Disclaimer: I don't own anything. All rights to respective owners.
A/N: It's been a while but happy Smutember! Here's my little piece for the last few days of this wonderful month! (again, I am not a smut writer regularly so take mercy lol)
It's an aged-up AU (eh it's just a normal setting, no Senshi situation). It falls into the themes of "Pining", "Unresolved Sexual Tension", and kind of "Go Seduce my Arch-nemesis". No trigger warnings except that it's obviously mature and it involves oral sex and sexual content. And it's kind of angsty lol
Not your jam, that's totally cool and I'll see you in a different story!
First, I wanna give a HUGGGGGGEEEEEEE shoutout to FloraOne for organizing this wonderful event of Smutember and bringing us all together to enjoy some sex positivity. And second, another shoutout to FloraOne because she also looked over this and helped me SOO much. Seriously she is one of the sweetest people ever and I will never stop saying that. Please go bombard her with love on her fic and her Tumblr. Flora, thank you for setting this month up and for helping me, you are so so so so loved.
I hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think!
Stay
Usagi was by no means planning to ever get caught in this type of…..arrangement.
Especially with him.
And yet, here she was.
She sighed, giving her eyes a rest after staring mindlessly at the one phone number she had pulled up on her phone, fighting that familiar, internal debate that had plagued her since this started.
Once again, she was asking herself if she really wanted to do this again. If she wanted to dig the hole deeper than it already was. Of course, she knew who she was. Indulgent, impulsive, reason was out the door for her most of the time. There were no complications, she had to remember that. No one was getting hurt. They both knew that.
She did what she ended up doing so many times before.
She tapped on her screen and the ringing began.
Every single part of her body tightened up when the call connected and his deep voice rang through her ear.
"Hey," she squeaked.
"Oh hey," he greeted. "How are you?"
"I'm… good," she said, rolling her eyes at the small talk.
Say it. Ask him. She just had to ask him, it wasn't like it was the first time (the first time had been a disaster). "What are you doing right now?"
"Not much," he casually answered.
She swallowed. "What about tonight?"
He paused, and she knew that's when it clicked for him. "Completely free."
She bit her lip, hard. "Oh."
"What are you doing?"
"Absolutely nothing."
"Oh."
Her heart started to pound. "Yea."
It was silent on both their ends for a while before she finally got the courage. "Do you want to come over…?"
That stupid, stupid party started all of this. Freaking Motoki was the cause, he always was because he was their only connection to each other. The only reason why they ever saw each other nowadays.
And his stupid, stupid birthday party just had to bring them together.
She had found that hotel's fancy bar, and settled in a seat with her overly fruity drink, while the dulled laughter and music from the ballroom continued to reach her ears. Originally, she was only resting her feet for a few minutes, taking a breather before going back. But that was before he'd settled in the stool next to hers and her fingers had tightened around her glass.
It was the usual. The jokes and teases here and there, nothing pressing. But every time she would find his eyes, they would be dark, swimming, and always looking at her until she was looking at him, and suddenly he would try to avert his gaze.
It started happening without either of them knowing.
It was two drinks, and it wasn't even hard liquor. He probably had less.
Their accidental, innocent heated gazes. Deciding to take a cab ride together. His suggestion to walk her upstairs. The tense trip to her apartment that felt like forever until finally she was there with the keys in her hand. He had shuffled awkwardly, unsure of what to do when she stepped inside. Half-turned towards the door, ready to leave her alone, and it pulled in her heart because she didn't want him to leave yet.
She had pulled on his jacket sleeve, met his confused eyes too far away, and then the faint smell of alcohol was suddenly puffing up against her lips, and she realized it was the closest she'd ever been to his face.
It was an instant switch in her brain when she pulled on his tie and their lips touched. Her tongue swept into his mouth, and she finally found out how he tasted - fresh, warm, and melting against her.
She wasn't entirely clear on how it ended up going so far - kissing freaking Chiba Mamoru, pushing Chiba Mamoru onto her silly tattered, purple comforter. Maybe it was their - what does Minako call it? - unresolved sexual tension from years of bantering.
All she knew was that she was the one that was tearing, pulling, grabbing, and he was giving back in equal.
It was Mamoru - stupid, judgemental, up-tight, rude Mamoru-baka, and it was annoying how impossible it was to shake off the affect he had on her.
And for once, she wanted to give into that effect, blissfully ignorant of all the truths that she knew so well.
That this wasn't going to lead anywhere, it was just sex. It wasn't like they would actually be good together, that he would actually like her -want her in that way.
And the way each truth burned in her heart made her realize how stupid she really was.
Mamoru had always been unattainable. Never open, always too stoic, too sarcastic, too unreadable, and she wanted to be able to see every emotion reflected in him, to be the cause of those feelings, to affect him as much as he affected her, and to know that once upon a time for a night, he wanted her just as much as she wanted him and he was completely hers.
In those late hours of that night, she heard his every whisper vibrate through her ear, the ghost of his trembling, sometimes smiling lips against her neck, the taste of him everywhere in her mouth and her throat, his smooth, hard skin under the pads of her fingers. It all fueled her to forget about the complications of the morning light that would inevitably ruin everything magical and turn it real.
It was that night that the flood gates opened.
And she drowned so willingly with him.
"May-maybe," he had muttered in her mouth that one magical weird night of insanity, "I should leave."
She was finally able to pull off her jacket, hearing it land on her living room floor along with her purse, all while keeping her mouth firmly on his. "Why?"
Her fingers clawed into his hair, her nails raking against his scalp and she never felt so satisfied when he shook in a full body shudder at her actions and had to muffle his sounds into her neck as he bumped into her desk, making one of her camera tripods clatter to the floor.
"You hate me, remember," he breathed out hard against her ear.
His words made her falter then, her movements across his skin less bold, softer and more questioning. "I don't…."
He was right.
They were supposed to hate each other, that's how it always was between them. And yet she could never remember a single time where she had truly hated him. Annoyed and pissed, sure, many times over, but never was there a moment where she despised him so much that she wouldn't care if he lived or died or wished the worst upon him. That was true hate.
What she felt was the exact opposite. She cared way too much, far too much to the point where it was past being a friend, much less a nemesis.
"I've never hated you," she confessed.
His sharp intake of breath was what she needed to finally push him onto her bed, watching as he bounced back against the mattress a little. Pressing her knees into the bed around his legs as her dress rode up her thighs, her fingers barely worked to get his shirt buttons undone. "You were annoying, stuck up—"
His hands shot up to help her, reaching for the last of the buttons at the bottom. "So frustrating, such a complete nerd—" her amused voice carried on.
