solace is appreciated, letting your son be the one to speak.

“Would he be mad if you wanted to fight again?” His words startle you, your eyes shooting back down to look into his curious ones. The tiny orbs are inquisitive, full of questioning wonder that you’ve seen before.

After a moment’s hesitation, you consider your son’s words. You don't think your brother would be mad if you were to return to a Jaeger. In fact, you think he’d be ecstatic if you continued to fight even after his unfortunate death. It’s not necessarily his memory that holds you back, but your own fear.

You’ve long dreaded the connection that’s made between pilots, too anxious that the strain of the Drift with another copilot would bring you too much pain. You were still connected to your brother when he was killed. Every moment of his dying agony was your own. You didn’t think you were ready to experience that kind of anguish once more.

“I don’t think so,” you reply softly. Squeezing Megumi tight in your arms, you press your forehead into his hair.

“Are you scared then?”

Without lifting your head, you nod against Megumi’s hair. His words aren’t angry, nor are they accusatory. He simply wants to understand why you never return to piloting, always a little uncertain about your reasons.

Megumi nods his head in understanding. He continues looking out at the Rainbow Dragon, letting his fingers stroke comforting circles into your hands. Your son is remarkably intelligent. For someone his age, Megumi is keen and able to understand complex emotions even without experiencing them himself. He’s caring too, making sure to silently comfort you with little strokes of his hands as he speaks.

You’re so incredibly proud of him. Despite all the tragedy in his life, your son is immensely wise and so exceptionally kind. You feel your heart squeeze with a warmth as your softened eyes leak a few tears into his hair.

“Yeah, ‘Gumi,” you whisper, only for him to hear. “M’scared.”

“That’s okay, Okaasan!” He replies cheerfully, his voice light and energetic despite the gloomy atmosphere. “I can be strong for you!”

Your eyes crinkle as they turn into a sweet smile. Heart singing, a surge of warmth fills you as Megumi speaks. You couldn’t be more happy to have Megumi as your son.

“I’ll be right here the whole time,” Megumi croons. “And then when it’s all over, we can finally go home.”

Letting your body collapse into Megumi, you weep a little sob. Home, you think. That sounds nice. The idea of a little beach side house, Megumi’s little body running around in the sand and the salty smell of the ocean in the air. Your heart aches as you imagine it. After everything is finally over, you finally want to buy the house you’ve had your eye on. You want to adopt Megumi and take him home as your son, officially.

You’re surprised when the images of Geto and Gojo sneak into the fantasy. Their forms dance in the sand, Gojo flicking water at Megumi as he squeals. Heart full, you hum pleasantly. Nanami and Haibara join the sight soon, Yuuji’s pink hair peeking out from behind Megumi. Your little family.

Nodding fervently, you press a kiss to Megumi’s hair with a determined sigh. Nanami and Haibara watch as you set your shoulders back, their own chests fluttering with happiness as the youthful determination finally fills your body once more.

“Okay, ‘Gumi,” you whisper. “One more fight, then we finally go home.”

Three days later, and there’s no time to test your drift compatibility with Geto and Gojo.

The Marshall, after speaking with the lead research specialist, wants to make a final attempt to close the Breach. With new information regarding the opening between worlds, he’s certain that this final shot will work.

You’re nervous – more than you’ve ever been in your life. It’s been a long time since you’ve put on a drive-suit, twinging a little when the thin needles insert into your spine. You’re a little stiff, but it feels good to be back in the suit. It feels natural once again, the material shifting as you walk. Heading into the cockpit of the Rainbow Dragon, your stomach quells in anxiety.

You’d said goodbye to Megumi a few moments ago. The Marshall promised to look after him while you were gone, your trembling hands thanking him. You pressed a kiss to Megumi’s hair, promising to be back soon. There was no need to say farewells, you were confident. You would not be leaving Megumi behind again. He would not have to let go of another parental figure.

He sent you a warm smile, pressing his own little kiss to your cheek. It was uncharacteristic of him to be so affectionate, but you blame it on him sensing your nerves.

Inside the Rainbow Dragon, Gojo and Geto are already preparing the Jaeger for dispatch. There’s muffled conversation between them, a sense of lingering unease in the cockpit. The Marshall had not informed them of their third pilot. Neither Gojo nor Geto were sure of the choice for the empty pilot’s seat in the cockpit.

Though, both pilots already knew who their choice would have been.

There was only one other person in the Shatterdome who knew their minds inside and out. Though they’d only been ‘friends’ for a few months, both Geto and Gojo knew you were fine tuned to their intricacies by now. It was evident in the way you helped Gojo pull his pilot uniform over his wounded shoulder weeks ago. As if you knew the exact movement that would bring him pain, you maneuvered the uniform over his arm, ensuring that he didn’t have to make any motion that would hurt him.

Gojo saw it in the way you helped Suguru pull his hair into a bun when his own shoulder ached after their battle. His lover’s eyes fell shut as your fingers brushed against Geto’s scalp, his smile warm and endearing as you carefully tied the elastic.

The three of you worked seamlessly together now.

From over his shoulder, Geto mumbled something as he fidgeted with the helmet in his hands. The black drive-suit fits his build well. Broad shoulders and thin waist, Gojo finds himself scanning his lover’s body with appreciation.

Looking up, Geto rolls his eyes when he meets Gojo’s sultry gaze. Wiggling his eyebrow childishly, Satoru laughs when Geto shoves him away. It’s amazing they both can play around like this before a mission. Though the atmosphere is taut, nerves on end and soldiers tense around them, Geto and Gojo still manage to keep a lighthearted facade.

As the two continue pre-ignition procedures, footsteps entering the cockpit cause both their heads to raise from their hunched positions. The steps stop just before the far right pilot’s seat, a beat of silence echoing through the room before you break it.

“I hope you don’t mind if I take the right,” you grin. “My left arm was shot to shit.”

Geto’s head whips in your direction so quickly, you have to muffle a giggle. His black hair falls in front of his face in his shock, the strands of his bangs blocking his eyes for a moment before he shakes them away. When his gaze meets yours, you suck in a breath at the look in his eyes. They're softened, pupils shining with an endearing expression that makes you want to melt under his stare. Geto looks at you as if he’s been waiting for you – not just now, as a pilot, but forever. He and Gojo have been waiting for you, whether they knew it or not.

Gojo’s smile widens, a laugh falling from his lips as he lets out a little cheer. His heart squeezing, he takes in your figure. The dark drive-suit suits you well, the material standing out against the pale interior of the cockpit. It’s you, he thinks. It’s always been you. They’ve been waiting for you.

