Happy Thursday, guys! And thank you so much to those that stick around with me for these kisses! I appreciate to hear from you SO MUCH!

This one is another one the tumblr crowd already knows, but it's one of my favorites by far!

A Kiss On A Scar

Mamoru smiled into his book when he heard the key turn in his lock. Somewhere along the way that sound had become the nicest sound in the world.

"That took longer than expected," he remarked, eyes still in his book, but smile firmly in place, when she slumped down next to him onto his couch, overladen with paper bags and a heavy sigh.

"I know, my feet are killing me. And Mama's gonna kill me, too. I blew all of my allowance today and I only got it yesterday," she cringed, then dove into one of the bags and held up a giant pink sweater with a gray rabbit on it that looked like it was way too big for her, maybe even too big for him.

"But look!" she cried in delight and held it to her chest, pinning it in place with her chin. "Isn't this cute?!"

He lowered his book into his lap, turned a little sideways in his seat and lifted one eyebrow over the rim of his glasses, but couldn't help the amused quirk of his lips.

"Are you intending to grow into that?"

She rolled her eyes and gave him a look. "It's oversized, Mamo-chan. It's supposed to fall off of me."

He lifted the second eyebrow, too, and she put the sweater back into its bag with an irritated huff.

"You know nothing about fashion, Mamo-chan."

So he kept being told. He smirked. "So, you blew all your money on a sweater meant to fit five people?"

This particular look thrown his way held even more irritation than the last, which was a feat all in itself. Then she gestured at the myriad of bags strewn around her and half-falling off his couch with an irritated shake of her head that clearly meant to say, 'are you being daft?!'

"But!" she called in sudden delight, a charming smile overtaking all of her face in rapid speed, then diving into a smaller of the bags. "I got you something!"

She pulled out a bunched up stack of cotton between both fists and held it under his nose. "Tadaaa!" she beamed, hopping and wriggling on her knees.

She unfolded the fabric in front of him and his eyebrows rose even higher.

Sailor Moon print boxer briefs. Some of them had just her brooches, one had her whole face where his dick would go. One flip of fabric, and she showed him there was more. Tuxedo Mask themed. Roses on his dick. His own stilised, cartoon-ized and super deformed face on his butt.

Oh joy…

"I got myself matching ones, just so you know."

That, on the other hand, should definitely not excite him as much as it did, and she should never ever know, and he fought hard, so hard, to keep his expression neutral, and just nod.

She snickered all the same.

In an effort to save grace, he leaned forward and deposited his book on the table, then took off his glasses and stacked them neatly right on top.

When he turned back, one leg bent underneath him to face her completely, she was mirroring his position. Or maybe he was mirroring hers, and he leaned his cheek against the back of his couch in the same way she did, just the smallest space away from her.

She was smiling at him in the warmest possible way and it made him feel like bursting at the seams and melt all at the same time.

Then she sighed, and burrowed her cheek slightly further into the cushion, eyes and smile on him, and there was nothing whatsoever in the world that could hide his adoration from his face at that particular moment. He could see that clearly reflected in the way her smile turned ever so slightly more amused.

But then her lips pursed, and she blew out a huff. "I gotta get home for dinner soon."

He nodded, then moved a little, lifting his head from the cushion by her face. "Gimme your feet."

She blinked.

"You said they were killing you?" he elaborated with a slow smile.

The smile she sent him this time was one pure beam of happy sunshine. She wriggled her feet happily as she thrust them almost straight into the air and then plopped her legs quite unceremoniously into his lap. He chuckled, but peeled the ruffled pink socks off one by one immediately.

He was good at giving foot massages. He'd been doing it for years, now. She moaned so prettily every time he did, and with almost anything, he'd put quite a lot of research into it. Foot reflexology was a thing, he was quite sure of it, judging by her reactions. And well, she enjoyed it.

His smile smoothed over at his first stroke of her right foot. He inhaled deeply in a sigh as he carefully traced each and every tiny white line that scattered the sole of her foot just like it did its twin.

He had a curious relationship with these scars, had built it over the last two years and then some (excluding, of course, that big, deadly gap), ever since the long night that she acquired them on his behalf.

His princess had walked through a blizzard and an endless maze of thorns barefoot to free him when he had failed her once again, and it had marked her skin forever.

He used to hate these scars. They used to only represent his shame. He'd spent that morning tending to them, trying his damndest that they wouldn't form, these scars, but failed her then, too. A week afterwards, he'd partaken in his first workshop to learn how to give foot massages semi-professionally, and bought his first book on specific muscle relaxation techniques. If he couldn't erase these scars, he could at least make sure these feet would never hurt again.

Now, over time, her feet had become kind of his. He knew her scars like constellations, and while the shame still lingered, these scars also were a testament to her love for him, and of the lengths she was literally willing to go for him. They were a manifest reminder of what he had and was never willing to let go.

With practiced touch, he'd started kneading and bending and prodding and flexing with a strong grip and circular motions and expert knowledge on muscles and sinnew and Usagi. Within minutes he was all smirk and she was a moaning mess, head thrown back over the arm of his couch and making sounds that weren't at all unfamiliar.

He firmly pressed his thumb into the soft skin where her tibial met her plantar medial nerve and rubbed and smirked at the way she writhed in expected pleasure under his touch like always when he did this.

"I can feed you too, you know?" he said.

She slightly lifted her head from the arm of his couch, and he flicked his eyes up over the top of her feet to gaze at hers. "You could stay," he murmured softly.

Without looking away from her eyes, he pressed his lips to the one fine, longest of all her scars that ran across the raised arteries on the side of her sole, the one he could find in the pitch dark and from memory and if he'd been blind for ten years.

"Mmmmhh," she hummed. "I guess I could."

He smiled, pressed another kiss to the same spot, and then another.

She giggled, wiggled her foot, and he looked back up in confusion.

"Stubble." She smiled. "Tickles."

His lips flew up into a smirk. "Oh?" he said, utterly exaggerated, and with that he tightened his hold around her foot and rubbed his cheek against the whole sole of it.

She shrieked and kicked on cue, and he did it again with a laugh of his own, holding onto her kicking foot with an iron grip, and they were being totally, awkwardly, ridiculously weird.

It was blissful happiness and it was home and his heart felt full and bursting and Nehelenia and Galaxia were just a dim, distant, inconsequential memory far, far, far in the back of his mind.

Obvious Setting Tag: Post Stars

I remember writing this one vividly. When I wrote this, I was sitting on a nightbus from Germany to the Netherlands to meet Tina Century in the flesh and was totally excited. Plus, the theme of this kiss was something MamaladyKT had talked about a lot; that she wished to see it seen in a fic so badly. So really, I connect this one to both of these lovely ladies in my head!