And her voice broke when she spread her hands against the expense of his hard, board exposed chest, that little stream of hair running from his navel and disappearing past his waistband. "And totally hot and sexy…."
He threw his head back and fisted her old purple comforter that was underneath him as she ran her fingers over his nipples, then his ever-so-slightly defined abs, and stopped to dig them into his hips. "You make it so unfair sometimes," she admitted, totally fixated on his skin, not glancing up to see his smirk.
Although she whined when suddenly her view was gone, she gasped as he sat up and pressed her against him. Clumsily, he found the zipper of her dress and hastily tugged it down. He pushed his cold hands in, feeling all naked skin, and Usagi had never been more happy about her decision to go braless for the dress.
"You're one to talk about being unfair," he whispered into her collarbone, fingers tracing her spine and the skin of her bare back as her thin dress straps slipped free off her shoulders, and she firmly held his head to her lest he ever get the idea to stop touching her.
"What are you talking about?" she hissed, moving her hips against his pant leg, enjoying the fiction through her underwear.
"And you're oblivious," he laughed.
But his touches grew slower until they stopped completely on the small of her back. "I can still go…"
She froze again against him. "I can still leave if you don't want to, I can go whenever you want me to, just…." he whispered, a tinge of sadness weaving weighing down his voice.
What was she supposed to say? That her deepest fantasies since she was 16 were about to come true, that she'd dreamed about this forever in the dark of her teenage bedroom. How was she supposed to say that and not sound ridiculous and pathetic.
She knew she wanted this. It was too many years of her always denying that she wanted this to happen with him just at least once. To see him unravel because of her, to have the image of him panting underneath her, totally at her mercy, burned in her mind, the taste of him stained in her mouth, every single thing she craved to have right there.
"I want this," she stated, firm, confident, but completely breathless as she pushed back against him to get him to lay down, and her dress almost fell completely from her body. "I really, really want this."
In only her deepest dreams could she have imagined the sight of him beneath her. Panting, dark eyes looking at her like he couldn't believe she was real, like she was everything he had dreamed of even with her tangled, dismantled hair and smudged makeup.
"Do you?" she questioned, nervous.
Deep blue, vulnerable eyes looked into hers, a mix of emotions flashing past that she was too scared to understand at the time. His hand cupped her face and ran down, popping her bottom lip open as he craned his neck and pressed his lips against hers, a kiss that was in so many ways deeper, slower, more intentional than their fast, hard ones just before. His index finger pushed her chin back just an inch as his hands joined her frozen ones on his belt, helping to unlatch the buckle. "Yes."
At the word, and after he whipped off his belt, she ripped open the button on his fancy dress pants, and she kept her eyes only on his face as her hand slipped past all the cloth and touched smooth, hard, pulsing skin.
The first few times it had happened, it was filled with new touches, new sounds, new patches of skin never seen, and so much uncertainty for when it would be over. Because it had already been over and her fears were realized.
That first night they had come down to a rocky conclusion at nearly 4 a.m. in the morning, tangled in her sky blue bed sheets and purple comforter. It had been awkward and embarrassing, and he had only told her that it had been a great night, settling on an unspoken agreement that that was it.
It had been only a great, fun night. Nothing had started, nothing could grow from it.
He had left it like that, and she didn't stop him.
She told him that he should leave then, and it was too soon when he had his rumpled suit back in place and was out the door.
The next day, Usagi had spent realizing how horribly she had screwed up. He was right there, bare skin touching hers, smell imprinted on her sheets, black messy hair against her pillow, and she'd lost him.
She didn't want to lose him, she wanted more. But it had been obvious that he didn't after that night, and maybe that was what it had to be. Just a fun time between them.
But if it really was only a fun time they could have, she thought, why couldn't there be more?
And that thought had been her downfall.
It was after her photography session with one of Minako's friends. The girl had needed new modeling photos and Minako was more than happy to set her up with Usagi. It had been an amazing opportunity to finally use her equipment and start building experience and a portfolio for customers, and Usagi had been more than enthusiastic during the whole thing while taking the girls' photos around scenic spots in Tokyo and Juban.
She had been until she caught a new subject in one of the pictures.
Mamoru, still in his scrubs and a jacket, was walking down the sidewalk, totally oblivious to the fact that he was in the background of a photoshoot. Totally oblivious to the fact that she was taking his picture.
It all came whooshing back, their night together. It filled her up and made her feel even more empty at the same time. Minako's friend had asked if she was alright and Usagi had waved it off, continuing the shoot but not before watching him until he rounded the corner and she could comprehend her surroundings again.
Later into the night, she scanned the pictures she took, spotting him in all of them until he disappeared out of the frame.
And the thought rang in her head again, louder, that if it really was just a fun time, they could have it happen again.
She dialed his number before her mind could overpower her heart and stop her. Stuttering, red to her roots explaining why she was calling, until finally she got the message across to him and then he started stuttering.
That first time asking him, she didn't actually think he would show up, ready and so very willing.
Let alone that he'd arrive within 15 minutes and had her full, hot, and panting in her bed soon after. And then it happened again two nights later and then again a night after that or another time nearly a week later, and it had been so good and needed—
She fooled herself into thinking each time was their last, but eventually, she knew it could never be the last time, when she finally put his cell phone number into her favorites.
It was a phone call or a text from her and he would come running after his shift or straight from his apartment to her own little studio apartment across town that she called home after moving out of Makoto's place. It was always her place, their own little space where their voices and memories could echo and bounce but never escape past the walls to the real world.
Soon, a blush followed her everywhere in her small apartment because every single part of her living space held an explicit memory for her. Her bedroom obviously, but the couch, the floor near her genkan - they hadn't made it far that time - her kitchen ("Mamoru this is my kitchen!" "Do you even cook in here?"), her shower. Memories where he had her absolutely begging him to fuck her sometimes or screaming at him to make her come hard, when he so desperately needed her to say his name, and explain to him everything she wanted him to do to her and vise versa, what she wanted to do to him.
Then it was all his extra touches on things. How he always smelled freshly clean from the shower. The soft, tender way he pushed her hair away from her face, or how he'd get up afterwards to grab a towel and gently clean her first and then himself. That look he thought she would miss when he looked at her like she was all he needed. The unnecessary kisses he drew over her skin that she loved. How he always told her how perfect she was, how wonderful, how good she was—
It all confused her to no end, honestly. These things that made her think one thing - that he actually wanted her, wanted to take her out, be with her - but then it was the fact that he never brought it up if he did want her or if it was all just heat of the moment when he was inside of her, or her hand on him. That's what scared her enough to never ever ask him to stay. Not after that night where she told him to leave.