Nodding, Geto motions for you to take the right pilot’s seat. Gojo falls easily into the middle one, allowing his recovering left arm a little break. Settling into the left side, Geto feels a sense of ease spread through the room. It feels natural, your presence. It’s as though they’ve been battling with you this whole time. You fit so seamlessly between their personalities, taking everything in stride and working to better both them and yourself.

“You look good, Sunshine.” It’s Gojo who speaks, his voice cutting through the silence. He’s looking at you, crystalline blue eyes taking in every inch of your figure as he had Suguru. Both of you look enticing in your drive-suits.

“Thanks, ‘Toru,” you mumble in reply, ducking your head to hide your flustered expression. You hope neither of them notice, but it wouldn’t be in their character.

“He’s right,” Suguru continues. “You ready, Pretty?”

You manage a shaky nod, settling your body back into the pilot seat behind you. Geto and Gojo follow suit, shifting to press back into the needles that attach themselves to your spine. Hair-thin and minuscule, you’ll barely feel the spines in a few moments, but the initial injection is never comfortable.

When the three of you are finally settled into place, you begin pulling up the screen in front of you. Clicking your right arm into the brace that will allow you to control the Rainbow Dragon’s own left arm, you let the practiced motions of preparing the Jaeger drown out your nervous turmoil.

The Rainbow Dragon is a three-armed Jaeger, with a rotating middle that allows the limbs to switch positions in the middle of battle. While you choose to operate the right side, it’s likely the section could change. It’s not too drastic of an adjustment. Though some of the nerves are touchy, your left arm should be able to handle the fight just fine. It will simply be a little less reactive than your right.

“Hey,” Gojo breaks the silence. He’s turned to face you, bright blue eyes tracing your features under the helmet you had slid on. His voice is soft, something you don’t often hear. “Let’s go somewhere after this. Just us – you, me, Suguru and Megumi. Some time alone for the four of us.”

Geto hums a happy sound, obviously in agreement. His dark eyes turn back to you, letting the pupils trace your features with an endearing look. In the cockpit, there’s some sense of a peaceful calm despite the stressful situation that continues outside your little world. It sends a bolt of warmth into your chest and you return Suguru’s sweet look, your cheek beginning to ache from the wide smile that settles on your lips.

“The beach,” you decide after a moment’s hesitation. Stomach twisting, now with butterflies rather than nerves, you address them both. “Megumi’s always wanted to go to Okinawa.”

Geto shakes his head with a laugh before turning back to Satoru with a smile on his lips. “Okinawa it is then.”

Before the Drift even commences, the three of you slide into a connection of your own. Minds so finely tuned to each other, you barely even need the drift to tell you what the other is thinking. You’re already imagining the beach. The white sand brushing against your toes and Megumi’s laughter in the air as the four of you take some well needed time away. In your own world, you finish preparing the final steps to dispatch the Rainbow Dragon, turning to face Gojo, your designated lead pilot.

“All systems are a ‘Go,’ Six.”

The white haired pilot’s lips curl into a smirk at the name, sending you a teasing look as you address him by his nickname again. It’s different now. While you used to throw the name at him with a subtle hint of distaste, now the name ‘Six Eyes’ means something else. It's spoken with a manner of confidence, letting Satoru know that you are placing your complete trust in his efforts as your lead pilot.

Gojo turns to face his lover, receiving his consensual nod from Suguru before he addresses Main Control. “Rainbow Dragon is a ‘Go.’ Commence the Drift.”

At his command, a voice repeats Satoru’s command in your ear. Settling back against the pilot seat with a lingering nervousness in your gut, you make contact with Suguru. His warm smile underneath the helmet soothes some of the anxiety, trying to comfort your racing mind. It’s been a long time since you’ve drifted with another pilot, and the first with a pilot who isn’t your brother.

Taking a deep, controlled breath, you shut your eyes and allow the swelling of the Drift take over your mind. It starts with a subtle pressure, building until it presses at the forefront of your consciousness. When you succumb to its strength, you’re immediately met with flashes of memories.

At first, they're yours.

You see your brother's face as you and the Fushiguro’s laugh. The four of you are stuffed into your small bunker, clutching drinks as you giggle amongst yourselves. The swell of nostalgia presses against your chest as you feel the ache of grief pushing against your ribs. You look so happy here.

When the memory gets pulled away, you know both Geto and Gojo are watching too. The Drift links all three of you, so they see every scene as it flashes by in front of you. Instead of feeling nervous, there’s some warmth in your chest that comforts you. You’re not afraid of them seeing your past. You actually find that you’re grateful they can see these memories, you know it will bring you closer together. Being able to physically feel every emotion from the others is both a blessing and a curse in the Drift.

Another flash floats in front of you, and you’re holding Megumi for the first time.

You remember the tears that dropped down your cheeks as you held his tiny body in your hands. He was so small, little tufts of dark hair fluffy against his forehead and dark eyes already open. Megumi looks up at you for the first time in his life, and you couldn’t resist the tears that fell from your eyes. His birth mother is asleep, having passed out with Toji at her side as he passes his son into your arms. Your brother is at your side, his head peeking over your shoulder as the two of you finally meet the child of your lifelong friends.

You watch as your heart swells with love at the sight. You hadn’t known then, that Megumi would one day be your son. Though, you can’t find it within yourself to wish for anything different. He’s the perfect kid, even despite both of your flaws.

When the memory is pulled away, it’s replaced by a painful one.

You watch as Toji’s Jaeger falls apart, the machine collapsing under his insurmountable grief. Toji had lost his wife in a similar way you'd lost your brother. Pulled from the Jaeger by the hulking body of a Kaiju, Toji had crumpled under the weight of his lost love. Both himself and his Jaeger had been destroyed in the process.

You remember crying out for both your friends, chest seizing as a sob wracked through your chest. It was up to you and your brother to finish off the Kaiju, not given a moment’s hesitation for the grief that swelled in your throat.

There’s the flash of you holding Megumi’s body tight, his inquisitive eyes not quite understanding the situation, but squeezing you back regardless. He’d been so young.

Another blur passes through you, Geto and Gojo’s chest sinking under the weight of your own subtle grief. You don’t allow yourself much else, knowing you can’t immerse yourself in the memories. Following after one, ‘chasing the rabbit’ as the Marshall says, would only disrupt the Drift and cause the Jaeger to fail.

Though they ache to comfort you somehow, both men allow the next memory to pass, watching with wide eyes as they are met with the sight that had previously ended your piloting career.

Breath caught in their lungs, your voice crying out in their ears, they watch as your brother is ripped from his seat. Feeling every moment of your brother’s dying agony, they ache as you did. It’s painful, incredibly so. Gojo wishes to reach out to you, though he knows he can’t.

They only watch as your past, broken form sobs as you finally finish the Kaiju once and for all. When you collapse against the coastline, the Scarlet Dragon defeated, there’s a crushing pain in both their chests.

You resist falling into grief.

Instead, you let these agonizing moments propel you into some kind of vengeful confidence. You won’t let these people die in vain. Toji and his wife, your brother, all those pilots before you – you will not allow their sacrifice to be for naught.

With your head held high, your memories finally finish, allowing Geto’s to take their place.

Each crucial moment of Geto Suguru’s life flows past your mind. You watch with your breath caught in your throat as he meets Gojo Satoru for the first time. They’d been young, only teenagers at the time, but they look so similar. Wide smiles on their cheeks, you watch as Geto shoves Gojo away with a laugh, the two boys playfully wrestling with each other.

Another rift fades, and you watch two little girls appear before you. One blonde and the other dark haired, your eyes follow Geto as he hoists both girls onto his hips. Carrying them both with a warm smile, Suguru cares for both girls as his own. The sight makes your chest squeeze again – he’d be such a good father.

You’re ripped from the sweet moment as the spectacle changes. Now, it’s a memory of pure agony. With wide eyes and a breath stuck in his throat, Suguru finds the two girls, eyes blank and blood dripping from their skulls. It’s clear they’ve been trampled, likely from a crowd of people trying to escape a Kaiju attack. Satoru and Suguru had been away, called to pilot their Jaeger as they left the girls in the care of a neighbor. Likely abandoned by the caretaker, the twins were mercilessly slaughtered before either man could even say goodbye.

You nearly cough out a sob as Suguru’s grief overtakes you. It’s similar to your own, and you find yourself aching to comfort him as he did you.

As the sigh fades away, Satoru’s memories take their place. You’re not very surprised to find Satoru doesn’t have many happy memories that don’t include Suguru. From the pictures that flash through your consciousness, Satoru wasn’t allowed much of a childhood. His clan elders seem to rip him away the moment he had the strength to stand and walk on his own.

Though, despite the unhappy memories, there’s ones of joy slipping in between. There's genuine smiles filtering through the cracks, images of his laugh as he lays on Suguru’s lap. A wide grin is on his lips as he sits in between Suguru, Nanami and Haibara in one of their bunkers.

For a moment, you think the Drift has finally finished as the images fade away. However, you’re startled as one final sight flashes before your eyes.

You don’t know whose memory it is. It could be either Suguru’s or Satoru’s, but you know it’s not yours.

You know because it’s your body standing before your own eyes.

In that moment, with your form sitting on one of the high-rise platforms in front of Limitless, you feel every moment of Geto and Gojo’s emotions. There’s joy and kindness, and some sort of longing that sits in your stomach and has your heart doing all sorts of flips. Your breath is stuck in your throat, a lump holding it there as you watch yourself turn to look down at the person.

There must be some sort of difference in this memory because you swear you appear more beautiful than you’ve ever seen. It seems as though, in this person’s memory, they see you in such a pure way – as if they see you in a much better light than you see yourself. This person sees authentic, sheer beauty as your form turns to look at them.

They see you in a light in which you’ve never seen yourself.

You appear more beautiful than any instance you’ve ever seen before. In this memory, time seems to slow as your lips pull into a gentle smile and wave down at the person looking up. Your heart seems to catch, a pure longing taking its place as the person waves back. When your past body waves the person to join you, you swear you’ve never felt lighter.

There's so much pure joy and genuine aching for your presence, you think you might cry. You feel giggly and ecstatic, like a school girl all over again. It sets your heart alight, twisting your features into such a soft expression.

You know it’s not just Geto or Gojo’s memory now.

You can recall finding both pilots looking up at you in the rafters, their smiles and happy eyes gazing up at your body. You remember waving to them, gesturing for them to join you, with your own set of butterflies in your stomach.

It’s not one of their memories – it’s both.

Whatever joy and longing you’re feeling, is coming from both of them. They appear to be linked in such a way that they felt the exact same ache for you. Sharing both the memory and the feeling, the sight before you flickers and you fear you may cry.

Not out of sadness, but from genuine love.

You’ve never felt so honestly and authentically loved as you do now. Absolutely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of affection that swells in your chest, you fear you may sink too far into the memory. The tightness in your chest crescendos, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling.

When you’re finally pulled from it, some kind of bond just snaps into place.

Suddenly, you know exactly how the three of you feel for each other. There's no lingering questioning, no deceiving guesses that leave all of you confused. You know now. It’s always been you – just the three of you and your son now.

As you meet the gazes of Satoru and Suguru, there’s a confident smile on your cheeks. You feel their joy and their swelling devotion as you settle into your new place – between the two of them.

It's about an hour later, when you’re standing at the brink of the Breach, that the nerves finally return. It’s almost suspicious – you’ve made it this far with no problem. There’s been no sign of any Kaiju, not even a surge of energy from the Breach. It’s worrying, but for now, you take it as a good sign.

But you need a body. A Kaiju body is needed to bypass the Breach.

That’s what the research analyst had discovered. In order to pass through the rift between worlds, the Breach scans the Kaiju’s DNA like an identification tag. In order to pass through, you need a Kaiju - dead or alive.

Perhaps they know this. You've underestimated their intelligence as a species before. Maybe they know of your plans – can tell that your kind intends to collapse the rift between your world and theirs for good. It’s suspicious, but you have no other explanation.

As the Rainbow Dragon stands side by side with the Black Flash, two other Jaegers stand behind you, the darkness of the water seems to close in around you. Deep beneath the ocean’s surface, there's so little light. You can only see a few meters in front of the Rainbow Dragon, just enough to make out the edges of the Breach. It glows even despite the depths, a sentiment you’re grateful for. It casts a faint light around the edge, allowing you to keep the Black Flash within your sights.

“Any sign, Kento?” It’s Satoru’s voice that carries through the unnerving silence. Main Control had gone quiet too, all of you waiting in suspense.

“Nothing, Gojo.”