She got to keep him for a few blissful hours of ecstasy, but her mornings were always empty and the worst part of her day for another reason other than the loss of sleep.
Because he always left, never staying with her until morning.
It was somehow a part of their silent agreement, she guessed, because if he stayed, then it would mean something for them and they would have to talk about it.
At least, that was her own understanding of it, she never ever actually talked about it with him. They never talked about what they really were (they REALLY sucked at talking about stuff) and Usagi could only assume most of the aspects of their relationship - should she even call it a relationship?
He left though, every single time, and that clearly showed something. He didn't want to stay with her, didn't want her any further than what they have established. After all, if he wanted more, wouldn't he at least try to spend more time with her? Why wouldn't he ask—
He always left.
In the middle of the night or in the early morning. He would leave way before she would wake up.
It's what stayed with her the most, him leaving before their mornings. It reminded her that what they had was nothing but temporary. It reminded her that he was never really hers.
It's what she needed because she had to remember that there was no way that their little fling could blossom any further than what they had now. She might have never hated him, but that didn't mean he had to like her.
She never fully realized how down the hole she was when those little reassuring comments in her head were quieter, and the little thumping in her heart grew louder instead.
But Minako had been in far more complicated relationships than this, so she of all people would be fine? It wasn't as if there were any actual strong romantic feelings involved, because at most she just had a crush on him, so no one should get hurt. They didn't go on dates, didn't talk about anything regarding their situation, no one knew of their nights together (even if Minako had been able to string out a few details from her). She knew what she was getting into.
That's how these things usually worked though, right? No messy hidden feelings, no strings attached, it was just sex. Easy to understand and quit and move on from. Just sex.
Really hot, orgasmic sex.
But sex, neverthless.
But all she wanted to know was if he even liked her when his cock wasn't inside of her.
It was practically routine after so many weeks, and she could hardly pinpoint how it always started, besides the routine of her buzzing him into her building, the anxious anticipation of when he arrived at her door, then the hasty untying of his shoes and finally her mouth on his before a single "Hi" could be uttered.
And it spiraled from there. Bumping into pieces of furniture, dropping one of their shirts on the floor, their other articles of clothing following soon after until not one single inch of skin was hidden from each other.
The build-up was the most intoxicating and frustrating thing for her. Sometimes it was done by his fingers, or blind, desperate grinding, or, like right now, his mouth, his tongue, his teeth—
"Don't st-stop," she gasped as soon as his tongue swirled along her clit. He slung her legs higher on his shoulders and sucked her even harder as she cried out.
He wandered then, teasing down her seam instead, keeping her up but never letting her come just yet.
It was strangely impressive how he was even more infuriating in times like these than when they were out in public.
Her breath did weird things then when it was suddenly one of his long fingers tracing down the length of her and spreading her lips apart for his eyes and making her shudder all over.
"You're so wet," he whispered.
She bucked her hips against his fingers. "Please….."
His fingers continued to tease, never touching but circling the edge of her swollen skin. "What do you want?"
She hit her head against the bed. "Please…."
"Tell me," he said, his hot breath puffing, waiting for her.
"I-I want your fingers-your tongue inside of me," she breathed out heavy. "I want to see you fuck me with your mouth …"
Usagi gasped as suddenly, the lower half of her body was in midair, thighs locked around his shoulders and his hands gripping her legs as he raised her hips to his mouth and bent her legs, burying his tongue and teeth into her and she lost all of her words.
"No," he growled into her as she popped her eyes back open. "Watch."
And she did, bracing herself on her forearms and elbows because now she could watch him eat her out, see when his lips wrapped around her dark, swollen clit, how his tongue lapped at her and into her as if he was starving and needed to dip into her and taste to live.
It pooled inside of her, made her even wetter with his fingers circling her entrance and slipping in a few times to tease her and she started to not even recognize the sounds coming from her mouth.
She came hard with a sharp grunt, eyes bright and wide, shaking against his mouth and he rode it out for her with his lips on her clit and two fingers slipping slowly in and out of her until she was done, and cleaned her up after with his tongue.
Her legs slipped down from his hold and she dropped onto the mattress. Watching with ragged breath and her heartbeat in her throat, he licked his lips, her wetness shining on them and dripping down his chin.
The possessive pull of seeing her mark on him made her legs wrap around his hips - to make him fall on her, fall against her lips so that she could savor what he had been tasting.
One of these nights, Usagi was finally roused awake. She didn't know if it was the shifting of the bed or the pull of the sheets, but her eyelashes fluttered against her skin and she could see the dark silhouette of his body sitting up and watched his flexing back as he picked up his clothing from the floor.
Sleepy and dazed, she scooted closer and leaned in, startling him when her lips first met the small of his back and her hands ran up the sides of his thighs, her tongue lightly tracing the falls and rises of his muscles along his back and then traced the roundness of his butt when he stood up fully from the bed.
She rose up, on her knees on the bed, almost to his height, and found that pulsing point on his neck with her mouth and bit down and sucked. He shook hard and almost fell back against her but still stood even when her hands had traveled down and kneaded into his buttcheeks.
"Does that feel good?" she whispered into his ear as he rocked slightly against her lips and hands.
He snorted a little, voice breathy. "Too good."
'Stay, please stay.' Her heart sang the words and all she had to do was tell him so he might.
But only if he even wanted to, and she didn't know if he did.
He still reluctantly walked away, picking up his clothes along with his keys, phone—
'Just please, stay.' Her heartbeat was beating in weird places.
She could see it was kind of awkward but hot for him, her kneeling on the bed naked, staring at him as he got dressed. When he did finish, he stood there, eyes bleary and weird, like he was thinking about something and he almost did speak, his mouth opening but—
Their gazes met and he turned all panicked, unsure. He closed his mouth, swallowing down whatever words he had been planning. And then he just stared at her, waiting for something she wasn't sure of.
Inside her chest, in her heart, it was tight, longing, wanting.
She wanted him to fucking stay.
To be with her in the light of day and stay in bed all morning, take a shower together and have a bantering war over breakfast in the kitchen, to pretend this was a regular, normal day for them both because they were.
She wanted him to stay.
The words were stuck in her throat and they stayed there up until all she could do was say it to an empty apartment.
His voice had been shaky and beyond horny their first night together. "You-you don't have to…"
Usagi took the second to look down at him for the first time, running a finger down the hardened flesh and enjoying the reaction she got of his broken moan and him biting his lip hard.
"Oh trust me," she breathed, wrapping her hand completely around him. "I want to do this."