You turn to look at Suguru, a tense lipped frown on your face. He returns the look with a little nod, settling your nerves in the slightest. You have nothing to fear with them at your side. With Nanami and Haibara as your wing-men, you know the five of you are strong.

Scanning the ocean floor in front of you, left hand clenching in your drive-suit, you feel the weight of the mission settle onto your shoulders. It’s your Jaeger that carries the payload – the Rainbow Dragon is the one assigned to pass through the Breach.

“Rainbow Dragon!” The voice of Main Control filters through your earpiece. “Signatures are rising – two Category Five Kaiju are breaking through the Breach!”

The Rainbow Dragon whirs as your fists lift into a defensive position. The plasma cannon in Suguru’s right fist faintly hums as it prepares for battle, and the razor sharp sword retracted into your arm is cocked and ready to deploy. Settling your weight onto your toes, the three of you are ready for a fight.

The Black Flash shifts at your side, Nanami and Haibara preparing for their own skirmish. From behind you, the four pilots of the Jaegers on standby begin to approach your location. It’ll be a fair fight: two Jaegers for each Kaiju. A Class Five Kaiju will be a tough battle, but you know you’re ready now.

As the first monstrous head rips through the barrier between worlds, the Rainbow Dragon is already leaping forward with a metallic clang. The Jaeger’s chest twists, allowing you to catch the beast’s pincer jaws with your fist. Satoru, already in tune with your plan, reaches out with the third arm, grasping onto the Kaiju’s other clicking pincer.

With a heavy grunt, Suguru already has the plasma cannon locked and loaded. Pulling with all your might, you feel your arm strain against the strength of the Kaiju as it tries to pull away. Yanking its jaws apart, you hear Satoru shout.

“Now, Suguru!”

He doesn’t need to say it, already understanding the order inside your own heads, but Suguru follows through regardless. With a cry, the plasma cannon fires twice into the Kaiju’s rib cage. It’s not enough to kill, but it’s enough to stun. An inhuman roar escapes the hulking creature as the shots embed into its ribs. Glowing blue blood leaks into the water as skin is ruptured.

From behind you, you hear the sounds of the Black Flash engaging in their own battle, Nanami and Haibara’s voices blending together as they fight seamlessly together.

Another Jaeger, deemed the White Serpent, is not far behind you. Taking up your side, the Kaiju finally breaks free from your grip and knocks you away. You grunt heavily as the pressure pushes against your ribs. Falling onto your back, the Rainbow Dragon is quick to right itself onto its feet, torso twisting so that Satoru can push the three of you upright.

“White Serpent,” you shout into your headset, “Three-o’clock!”

The Mark-4 Jaeger twists at your cry, pushing its fists into the head of the Kaiju as it charges them head on. The weight of the beast is strong, pushing the Jaeger backwards in its attack. It struggled under the snapping pincer of its jaws, the pilot’s grunting as they strain to hold it back.

“Hold on!” Satoru commands, the three of you already pumping your legs to rejoin the fight. “Red, engage!”

Feeling his command send bolts of energy through your right arm, you click your hand into place. The razor sharp sword propels from the Rainbow Dragon’s right forearm, locking into position as you charge for the Kaiju. Muscles straining and legs pumping, you push off the ocean floor with a leap.

Propelled through the ocean’s current, you twist your arm with a mighty swing. Arching though the darkness, your sword cuts flesh, separating the Kaiju’s arm from its body. Landing roughly against the floor, you look up from your position on one knee and watch the beast let out another monstrous sound.

The White Serpent is knocked away with an angry swipe of the Kaiju’s claws. The pilots cry out, but are otherwise unharmed, Jaeger only sustaining minor damage to the hull.

As you shift to ready for another attack, you’re startled by a sharp cry from Haibara. “Rainbow Dragon, on your six!”

Broken from your focus, unable to twist out of the way, the second Kaiju’s jaws close around your Jaeger with a sharp snap. Suguru twists the Rainbow Dragon, forcing his body into place instead of Satoru’s. It’s the left arm that gets enclosed in the Kaiju’s jaws, not Satoru’s. The other Kaiju, having broken free from the Black Flash’s hold, charged from behind, latching onto your left arm in revenge for its own kind.

“Suguru!” You cry out, left arm enclosed in a blinding pain. The black-haired pilot lets out his own sharp cry, eyes screwing shut under the agonizing pain of the beast’s jaws. Chest seizing, a weight crushes your chest. This scene is too familiar. Red lights flash through the cockpit of the Rainbow Dragon as a portion of its armor is pierced. A warning alarm flashes as an oxygen tank ruptures, alerting you of the decreased levels.

This won’t end the same way your brother did.

Arms twisting, you cry out as you twist the Jaeger’s torso. Right arm locking into place, you force the blade of your sword upwards with all your strength. Satoru follows through, a click sounding as the plasma cannon on his own hand charges.

With a mighty grunt, you push hard, muscles staining under the combined weight of the Jaeger and the ocean’s pressure. The sword slides into the Kaiju’s throat with a grotesque sound.

“Satoru!”

You hold the Kaiju steady, sweet dripping into your suit as Satoru follows through. Despite the agonizing pain and rush of depleting oxygen, the white haired pilot engages his plasma cannon, firing three simultaneous rounds into the Kaiju’s chest. Unable to struggle away with your sword embedded into its throat, Satoru successfully pierces the monster’s ribcage with his aim.

You hold your breath as the beast falls quiet.

Monstrous, growing blood leaks into the water as the Kaiju goes still. Your sword retracts into the Rainbow Dragon’s forearm with a clang. Chest heaving and arm burning, you look back at Suguru. His eyes are droopy, panting as he tries to catch his breath. He’d taken the full force of the Kaiju’s jaw, his neurological link connected to the left arm before any other portion of the Jaeger.

You don’t speak, but you feel the rush of comfort from Suguru’s side of the link. He’s alright, he tries to communicate, for now. You nod, shifting back to look at the Kaiju.

“Six,” you grunt, not taking your eyes off the lumbering corpse at your feet. “Check for a pulse.”

A grin stretches onto Satoru’s features as the whirl of the plasma cannon fills your ears again. It’s a little animalistic, but you can’t resist the stutter of your heart at the expression on his face.

Satoru fires another two shots into the beast’s ribcage, splitting the Kaiju open and allowing its chest to collapse. It's grotesque, but well-deserved after the pain it brought Suguru.

“No pulse,” Satoru confirms when the Kaiju’s rib cage splits open and its heart is pierced with a final shot from his cannon.