She tried different things, watching him intensely as she held him and fast pumped at first, but his hand had caught hers and slowed down the pace, having her rub where it felt good for him. His fingers moved her thumb over his tip and he absolutely fell apart. She took over from there, switching the speed, tracing pink, shaking veins, circling her thumb into his tip, pushing the skin back and digging it carefully against the tiny slit.
"I want to hear everything that I'm doing to you," she said after she saw him try to muffle his cries.
Watching one particular vein, she dipped her head down and ran her tongue from the base all the way to his wet tip and his answering cry was so pained and frantic. She wanted to hear it again and again, how turned on he was, how many noises she could get from him, make him wither just by her touch.
She wanted to hear that it was only her that was causing him to react this way.
"Say my name," she said, smiling at how his face twisted under the tortured sound of his groan.
He'd almost never said her name, always calling her "Odango Atama" or some other idiotic nickname instead. She could count on one hand the number of times he'd said her name and she would love to hear him say it, beg with it, moan it, repeat it over and over until it didn't sound like a word anymore.
His eyes were losing all focus, completely glazed over, so she slowed down her strokes to a stop. That got him to raise his head and throw her the most frantic, wild look she had ever seen in his eyes.
"Say my name," she repeated, breaths against his face.
"W-what?"
She moved her mouth to the side, kissing the skin below his ear. "My name."
A weary smirk happened. "Odango Atama."
She huffed, leaning back with a small pout on her lips as her hands moved away from his waist completely.
"Wait, wait…" he pleaded, breathless and panicked. He shut his eyes and breathed hard, trying to regain some control of his brain functions.
"Usagi," he whispered. It rolled out so well with his deep voice and her name had never sounded better.
She pulled his pants the rest of the way down his legs, barely hanging on by his ankles before she snapped the elastic band of his boxer briefs against his skin and he hissed. "Again."
There was no hesitation this time. "Usagi."
Grinning, her hands didn't return to his body but rather hers. She shifted and pushed the rest of her dress down her body, past her chest, her hips, and then finally in a pool of pink and satin on the floor, her heels and panties the only things that were covering her. His dark, heavy eyes traveled down her body and his look made her want to burst into flames. "Again," she breathed out.
He licked his lips, and said it again.
She tugged down his underwear, her hands wrapped around him but didn't move as she breathed out, "Again."
"Usagi." This time it was broken up as she started moving her fingers along the firm, smooth skin, brushing across raised and vulnerable veins that seemed to twitch and tremble with his ragged breathing.
She sat up, fully straddling his shaking thighs, and sped up her movements. "Don't stop saying it."
He nodded dumbly, hips rising off the bed in rhythm with her hands. Her eyes couldn't look anywhere but his perfect face, twisting in pleasure, eyes switching between being scrunched closed or rolling back in his head, and his white teeth biting down on his lip. She ran her thumb over his tip like he had done before, eliciting the most broken moan from his throat.
Again and again and again he stuttered out her name in gasps, moans, whispers.
He kept saying it and made sure to never stop saying.
A breathless mantra, even when she leaned down, and her lips met the tip of him and slowly slid down him little by little, licking down his dick. He was hard, thick, shaking in her mouth, and she moved carefully, swirling her tongue around him and watched him with intense eyes as his mouth dropped open. He jerked back his hips and pressed them down hard against the mattress, trying so hard to keep them still.
He stuttered hard, hands entangled in her undone hair, tugging on her streams of hair, his mind clearly spiraling out of control with pleasure, but he never stopped. Didn't stop when he was so close and told her. Didn't stop when he came in her mouth and kept gasping her name.
He never stopped saying her name for the rest of the night.
It was such a idiotic idea but if Usagi had realized anything, it was that she would never stop coming up with them.
"Do you want to come over and like...watch this new movie I got?" It was ridiculous that this was embarrassing for her to ask when she has literally called for him to come over to fuck her. "Just to hang out?"
"Sure," a hint of confusion laced his voice over the phone, which didn't surprise her.
"It's just to hang out though," she added, emphasizing on the 'just'. "If that's okay?"
It was like he came alive then. "Oh yes that's definitely, completely fine. I would love-like to come by."
"Oh, okay great," she breathed out.
Her nerves were all over the place after they hung up after settling on a time, and it continued to widen further when her intercom finally rang with his arrival.
It was a new….pace. Not bad, but very awkward with him wearing his regular street clothes, sweater and jeans, while she had dorned her most frilly, pink pajamas like an idiot. The unsure movements, clearing of throats, and nervous glances as he slipped off his shoes near the door had her regretting everything, ready to send him home and find her own solace in curling up alone in bed.
They ended up on the couch and a friendly distance away after she popped in the DVD and pressed play. Conversation was nonexistent, and Usagi started to wonder if they could even work together without one of them being naked. What if it was just superficial, silly sexual tension?
"Here," she said, passing him a bright blue mug full of hot cocoa.
"Thank you."
Sipping and watching the opening credits in awkward silence, Usagi concluded that her idea had been a disaster.
But then she was throwing wide eyes over to him when he cleared his throat and turned towards her.
"Thank you for asking me to come," he rushed out. "I mean, I appreciate it—"
He licked his lips, reconsidering his words, she guessed.
"I was just really surprised when you invited me," he settled on.
She blinked, a little worried. "Why?"
He froze, eyes searching and a blush began to run over him.
'Oh'. Now she knew.
"It's just, I was…"
"You're surprised I didn't invite you over to just have sex?" she finished for him.
He coughed, red down his face and neck but nodded. "Yes, I guess so," he chuckled weakly.
"Do you—do you not like it?"
His eyes whipped to her. "No, no, this is—this is great. I don't care what we do."
Her heart sped up, a horribly hopeful feeling. "Really?"
"Yes, anything you want to do," he assured, taking a sip from his decorated mug.
"Okay." Her heart jumped at his words and she snuggled further into the couch and a part of her wanted to move and snuggle into him instead.
But she stayed away and instead reached for her socks sitting on the coffee table.
"What are those?"
She gaped at him. "Fluffy socks?"
"You wear those?" he asked, eyebrows raised high.
She lightly swatted his shoulder. "You can not watch a movie without fluffy socks!"
He chuckled hard. "You don't need—"
"Yes you do!"
And it wasn't even ten minutes later that she had fitted him with the craziest, softest pair she had in her possession and he just smirked at her obvious joy in it all, his larger feet next to her smaller ones, both wearing the weirdest patterned socks.
And then it was there - the ease, the talking, it was all there once that awkward tension was broken into pieces and she slowly inched her way closer and closer to him on the couch as their back and forth continued through the movie. Finally she was next to him and naturally fell into resting her head on his shoulder, her legs slung in his lap, his hand holding her thigh, and she didn't want to break this spell, this moment. She never wanted to leave this spot.
She turned her face to him and realized that her lips met the edge of his chin and she could see how deep blue his eyes were, and the curve of his lips this close. It came over her quickly and impulsively.
"Can I kiss you?" she asked up at him.
His nod was so eager and he seemed to realize it too, and slowed down. "Yes."
Her lips pressed against his, willingly opening for his tongue.
She savored every second of it, the fresh, minty taste of his breath, as if he had just brushed his teeth. His tight jaw relaxing into her hands, her body fitting against the contours of his body as she moved above him and straddled him.
They had made out before, but it was usually so fanatic with their clothes half off and their minds running off the high from their arousal. She had never gotten the chance to just taste him calmly and explore.
She had never kissed him just to kiss him, to feel his lips against hers just because.
Her heart nearly exploded when he pushed her hair from her face and he chuckled as she picked at a hair caught in her mouth. And hands on her hips, he pressed her more firmly against him, letting their tongues melt against each other.
See, it was those warm, happy moments that made her question everything about him, about them. These moments tore at her heart relentlessly. It gave her hope.
It was a while before they finally stopped and she sank into him, head buried in the space between his chin and chest, hearing his unusually fast heartbeat pump through his shirt.
Sleep came as an unwanted guest as she felt fabric slip against her cheek and movement as her eyes drifted closed, his scent filling her before all her senses dulled completely.
The note was propped up on her table with the DVD cover when she woke up in the morning, alone on her couch, blanket having been laid over her and the dirty mugs already in the sink.
She read the neat writing through blurry vision.
You fell asleep around the one hour mark. I paused the movie and locked the door behind me.
Good morning.
- M
Her smile grew slowly but stopped when she realized.
He still hadn't stayed.
The gold liquid sloshed around her glass, the sound going along with the voice of her date. She caught some snippets of this and that but couldn't completely focus on what was being said.
She was too caught up watching the scene across the ballroom.
Mamoru, all ridiculously handsome and sexy in his suit, standing there deep in conversation with his date.
His plus one.
All long legs, blonde hair pulled into a sleek bun, vivid emerald eyes, ruby red dress that hugged her body.
He had the audacity to have a date. Yes, she had one as well, but Unazuki herself had set up the date since he was a close friend of hers and it would make sense for Usagi to go with him.
It was her wedding and Usagi didn't want to say no and have to come up with an excuse so she accepted, always willing to strike up a friendship, if anything, with someone.
And the guy was nice and funny and so conversational, so it pained her to not even pay attention to him and what he was saying when Mamoru freaking kept laughing at this woman's jokes that she couldn't hear.
She saw complete red when he openly laughed.
That was her laugh, the laugh she got from him when she tripped over nothing or opened a can that exploded all over, or when she got her skirt zipper stuck once and he had to pry it open for her to slip it off. It was her laugh, she got to hear it, she made it, no one else.
And he was there giving it so willingly to her.
Had Unazuki set up a date for Mamoru as well?
Who was she?
Makoto came up to her then and Usagi had to tear herself away to focus on her friend explaining the current situation that was happening with Rei's dress having torn and Minako trying to fix it in the bathroom.
Getting caught up, she lost sight of the couple and discreetly scanned for them in the crowds until Unazuki came up to her, billowing wedding dress falling around her as she waved around a black wallet.
"Usagi, Mamoru left before I got the chance to give it to him," she explained, face flushed. "Would you mind?"
She had nodded, smiling and chatting with her newlywed friend.
After Unazuki left though, Usagi examined the wallet, cursing when she decided to flip it open and see what Mamoru even kept in it. She looked over his driver's license—argh his picture looked perfect—spotted a library card, a few yen, and it looked like all the usual items you would find.
Until she snapped it closed, fuming when she found a condom in one of the compartments.
Who had he been planning on using that with, tonight?
She eventually left, bidding a friendly goodbye to her date, but not before scanning the reception once more and feeling her blood boil when she realized Mamoru's date wasn't there anymore either.
"What?" she questioned the next day at his door, looking him up and down in the tuxedo, suddenly sheepish over her simple hot pink t-shirt and shorts. "Have to stop and meet the Prime Minister afterwards?"
He smirked, letting her inside. "Of course, I have to receive my medal of honor in about half an hour."
She dramatically widened her eyes as she padded in and slipped off her shoes. "Wouldn't want to make the Prime Minister wait now."
She could practically hear his smirk as she rummaged through her purse producing the wallet. "You should be more careful with that," she imitated his lower, scolding tone, "You would lose your head if it wasn't screwed on."
He narrowed his eyes playfully at his familiar insult. "Thank god I have you, then."
'If only you knew how much you had me.' "Seriously, where are you going like that?" She changed the subject.
He plucked the wallet out of her hand. "Hospital thing."
"Oh," she said, trying so hard to keep her voice level. "Have a hot date and everything?"
He snorted. "Of course."
It bubbled up in her rather quickly, icky and green and dark and awful, and just the thought of it was overwhelming enough for her to blindly miss the complete sarcasm in his voice. "Who is she?"
Obviously taken back by the sudden shift in the conversation, Mamoru furrowed his eyebrows. "I was joking."
She froze. "Oh."
Usagi could feel his eyes staring at her, slightly confused, intrigued.
"Why would it matter if I did?" he asked, curious. "If I did have a date?"
"It wouldn't matter," she rushed out. "I mean you're single, semi-datable, I guess."
He narrowed his eyes. "Right."
They could have so easily dropped it, she could have made her exit, said goodbye instead of standing in his kitchen and bringing it all up again since of course she had to continue the torture.
"How was your date?"
That adorable crease moved in between his eyebrows. "What?"
She swallowed the lump in her throat, and turned away from him, bracing her hands on the clean countertop, trying her best not to let her voice break. "At the wedding, the blonde you were talking to, wasn't she—"
"You're talking about Eiko?"
"Yea. She seems really nice and—and she's pretty." She tried to quietly mumble the next part. "I guess you have a thing for blondes."
He heard anyway. "What's that supposed to mean?" he questioned.
"You have a type," she answered, sliding her hands on the edge of the countertop.
He said nothing for a beat and she thought that maybe she had finally got him, that everything she was thinking of was true, that he had been seeing her and that this was all what she had feared about, that nothing had mattered to him.
But he did speak, loud and clear and firm. "She wasn't my date."
She paused, eyes wide and confused and searching because what?
But she could have sworn—the way they had been—
"She wasn't your plus one," Usagi stated carefully.
"No," he answered. "She was one of Unazuki's friends from university and she's a research assistant. We were discussing one of her latest studies and we talked, but it wasn't...romantic."