Grinning, the white haired pilot turns back to Suguru. Alarms are still flashing, and you take a moment to scan the oxygen levels of the Jaeger. A tank ruptured, oxygen is decreasing fast.

“Satoru, if we’re going to do this – it has to be now.”

His gaze lingers on Suguru, ensuring that his lover is alright before the Rainbow Dragon twists and locks into place again.

“M’alright,” Suguru grunts, trying to shake off the needles that feel like they’re piercing his skin.Now facing the remaining three Jaegers, you watch as the Black Flash struggles against the weight of the final beast.

“Kento! Yu!” At Satoru’s command, the Black Flash pushes the Kaiju a step backwards with immense strength.

Your feet pump again, pushing against the weight of the machine. It follows your command flawlessly, forcing its body through the ocean floor. Nanami and Haibara struggle against the final Kaiju, standing before the edge of the Breach.

With your minds linking, you understand Satoru’s plan. Sliding the sword out once more, you continue to push forward, forcing the last amount of energy you have into the charge. Chest heaving and panting, you tire under the force, but you continue. Sweat drips from your forehead, but you ignore it.

Hardened eyes and teeth gritted, you reach the Black Flash. Sword pushing forward, you force the blade through the Kaiju’s chest as the other two arms of the Rainbow Dragon grasp onto its body. Your combined weight forces both your form and the Kaiju over the edge of the Breach.

Chest seizing as you fall, you continue pushing your sword through the beast with a guttural sound. It finally gives way, slicing upwards and through the monster’s ribs. Glowing blood leaking into the water, your two bodies fall through the Breach with a bated breath.

This has to work.

Eyes squeezing shut, the Kaiju in your grasp takes a final breath as your form finally breaks through the rift between worlds.

Huffing out a breath, you pant as you try to regain your standing in the cockpit. Head racing, you barely internalize the success as you turn to look at Suguru. His eyes are drifting shut, barely able to keep himself awake under the pain of his arm. Growing dizzy from the lack of oxygen, you look downwards, watching gas escape Suguru’s own oxygen line. It must have burst sometime in the fight.

Scanning the screens in front of you, you read Suguru’s vitals with a stuttering heart. His pulse is slowing, likely from the lack of air. Before you can move to help, Satoru is already pulling his own oxygen tube from his drive-suit, a sharp sound echoing through the silence as he pulls Suguru’s out. Exchanging the lines, Satoru sacrifices his own air for his lover, allowing Suguru to take a deep inhale as it reaches his lungs.

You fight off your own lingering pain, feeling your chest sink as the reality of the situation dawns on you. Inside an entire other world, it’s up to you and your two pilots to detonate the payload and destroy the Breach. However, with Suguru fading fast and Satoru giving up his own oxygen, you know it’s a difficult task.

Sucking in your breath, you begin the ejection procedure for Suguru’s pilot seat. Clicking away at the screen in front of you, you turn to Satoru.

“’Toru,” you mumble. You’re in his head, he already knows what you must be thinking. There’s an empty, viscous twisting in your stomach as your eyes soften.

When the white haired pilot turns to look at you, his eyes are hardened with a protective look. His chest tight and breath catching, he can already tell what you’re planning. “No.”

“Satoru, please,” you whisper. You have very little options now. There’s only so much you can do. With the other Kaiju finally taking in the Rainbow Dragon, you’re sure there’s monsters already closing on your location. As you drift through the water, red lights flash as the oxygen levels continue to drop.

Satoru shakes his head again, a horrible lump swelling in his throat. He can’t let you do this. It’s far too dangerous, and the idea of leaving you alone in this Jaeger, with Kaiju surrounding you and no help within sight, Satoru doesn’t think he could ever leave you alone now.

“I can’t -” he brokenly cries. Voice twisted with a watery grief, Satoru feels like his ribs may collapse into his chest. Heart aching and eyes burning as they hold back tears, Satoru nearly whimpers. His head is racing as he tries to conceive another idea – any other idea.

“Satoru,” you murmur, eyes soft and heart aching. “Let me do this – you know I can do this. I can detonate the payload alone, there’s not enough oxygen for the two of us.”

He shakes his head again, lungs seizing. Mind racing and breathing heavily, he locks eyes with you. Breath catching, there’s nothing but sincerity in your eyes. You can do this – he knows that. You’re an experienced pilot, perhaps even more than he, but he can’t force down the angry, terrified lump in his throat. It’s the thought of leaving you here.

Either way, Satoru has to leave one of you alone.

If he follows Suguru, it’s you he’s leaving in this dangerous, life-threatening mission. If he stays, he’s risking his own life and your little residual oxygen, leaving Suguru to escape to the surface on his own.

He can’t think.

There's too much happening, thoughts racing but he can’t seem to grasp onto any of them. Stomach twisting and eyes beginning to burn with tears, Satoru chokes on a sob.

“Take care of Suguru for me, ‘Toru,” you whisper. “Right now, he needs you more than me.” Your voice is quiet. It’s just you and your copilots now. Main Control can’t hear you, connection breaking when you disappeared through the Breach. It’s just you, Satoru and Suguru, who is fading fast.

“Promise me,” he nearly sobs, voice watery and catching in his throat. “Promise me you’ll follow right after me. You detonate the payload and you get out – please, promise me that.”

You shakily nod, a sob of your own choking your throat. You push back against it. If you cry now, Satoru will never leave your side, you know it. But Suguru needs him now, his injured body needs medical attention and he can’t escape his life pod alone when he hits the surface.

“I promise, ‘Toru,” you firmly reassure, soft eyes not leaving his own teary, crystalline ones. “We’re going to Okinawa, remember?”

Satoru nods fervently, another sob breaking through his chest and echoing through the cabin. You inhale sharply, trying to resist your own cry. When Satoru gives you the command, you lean onto the screen before you, shaky fingers clicking against it as you set up his own ejection procedure.

With alarms still flashing and red lights glaring into your eyes, you take a deep breath as the Suguru and Satoru’s pilot seats begin to lift. Tilting horizontally, you make eye contact with Suguru’s dark, hazy eyes once more as the life pod closes around him. You feel the Drift begin to leave your body as both pods are forced upwards, out of the Rainbow Dragon with a firm push. Link disconnecting, you’re left with the lingering emptiness and longing from both Satoru and Suguru’s connection.

Going limp, you finally let the sob escape your lips. Tears are forced out of your ducts as you turn back towards the front of the Jaeger. In front of you is nothingness. It’s a blank expanse of another world, only a few structures apparent in the midst of the void. You can tell there are Kaiju closing on your location, the radar screen blinking with light as they approach fast.