The embarrassment and relief flooded her at the same time and it was difficult to know which she was feeling more of. "Oh, my...my bad."
"You thought—"
"No, no it's nothing," she interjected, the burning blush spreading everywhere. It was so wrong and stupid, getting jealous over someone she didn't even have, but it still bubbled up inside of her. "You can do whatever you want I—"
"Usagi." He'd moved, his voice sounded much closer behind her. "There's no…."
She bit her lip. "We never really talked about this, if it was exclusive" something real "—or just a fun thing on the side—"
"—I know—"
"Like is it friends with benefits even though we're not quite friends or..."
"I don't know—" He was definitely much closer.
"Or more like fuck buddies even though we're not exactly buddies either, or are you just my booty call that I message to come over—"
"What do you want?" he stopped her.
Her shiver rippled through her at his voice right next to her ear, and she could feel his looming figure behind her.
Deep inside of her heart, she knew exactly what she wanted. And yet, it was impossible for her to voice out loud. It was too scary, too open, and she'd always been one to wear her heart on her sleeve but this was something that she didn't want to see the end of. It was the type of feeling that crippled you and lifted you up all in one wave.
"I'm sorry I shouldn't have...just…"
"Usagi," he repeated, voice all soft and patient and expectant. "What do you want?"
His body heat tickled her back. It was easier to distract than confront and so she took the easy way out. "I want you to touch me."
His lips brushed up against her neck, his nose bumping into her skin, and his lips moved against the shell of her ear, goosebumps rising over her entire body. She could already feel it all affecting her, pooling.
Softly, his finger glided along the span of her arm, stopping at her hand and lacing his hand with hers, fingers interlocked with each other. "Like this?"
Her breath caught but she shook her head.
His other arm shot down her body, his hand slipping past the waistband of her shorts, and she nearly toppled over when his index finger and thumb pressed right up against her clit. "Or like this?"
She nodded frantically, holding herself up against the countertop, throwing her head back and almost laying it against his shoulder. She waited for him to trace those slow, hard circles she knew he knew she liked, but he stayed rooted, fingers frozen against her. "Mamoru, move," she growled, patience running out and hips moving on their own.
His tall form pressed against her back, pinning her between his chest and the counter, and she bucked against the growing, pointed hardness poking into her back, his mouth tipped down to her ear. "You do it."
She grasped his wrist tight, and overlaid her hand with his, bucking her hips against it as she moved his fingers, clutching his thumb and pointer finger and rolling them around the aching center of her. And he watched with his face pressed against the side of hers, breath hitting her cheek while her eyes fluttered and lips parted as she continued to use his hand to touch herself.
Finally moving on his own, he ran his fingers up and down, spreading the slick moisture along her seam, and used it as an opportunity to move back up and circle fast, frantic rubs into her clit.
Her arm flew backwards, found the back of his head and latched onto his hair as she raised up on her toes, trying to match his height and move with him. She couldn't spill out a single coherent sentence if her life depended on it. It was too good.
His other hand came around and pulled down her shorts with her underwear, leaving them just above her knees, and his mouth found the spot in between her neck and shoulder that had her nails clawing into his hair behind her.
"What do you want Usagi?" he ground out.
She was so gone, eyes glossy and focused on his fingers. He pinched her clit and her eyes shot open with a cry as he repeated it again, whimpered it into her neck as she ground her butt against him.
She licked her lips, and found his darkened eyes on hers. "Y-you, I want yo-you, you," she rambled so breathlessly that she could see how much darker and frantic the blue in his eyes had become. "You. Only you…"
He whispered, finger running over her entrance. "Tell me."
"I-I don't want you to be with anyone else," she rushed out in gasps. "I was so jealous because no one can have you."
"Say that again," he whimpered, fingers slick and teasing her as they almost went inside by accident.
"I-I was," she faltered when his other finger ran up the length of her.
"Say it."
"I was fucking jealous because no one else can have you except me," she hissed with clenched teeth, moving her hips against his hand. "Because you're mine, only mine."
His eyes went almost black and his breathing broke up even more and his free hand grasped her chin and pulled her lips to his as he finally allowed his fingers to go deep back inside of her.
Her tongue swept his teeth and she tried to drown herself in the taste of him, mouth open and gasping for air as he pumped his fingers in her. He ripped at her hair, endless blonde strands falling around her as the hair elastics snapped apart and pins hit the floor.
It all stopped then, and she let out the most tortured cry when she no longer felt his fingers but instead her back was against the wall and he was kneeling in front of her.
He ripped the shorts down her legs along with her lacy underwear to her ankles and she didn't have much time to breathe before he was lifting one of her legs over his shoulder. She nearly screamed when his tongue buried itself in her, licking her insides.
She clawed her nails into his perfect, soft hair, making sure he would stay, and felt everything spin out of control in her body, letting out broken howls and cries. He wasn't going slow or playing with her, this was different.
It was fast, needy. Loud smacks of his mouth on her skin, completely focused on driving her over the edge as fast as he could because he could do that to her.
She gazed down, vision unsteady and her fingers pushing his head further into her. His crisp tuxedo that fit him so right, shiny, fancy black shoes, and perfect—he was just fucking perfect.
"Mamo-chan," she let the secret nickname slip from her trembling lips, and when he heard it, she felt the little stutter of lips against her. She said it again and felt his hold on her legs tighten. "Mamo-chan, don't stop—don't—"
Usagi was teetering, bucking her hips and arching her back on the wall as he hauled her further up until she was practically sitting on top of his mouth, and he could explore her even deeper.
Though she lost all sense of self when she felt him work his long, so perfect, finger in and fill her. Slick and fast with his mouth still working on her clit and oh my god when it was right there, he curled it.
Everything in her clenched and crashed at once and she gasped as she shook out the strong orgasm against his mouth.
She was still breathing hard when he laid them down on his floor. He hovered over her, still fully dressed in that tux, his hair messed up from her hands and his mouth wet with her and it turned her on, seeing him flustered, muddled, because of her.
His lips crashed down on hers and his hands were trembling as he tugged up her shirt and threw it god knows where. And his lips left hers but they returned to her collarbone instead, then the swells of her breasts, the curve of her stomach, tracing the inside of her leg.
She wanted him to fuck her in his suit, on the living room floor of his apartment, make herself a memory for him to always remember everytime he was in this room. So that she could stay in his mind like he stays in hers all the time.
Frantically, she found the cold metal of his belt, tore the button of his slacks open while his hands were busy with searching his pockets, fumbling with his wallet and finding the shiny, foil square.