With a determined huff and hardened eyes, you move quickly. Losing oxygen fast, you start pulling up the detonation procedure, only to grunt in frustration when the screen presents an error. You cry out, shoving the screen away as you turn towards the manual override switch.

“Fuck!”

It’s on the other side of the cockpit.

You’ll have to disconnect from your seat to reach it. If you’re quick, you can race there and back, reaching the ejection seat before the detonation timer finishes. As soon as you hit the override, the countdown will begin, and you’ll have little time to escape through the Breach.

Breathing heavily and forcing the tears away, you push down the panic. You think of Suguru and Satoru. You imagine them on the beach, Megumi by their feet as they splash in the waves with a happy laugh. You long for the picture to become reality.

In another determined breath, you pull up the ejection screen, leaving it open so that it’s ready when you settle back into the seat. Looking back at the override switch, you nod your head and unlock your drive-suit.

With aching limbs and a heavy body, you force yourself to take quick steps to the side of the cockpit. You push against all thoughts of stopping, your sore frame begging you to give in, but you continue. Reaching the switch, you force the heavy safety frame away and take a final deep breath.

Thoughts of Megumi in your mind, you harden your eyes and yank with all your might.

As the switch flips, alarms begin blaring as the Rainbow Dragon informs you of the countdown. The numbers flash in front of your face as you push yourself back to the pilot’s seat. Body heavy and mind racing, you force your body to move faster than you ever have before. You can barely breathe. The lack of oxygen begins to push against your head, causing you to sway on your feet as you grow dizzy. A ringing pain pushes at your temples and your chest seems to grow even heavier.

Reaching the seat, you force your body back in, feeling the needles slide back into your spine, you’re already clicking at the screen. Confirming ejection, your body begins to raise towards the ceiling of the Jaeger. In the flashing red countdown, you hold your breath as the last glimpse of the Kaiju’s world reaches your eyes.

As the life pod reaches the ceiling, the Rainbow Dragon begins to eject your limp body as the countdown flashes its final three digits. You can’t hold your eyes open any longer. A heavy weight presses against your chest and your skull, and you can’t resist the drooping of your eyelids. With your heaving chest and dizzy mind, a final glimpse of the beach flickers across your closing lids.

When the countdown finally flashes ‘zero,’ you're already unconscious.

The moment his life pod reaches the water’s surface, Satoru is pulling open the hatch that exposes his body to Earth’s air. He inhales a deep breath, chest heaving as he savors the oxygen he greatly needs.

Gripping the edges of the pod, the inflatable sides holding itself above the water, Satoru scans the surface for other life pods. His heart is racing, and despite having all the oxygen he could ever need, it still feels like he can’t breathe. White-knuckles grip the metal ridges of his pod, the other clutches his chest.

As soon as a second pod reaches his vision, Satoru is already lifting his body with great difficultly and diving into the ocean’s depths. Inhaling a deep breath before he goes under, the crystalline-eyed man begins paddling towards Suguru's pod.

The lid breaks away, allowing Suguru to breathe deeply as he battles the grip of unconsciousness. His lungs finally expand, allowing the oxygen to filter through his chest. Long hair brushes against his cheeks, falling loose from its place tied atop his head, Suguru feels his arm throb painfully. Though there is not a flesh wound, the nerves have been electrocuted in the fight to regain control of the Rainbow Dragon.

Though the wound stings painfully, he can barely focus on the throbbing as he pulls himself upright. His mind is screaming. The last he remembers is a final glimpse of your sweet eyes as his life pod finally ejects from the Jaeger. He’s frantic, eyes now scanning the horizon line as he tries to find you and Satoru. Splashing is heard to his left, and Suguru whips his head over his shoulder to find white hair dripping with sea water.

“’Toru!” He cries, voice cracking.

Satoru manages to pull himself out of the water, lifting himself onto the side of the pod with a heavy breath. With minimal injuries and a wide-eyed look, Satoru feels his chest caving in. He’s barely settled onto the raft when his hands are pulling Suguru’s body into his. Hands fumble against skin as a shuddering sob leaves Satoru’s lungs. Suguru responds with a weak sound of his own, bringing his uninjured hand upwards to clutch Satoru close. There's relief in their grasp, but it’s not enough.

Pressing his face into his partner’s neck, Satoru allows a few tears to leak onto Suguru’s skin. They’re both shaking, feeling weaker than ever before as they clasp each other tight. Suguru’s hand wraps around the back of Satoru’s neck, pulling him as close as he can. Both panting, the lovers lean into each other, too weak to hold themselves upright without the support of the other.

When they find the strength to pull away, Satoru presses a wet kiss against Suguru’s forehead, inhaling deeply as tears continue to fall from his eyes. His watery gaze begins scanning the ocean’s surface, counting the seconds as he searches for the third pod.

Suguru can feel each second stretch into minutes as his good arm pulls Satoru’s form tight. They're both looking now, breaths short and hearts racing, an ache sinks into their stomachs. It rolls through their gut, feeling sick as they continue to search.

The faint sound of Main Control is screaming questions into their earpieces, but neither pilot can focus long enough to listen to their frantic voices. There's too much happening: the suspense of not knowing whether the Breach has collapsed, nor if the Black Flash and the other Jaegers escaped. However, the only thought pressing at the forefront of their minds is you.

Satoru knows you would follow him.

You promised him, and he knows that you don’t take promises lightly.

All they can do is wait. Worrying his bottom lip in his teeth, Suguru can feel his pulse in his throat. Satoru’s no different, his fingers fiddling in the strands of Suguru’s hair as he pants.

The second the third pod breaks the surface, Satoru’s hands leave Suguru’s skin. His mind is in shambles, heart in his throat as he leans forward and dives back below the water. Suguru is not far behind.

Despite his injuries, there’s too much protective concern in his head. No part of him can resist the longing ache that pushes against his ribs. He has to reach you – has to see the light reach your eyes and feel your heart race under your skin. Pushing against his wounds, Suguru continues to swim in your life pod’s direction.

Satoru reaches your side first.

He can’t seem to breath; you haven’t pulled the hatch that opens your pod. Something is wrong, and Satoru feels as though his world may be collapsing before him.

Pulling himself out of the water, he leans over the window of the raft that allows him to take a glimpse of your features. His world momentarily stops when your eyes don’t open. Scrambling for the latch on the outside of the pod, Satoru yanks on the lever just as Suguru is pulling himself onto the edge.

With a hiss, the top of the pod slides open.

Shouting is still ringing in their ears, but it seems to quiet. There's a stillness in the air as Suguru reaches forward. There’s a horrible twisting in his chest that feels as though his heart is being pulled from the cavity. An empty void will be the only thing left if he doesn’t see your pretty eyes open under his gaze.

A broken, mournful sound echoes through the silence of the empty ocean atmosphere. It comes from Suguru’s chest. Black hair falling into his eyes, Suguru can’t hold back the sobs that leave his lungs. They’re angry, forlorn in a way neither pilot can describe.

Satoru feels his own tiny whine escape his lips. For some reason, he can’t seem to move. Frozen, hands hovering over your still body, Satoru’s whole world stills. He's not quite sure if he’s breathing, but his wide eyes can’t leave your form.

You’re so limp. Eyes shut, there’s no steady rise and fall of your chest. The notion makes Suguru shake harder. You look so empty now.

“Hey, Pretty,” Suguru whimpers, voice barely loud enough for Satoru to hear. “S’us – S’Suguru and Satoru.”

He brushes his trembling finger over your cheek, feeling the delicate skin beneath his own. When there's no response, Suguru falls forward, body unable to keep him upright. He feels so weak, so empty as he cries out. Pressing his forehead against your drive-suit, he longs to hear the pulsing of your heart in his ears.

Satoru finally manages to pull himself from his shocked haze. His hands furiously shaking, he places one against your hair as he begins to weep.

“C’mon Sunshine,” he manages to whisper. “Ya’ promised us.”

The combined weight of their unsurmountable grief begins to settle over them, a vacant hold filling the place in their heart where you used to reside.

“Gojo,” a voice echoes in the pilot’s ears. It’s quiet, tone stern as Satoru strains to hear it. He can’t manage a reply, but he tries to listen regardless.

“Is there a pulse?”

Suguru feels his heart seize. All breath leaving his lungs, his limbs go lax at the question. He’s unable to reach forward, too scared that if he lays his fingers on your pulse, his fears will finally be realized. If there’s no steady thump against his hand, Suguru thinks he may finally collapse.

He swears he thinks this is how Toji Fushiguro must have felt.

When his wife was pulled from the Jaeger, the grief must have been so heavy on his shoulders. The pain of losing his one and only must have pushed him so far into his head, that even his son couldn’t pull him out. When Toji Fushiguro finally succumbed to the agony, both he and his Jaeger were destroyed.

Suguru thinks he understands Toji now.

When Satoru finally drops his shaking hand to your pulse point, his long fingers trembling against your neck, the seconds bleed into hours. Every moment is silent agony as Suguru waits. Finally pressing his fingers into your pulse with a delicate touch, all time seems to stop.

A beat passes. Then another, and Satoru feels nausea pressing acid into his throat.

Another second of anguish passes.

Then, Satoru lets out a shattered, painful sound. It rips right from his chest as he leans forward and pushes his forehead into Suguru’s shoulder. Limbs shaking, Gojo weeps out his answer, “Yes.”

And time seems to start once more.

Suguru’s shoulders sag in relief, letting another sob of relief echo through his being before he’s leaning upright. His movement startles Satoru, but he can’t resist the urge to feel more of your skin against his. Pulling your torso out of the pod, Suguru lets it fall back against his chest. Your body pressed into his front, Satoru sags over your legs with his own torso pushed against yours.

Amidst them, there’s so little space, Satoru swears not even air exists between you.

With Suguru’s arms now wrapped around your waist, he buries his head in your hair and squeezes you tight. Satoru follows, his own shaking limbs stretching over you and his other lover as he lets his body finally collapse in relief. Suguru’s good hand slides down your arm, slithering to reach the pulse point at your wrist. He has to feel it himself.

When the faint beat of your heart throbs against his skin, Suguru’s lips press a faint kiss to your neck with unwavering relief.

“You’re squeezing me too tight.”

The tiny voice sounds between them. It’s a little sound, barely heard over the ones of their own cries, but Satoru immediately pulls himself away. Head lifting from your chest, his wide, crystalline eyes take in your drooping ones.

Now awake, Suguru finally feels the warmth of your skin pressed into his neck. Tired eyes finally open, he finds himself deflating further into you as if there was more space to fill. He huffs out a short laugh in between his sobs, your teasing words finally sticking home in his head. Satoru finds himself following, a chuckle of disbelief shaking his ribs.

You feel the sun’s warm rays on your skin and pull a faint smile onto your lips as you take in the beauty of the Earth’s domain, finally free of the rift between worlds.

Before any of you can speak, Satoru is pushing his hand behind your neck and yanking you forward. Your weak cry of surprise is muffled by his lips. Wet and messy, Satoru kisses you with every nerve in his body alight. Tears still falling from his cheeks, he sighs a breath against your mouth and savors the feeling of your skin in his hands. Without a beat of hesitation, you respond in kind – your own mouth moving to return Satoru’s emotional kiss. Heart swelling with the influx of genuine affection, you press your hand against Satoru’s stomach and let a breathy, pleased sigh filter into his mouth.

Neither of you can think to end the warmth of your kiss, but Suguru is already pulling you away. With his fingers under your chin, he turns your head towards him and scans your features for any hint of discomfort. When he finds none, he too leans forward to connect your lips with his own.

Suguru’s kiss is lighter than Satoru’s, but it’s no less meaningful. He’s gentle, pulling your chin forward to feel every inch of you against him. Noses knocking and salty lips sighing breathy sounds, you can’t imagine a more perfect feeling. Satoru presses into your other side, the weight of his body grounding you as you let your other hand brush against Suguru’s cheek. Pushing a stand of hair aside, you push your lips further into his with a pleased sound.

When you pull away, Satoru is already moving to kiss his lover with the same amount of passion as before. You allow yourself to sag into their weight, closing your eyes to skin into their bliss as they press into each other.

As the three of you collapse into weak laughter and the steady beat of the wings of a helicopter reach your ears, you can’t imagine being anywhere else. Pressed between Satoru and Suguru and sinking into absolute bliss, you shake with laughter as the white haired pilot finally speaks.

“You fucker!” he whines as he presses his head into your chest once more. “Don’t ever do that again!”

Hot, white sand presses in between your toes as you take in the beauty of Okinawa island. Six weeks have passed, and after sufficiently celebrating the program’s victory, Suguru and Satoru sweep you off your feet.