Her lips kissed down his throat, her hands moved over the muscles and stomach through his crisp white shirt, tracing them through the fabric, committing his taste and body to her memory. Meanwhile, his fingers and eyes shook, trying to focus on his task of unwrapping.
She pushed his pants down enough only to work on his boxers and pull out his throbbing erection, already stroking it and pushing him to the edge within seconds. The condom out of the packaging, she plucked it out of his hands and slipped it on him in one fluid movement that left him shaking and breathing hard out his nose.
He slid inside of her, whimpering, and she clenched around his cock, welcoming it like it returned home.
"Only me?" she whispered, moving her lips against his neck. His large hands flexed around her thighs, pulling each leg around his hips and plunged into her with long, deep strokes
"Only you," he gasped, voice broken, eyes connecting to hers, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.
He pushed in, deeper and a little bit harder each time, and pressed a long, searing kiss on her panting lips, swallowing her moans and groans. He whimpered when her tongue shuddered against his.
His lips were wet, slippery, and hers.
"No one else," he breathed out, rolling his fingers against her clit, thrusting faster, harder, deeper. She dug her heels into his back, her fingers clinging to the tense muscles of his bottom, ecstasy building in her belly with every delicious grinding move of his hips. "There's no one else."
She stared into his eyes, felt every word pulse straight to her heart with each deep thrust, and she kept staring until the fireworks burst behind her eyes and then his.
She had made him miss his event, had his suit thrown around his living room in pieces, and had his mind filled with thoughts of only her. They still laid on the floor, Usagi having wrapped herself around him, with his head pillowed on her chest and her legs locked around his waist, both breathing heavy while he played with a puddle of her hair.
But she knew reality would have to come down crashing soon or later.
The words were just a whisper on her lips.
"I-I have to leave."
His head moved from its spot on her chest. "Why?" he whispered.
She weakly laughed, bracing her elbows to move up. "Well I have to leave sometime."
He kissed her then as she was slowly sitting up, cupping her face, moving his lips against hers desperately, pulling, wanting and she wanted him to always kiss her like this.
He pulled away just slightly, the words quiet and scared and thrilling. "What if you stayed?"
It all froze. Her breath, her eyes, her hands on him. She remained still, frightened she had heard him wrong.
"What?" she choked out.
"What if you stayed," he repeated, kissing her again softly.
This was it.
It should have been just 'yes', a quick, joyous 'yes of course!' but it couldn't be that easy because they weren't this easy. She had to know. This was her chance to finally know, to ask him.
She swallowed hard, pulling back from him. "What does it mean?"
His fingers paused against the skin of her cheeks and chin, eyebrows furrowing. "What do you mean?"
"If I stay, what does it mean?" she asked, slow and careful and breathing out perhaps too hard.
He stared into her eyes, fingers tenderly stroking the ceases on her face, his own eyes swimming with something she couldn't figure out. "It can mean whatever you want it to mean."
That was not an answer and definitely not the answer she had been looking for. "But what do you want it to mean?" she asked again, growing a tad irritated at the avoidance.
He stared at her even harder, searching her eyes. "I want it to mean that you can stay if you choose to."
It was sweet, a neutral response but she wanted something more from him. She wanted him to tell her to stay, that he wanted her to stay with him, that it means that he wants her in his life as something more than a 'good time.'
Then it hit her when she looked at her surroundings and it all became startling clear. How startling similar this conversation was to their talk on their first night, when they decided that it was better being a one-off thing. How all this talk was going to end up with the same result.
She had never even been to his apartment, it had always been her calling, her request, always her apartment. Their dirty little secret confined within the walls of her apartment. She had been so stupid, so hopelessly desperate for him.
"That's all that you can say?" she asked, voice growing weak.
"If you want to stay, you can stay," he fumbled, suddenly concerned and trying to mend his words.
The tears dotted in the corners of her eyes as it all started to press into her heart that they were never going to happen and his soothing touches on her skin was making it all that much harder because she really, really had hoped that he would have at least wanted her a little and to at least say it—
She stood up completely, moving away from his worried gaze and his place on the floor and started to collect her things and get dressed.
His voice came out all broken and confused as he stared at her. "Usagi, what are you doing?"
"I'm—," she paused, cringing at how obvious it was that she was crying. "I'm leaving."
"Oh," he choked out. "Do you need a ride? I can take you anywhere, it's fine—"
"I'm okay, thanks," she snapped, pulling up her underwear and shorts. She had to leave quickly, move on the sooner the better before it could hurt her anymore.
He tried to speak again and she heard him getting up from the floor, still naked and bewildered by her actions.
"Usagi, are you—"
"I'm fine. Just getting out of your way."
"You're not in my way."
Her shirt slipped over her. "Well you didn't exactly ask me to stay."
"Because you wanted to leave."
Finally turning around, she stared at him with wet eyes and a hoarse voice. "You're the one that always leaves," she accused, the tears escaping her hold. "Not me."
His eyes widened, realizing. "I—"
'Tell me to stay. Tell me to stay with you. Tell me to stay and I'm yours.'
He stood there wordlessly, hands shaking hard, and confused and not knowing what to say at all and it broke her heart to turn away from him. To leave him like that. But she did.
She was freaking 25 and still believing that life could be a perfect fairytale. As if the guy she'd liked forever could suddenly feel the exact same for her. That he had been as crazy about her during all this time.
She cried on the way down to the lobby on the elevator, on her train home, and finally at her apartment.
The apartment that was filled with memories of only him.
"What does it mean to you?"
"It was a nice night."
"It's just a one time thing, then."
"You can leave if you want."
That first night, she'd kept dwelling on the words as the bed shifted, the rustle of clothes following afterwards. She didn't dare roll around but instead listened to him dress slowly.
She could still stop him, take back her words and tell him she wanted him to stay and they could talk about it later, that it didn't what it meant as long as she had him for a few more hours.
But she didn't say anything, didn't get up.
She woke up sore and alone in the morning, the once occupied spot next to her cold as ice. The bed still smelled like him, and so she spent her morning curled up in the sheets with the pillow pressed to her face as she breathed him in.
Only one night, one amazing night, and she had already messed it up badly.
It was better this way, she had tried to convince herself then. What if he had stayed? It would have been such an awkward morning filled with blushes and sideways glances as they both dressed and said goodbye, leaving their mistake in the past.
No - him leaving was good, it kept them from more confrontation, messy explanations that would leave confusion and heartbreak.
She was making breakfast for herself - a burnt waffle - a towel wrapped around her damp hair when the silence in her apartment began to take effect. There were no laughs, no breathless voices in the dark, no snarky, annoying baritone voice that shot straight to her heart.
It was only silence.
And it was the most awful sound she had ever heard.