They pick up you and Megumi, pulling the two of you to the airport with wide grins and hushed words. When you finally step food onto the beach, Megumi’s mouth falls open in an awed expression. His dark eyes seem to sparkle from his place in Satoru’s arms. Squirming lightly, your lover sets him on his feet.

The three of you watch with giggles escaping your lips as Megumi races to the water’s edge. Sticking his toes in the teal blue waves, your officially-adopted son turns back to look at you.

“Okaasan!” he cries happily, racing back to you with a happy smile. Satoru and Suguru lean into each other with a giddy feeling in their chests as you and your sun wander back to the wet sand.

You point out a shell to your son, smiling brightly when his wondrous, wide eyes feel the smooth material under his fingers. He clutches it tight, looking up at you with a grin. Turning away to find more, you look back at your partners. Waving them closer, you drop a little lower to flick Suguru with a wave of salty water when he’s close enough.

With an indignant shout, Suguru grins wickedly. Megumi watches you squeal, laughing when Suguru lunges for you. With a smile of his own, Megumi giggles a sweet sound as his mother is chased by her lover.

“Suguru, no!” You laugh, racing to hide behind Satoru. Your other lover stands tall, feeling more light than he thinks he’s ever been.

“You started this, Pretty,” Suguru teases, his sultry eyes scanning you from behind his lover’s back. “I’m just finishing it!”

Satoru laughs, crossing his arms over his chest as he feels your hands grasp the fabric of his shirt to hide yourself. Heart warm, Satoru gives Suguru a knowing look. He’s met with a devilish smirk, the two scheming between themselves.

Satoru is silent when he ducks quickly, dropping to his knees to allow Suguru ample distance to grab you. You cry out, moving to lunge away, but Suguru is much quicker.

You squeal once more as Suguru's hands slide over your waist. With muscles honed from years as a pilot, the long haired man has no trouble lifting your body over his shoulder. He hums a sultry sound as Satoru laughs. Standing straight, he heads back to the water with your squirming body in his grasp.

“Megumi, save me!”

Your son giggles and shakes his head, enjoying his parents laugh and playing without a care in the world.

When Suguru reaches the water, he swings you back over his shoulder and unceremoniously drops the both of you beneath the waves. Your laughter is cut short, submerged beneath the warmth of the waves. Reemerging with a gasp, your wet lashes bat against your cheeks as you grasp for Suguru.

From the beach, Satoru is sneaking up behind Megumi, attempting to muffle his own scheming laughter. You watch the white haired man pluck Megumi up from the sand, loving the sound of their laughter. Then, Satoru is pulling your son into the waves next to you, the four of you sitting in the shallow waves together with bright smiles and happy hearts.

A few hours later, when the four of you are dried off and relaxing in the little cottage you’ve rented, Satoru slides up behind you. His hands on your hips, his strong arms pull your back into his chest with a hum. You sigh into his embrace, leaning back into his touch with a stuttering heart.

You’ve decided that no matter how many times he or Suguru touch you, their skin will still light a fire to every nerve ending you possess Their touch brings a tingle to your body, twisting your stomach with butterflies and sending a giddy feeling into your chest.

“Where’s Suguru and Megumi?” You question, eyes falling shut as Satoru presses a feather light kiss to your neck. His hair tickles against your skin, but you refuse to break away from his grasp.

“Hmm,” Satoru sings, “Nanami and Haibara called. Yuuji wants Megumi to spend the night at their place.”

The two retired pilots followed your trip to Okinawa, renting a cabin not too far from yours. You mentally thanked your old friends, wondering how you got so lucky.

When Satoru presses closer, you can feet the hint of something throbbing and pressing against your back. His pants are tight, but it’s no surprise to you – Satoru is constantly horny. Muffling a laugh, you turn in his arms to face him.

“Ah -” you murmur into his chest as the two of you rock side to side. “So we have the house to ourselves, huh?”

Satoru hums again, his hands slowly dropping lower as you move. “M’rubbing off on you, Sunshine. I swear you’re as insatiable as me.”

You grin, a sultry smirk pulling on your lips. Dropping your own hand low, you follow the line of Satoru’s abs with light fingers. Head dropping back in a groan, the sound allows arousal to collect in the space between your thighs. A bolt of seductive heat turns into a steady hum. You let your fingers sink a little lower, brushing against the edge of Satoru’s pants.

Before you can move any further, there’s a dark hum from the doorway.

Freezing in place, the sound of Geto Suguru’s deep, salacious voice echoes from the doorway, “Getting started without me, Pretty Girl? Awfully naughty of you –”

You nearly whine at his words, sinking into the dominant aura Suguru's exudes over the room. You don’t have to turn over your shoulder as Suguru is already pressing his chest against your back. His defined muscles and tightened pants push tight into you and you sigh a pleased sound.

Suguru mirthfully chuckles, looking up from your form to meet Satoru’s bright eyes. As always, the two connect on another wavelength, already planning their next movements in their head with confident smirks.

Suguru drags a finger down your spine, his touch sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. Oh, how he loves to see you shake under him.

“S’it, Pretty baby,” he sings as you melt into him.

Satoru hums again, pushing you tighter into your other lover as he drops his head to suck marks into your skin. Pulling at the hem of your - his shirt, actually - he fiddles with the material with his fingers. A whine escapes your lips as you arch into their touch, arousal collecting between your legs.

“Don’t worry, Angel. We’ve got ya’” Satoru murmurs into your skin. “’Gonna fuck you so good, My Love.”

Suguru makes an acknowledging sound, beginning to pull the shirt from your skin so he can feel the heat of your skin against his. When it falls to the floor, his own laying beside it, he lets out an appreciative sound as his fingers lift to flick gently against your uncovered breasts. Chuckling as you whine when he tugs, Suguru presses closer.

“S’right,” Suguru purrs. “Wanna ruin you tonight, Pretty. ‘Gonna let us?”

The rapid, consenting nod that follows shortly after is all the affirmation the two need. Tugging you towards the bed with a laugh, your little world begins to turn on its own, finally complete.

bonus:

reader: I’m so fed up with others not finding me intimidating!

reader, pining satoru to the wall and looking over at suguru: do you feel threatened?

suguru and satoru: no

reader: then what do you feel?

suguru and satoru: ...

suguru and satoru: horny.

a/n: holy shit. this is way longer than I intended it to be but I’m so glad I finished it. I really hope y’all enjoy this one!!