The going away party was nice, with a huge "Bon Voyage" banner and colorful balloons spread throughout the Crown arcade. The snack table had been loaded with some of his favorite foods and Makoto brought a handmade chocolate cake from her bakery that was iced on top with the words "Good Luck Mamoru!".
She had only found out two weeks ago, from Ami no less. A hospital program in Osaka had been vastly impressed by him and had offered him a job in a high position with horrifyingly good pay. A great job, and of course why wouldn't he have taken it? Obviously nothing was holding him back here anyway.
She had cried hard for hours, cried more on days she thought she would be okay. And after much debate, she decided on coming to the party for him that Motoki had invited her to.
It had been several weeks since she had even last seen him, since his apartment. Since their last time. And she had avoided him at his own party.
She watched from her booth though as everyone greeted him and said goodbye before calling it a night. His smile was appreciative, kind, but it had that strained quality to it.
"Odango Atama," he said as he walked over to her when his goodbyes were done.
It was funny how a name could change over time, how nearly a decade before she would find herself on the verge of smacking him for the stupid nickname, and now she was on the verge of tears instead.
She wouldn't hear the nickname from his lips again.
Attempting a smile, she took the bait. "Mamoru-baka."
The stool creaked under his weight and his closeness sent a slight shake to her fingers as she continued to slowly tear apart the napkin.
"Do you have everything packed?" she asked politely.
He nodded. "Pretty much."
"That's good," she said.
"Yes," he paused. "It's just hard leaving a place you've known for so long."
"Well, the opportunities will be great there," she countered. "New places, new things, new people."
"There's just some people you can't forget about," he said, his eyes finding hers and there was that look, where it seemed like he wasn't looking at anyone else but her.
No, no, no, he didn't get to do that. To say things, to look at her and expect things to be settled and civil.
He leaned towards her. "Usagi—"
She cut him off and got up quickly. "They're lucky to have you in Osaka."
That extra second of looking at his face, to remember every curve, the color of his eyes, the way he looked at her as she pushed past the arcade door and left. She took every detail of it.
"Good luck," she called out, eyes sad but hard as she left him for the last time.
Walking back, everything hit her. He would never smile at her again, she would never bump into him again, no more choked moans in the dark of her bedroom, no more witty, sarcastic exchanges, no breathless laughs when one of their shirts got stuck around their heads. He was never really going to come back besides the occasional visit for Motoki - not for her—never her.
And it was one of those days again where she let it all out when she got home and cried out into her pillow.
That was until her intercom rang, and knowing it had to be Makoto dropping off the leftover cake, Usagi mindlessly buzzed the guest in.
It wasn't until she was whipping the door open and her red, mortified eyes stared into his.
So she looked anywhere but his eyes. "What? Did I forget something at the arcade?"
"No I—"
"I would lose my head if it wasn't screwed on, right?" she spat out.
She moved away from the door, left it wide open for him and he took the chance and came inside, following her.
"I wanted to talk to you," he explained.
She huffed out a laugh. "About what?"
"About me leaving. And us."
"What?" she hissed. "Did you want to come by and say 'don't worry, I'll write you' or 'I'll call you'.
"No I—"
"I don't care that you're leaving," she lied straight through her teeth.
It was his eyes, suddenly broken and empty, that slight hopeful light in them gone, that killed her. Twisted the knife deeper and harder. "Oh."
It was funny how they could be so intimate with each other's bodies, how they knew each other's faces of twisted ecstasy, but it was more than to be intimate with emotions mixed in because words were harder to take back.
"You're leaving," she continued, trying to keep her voice a bored, careless tone. "Why would my opinion affect that anyway?"
His voice was so soft, innocent. "I thought—"
"It was just sex Mamoru," she interupted, finally admitting it with the most bitter, horrible half laugh spitting out of her mouth that she hated. Years worth of her denying that Chiba Mamoru could ever have some feelings for her and here he was. Leaving. Again. For good, now. It could never be enough, could never match what she had felt for him. She could never be enough.
"Don't get me wrong, it was amazing—" 'I want more, I want you' "—but of course there can't be anything more to it."
It was a few beats of silence until he mumbled, "You're right."
He was leaving. What could her thoughts really do to change that? Even if he felt something for her, it couldn't be half of what she was dealing with for him. He never stayed for Odango Atama in her apartment. How could she begin to hope he'd stay for her when it meant giving up on this opportunity. She knew he wouldn't. Besides, they really wouldn't work together anyway. He had thought she hated him and maybe she should hate him.
Maybe they should never talk again, leave it at that and move on.
A soft, fluffy material landed on her hand suddenly, and she opened her eyes. Her heart jumped when she saw the familiar strange patterns.
"The socks that I…" he trailed off, "I wanted to return them."
She furrowed her eyebrows. He had kept them?
That night played through her head, how it had been so easy then, talking to him, joking, when she could have pretended that this was their actual normal life, and it made her heart jump out of her chest because she could still remember his amused eyes as she threw him the socks she found, how he had burned his tongue on the hot cocoa, and—
She remembered how much she loved him.
And all because of some fucking fuzzy socks she broke.
It was stupid frilly, fuzzy socks.
Because he kept them. Stupid socks that he had hated wearing but laughed with her at the ridiculousness of it.
Her choked sob was so loud and pained that footsteps came immediately to her. She hated how her body naturally leaned into his embrace, and how her hands grasped at his.
"I lied," she cried. I do care that you leave. Everytime you leave.
All those mornings when she would find the apartment empty and cold, the lonely breakfast and shower, holding back the tears because she had clung to that neverending hope that maybe he would be there next to her or waiting for her and-
The lump formed in her throat, everything crashing into her all at once and she pushed herself against him more, tightening her arms around him and burrowing further into his chest.
And she could finally say it.
"Can you please stay?"
"Yes," he answered, voice relieved, immediate, no hesitation. And he held her so tight and close, and it made her want to believe that he'd been waiting for the question, and had been hoping for the chance to hold her until morning ever since that first night.
She wouldn't wake up alone again.
She was scared of morning. Scared of what the morning would bring. What they decided from here on, and when she would eventually need to let go of him. The tears were already gliding down her cheeks and she sniffled into his dress shirt, and his arms reacted, pulling her even closer until no space was spared between them. From now on, she vowed to say it.
The words burned in her throat like they always did.
Can you stay forever?
The End
I SOOO hope you guys enjoyed the angst bus! And yup I'm leaving it as an open ending because that's my thing now lol
Another huge thank you to FloraOne for everything and a huge thank you to all of you who read! Let me know what you think and please go and read and enjoy all the Smutember content wonderful people are creating!