Hey everybody! I'm so exited to finally get this up! I've been working on it a really long time and I hope you all enjoy it. I know this chapter is relatively short, but the next chapter will be up next week so bear with me.

If you didn't know, this is the sequel to Seven Days so if you haven't read that yet this will make no sense to you. There is also an interlude between these two stories called One Night that provides valuable exposition. Please read those two stories before this one! Thanks!

(Standard disclaimer: I do not own any of the Sailor Moon characters of which I am writing about. This story is an original that I wrote for fun and without compensation. All characters belong to Naoko Takeuchi.)

PS- I hope I don't offend anyone… (This story is rated M for a reason.)

Two More Weeks


The Subconscious


She had a hard time recalling how she'd gotten where she was. Or why. Nothing was all too clear for her at the moment. But it was happening… She couldn't believe this was happening.

She could barely see. The overpowering smell of baked goods was the only marker of her location. The empty milk crate she sat on was uncomfortable and as she sunk deeper into it, she was sure that the pressure of her weight would etch the marking of its design on her behind.

"Don't move," he repeated, "don't talk."

She didn't nod nor respond; it would go against his command. Instead she closed her eyes and focused on calming herself, but it was hopeless. Her breathing was much too quick to not escape noisily and the pounding in her chest she was sure could be heard out loud. It was impossible to be calm in this type of situation, however she had to-

"Stop. Squirming." He was forceful, holding her wrists tighter on each one of her thighs. Spreading her legs apart further, he lowered his head, his face shielded completely by the late night.

Stilling, her body tensed once again the moment he moved closer. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. If she struggled she knew it would be pointless and screaming would also get her absolutely nowhere. But if he touched her one more time…

"I fucking told you!" His hand was quick to grab her neck. She closed her mouth and tried to swallow but it was futile as he choked her. "Don't make me repeat myself." She nodded quickly and he finally released her. His hand slid down over her breast to her lap.

Although her vision was inexplicably unfocused, she knew that he was kneeling on the floor before her. She could feel his breath warm on her legs where he had pushed aside her long pea coat and lifted her skirt. She squeezed her eyes tight as the sound of his labored breathing filled her with dread. He was ready to start her torture.

"Don't move your hands." He made her hold onto her inner thighs, spreading her fingers apart. "Watch me."

That she refused to do and kept her head tilted up, eyes shut and away from the awfulness. But she kept her hands where he placed them, a shocking amount of tingling following his gloved hands as they made their way lower. A single finger poked her center and she jumped.

"Stop moving," he growled but made no attempt to restrain her and instead poked her once more, this time keeping his finger there longer and scratching the material of her panties down then back up again. He kissed her tilted chin, his breath right on her throat. "You'll enjoy this."

Shame overwhelmed her and she couldn't bear the thought of his words being true. This was crazy. He was crazy. There was no way she could enjoy this. He suddenly pulled her hair, forcing her to look at him. His eyes, skin and hair were dark. His entire essence was pitch black.

"If you cooperate, that is." There was a grin forming as they stared at one another, his teeth peeking from atop his bottom lip. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be." He raised his brow in question and she swallowed hard but refused to concur.

His hands made themselves busy again and went back to their previous position. Gloved fingers pushed themselves deep inside through her underwear and dug in with an uncomfortable amount of friction. She grit her teeth and his smile only widened, keeping his eye contact steady as he pulled back out to move her underwear aside.

His pushed her nub and moved it side to side, around in circular motions until he was satisfied. Moving his hand away from her, he lifted it to her face, spreading his gloved fingers proudly as their tips glistened in the low light.

"I knew you wanted this." He slid his two fingers inside her again and they went in smoothly. His satisfaction was evident in the curl of his lip and eager attentiveness as he watched himself continue to probe her. "Enjoying yourself, you dirty slut?"

She squeezed her eyes tighter.

It was cold, way too cold, but her core, in between her legs, she was on fire. Her coat was unzipped and its lapel flapped in the wind along with her loose hair. Her own mind wandered briefly, wishing that she'd had a scarf but then hastily decided it was a good thing that she didn't, as she was sure it would have been used as a tool against her.

He finally removed his hands away from her. The relief of this momentary freedom sent a wave of hope throughout her body that translated in a shiver. Was he finally going to stop? She tentatively opened her eyes to peek at him.

"Don't move while I gag you." She stared at him wide-eyed as he suddenly had her red scarf in his hand. How…?

In a flash, he moved around to cover her mouth and tied the scarf tightly at the back of her head. She barely had time to figure out what was happening before the deed was done and he leaned back staring pleased at his work.

Grabbing her hands, he forced her to stretch out her lips, digging his fingers into the back her palms as he wanted her to spread them farther. Humiliated at what he was making her do, her shoulders shook until her whole body trembled.

Removing his gloves, he didn't take his gaze off her body and pushed her knees as far apart as possible. Slapping both her inner thighs until they were raw, he watched fascinated as her fingers tried to keep themselves steady despite the pain.

It was becoming more difficult for her to breathe. The scarf was wide and her movements caused it to expand and cover her nose. She felt dizzy with the lack of air and his hits only made her more out of breath. He disregarded her writhing.

"I think you're ready now." He unbuckled his pants and pulled the crate she was on closer. He leaned in to the side of her face and smelled her hair. "Since you've been such a good girl," he whispered, his lips moving to her ear, "I'll let you choose which position you want." She shivered as his hand came to her neck and stroked her down to the collarbone. "Tell me, Odango, how do you want it?" Mamoru finally pulled down the scarf as he waited on an answer and she was relieved at her unblocked access to air. She took a deep breath.

Then she woke up.

Opening her eyes in the darkness of her room, she sat up in bed to try calm her panting. She had been holding her breath in her sleep. She took another deep breath as she let her mind sift through what was real and what wasn't. Her mom was definitely doing some early morning baking downstairs… and her window was wide open so the November winds were doing her no favors. Some things slowly added up, while others, not so much.

Mamoru raped her in a dirty alleyway.

A slew of emotions overwhelmed her. Shame, guilt, disgust, but all those were trumped by the adrenaline-like excitement of her completely aroused state.

It was hard to make sense of her thoughts since none of her worries were realistic. If she were ever so lucky that Mamoru was her rapist, every little thing he could do to her she wanted to happen so it would be more than consensual. (Also, tidbit: she was fricken Sailor Moon! She could overpower any normal man. Even if he tried he couldn't.)

But in her dream (and yes it was a dream, not a nightmare), she was more than submissive. There were plenty of times that she could have gotten up and started beating his ass, but nooo—she was practically volunteering herself up for his abuse. Did that make her sick? Probably, especially when she knew there were parts that she had dictated herself (the scarf magically appearing to tie her up, come on). But she guiltily had to admit that it was the best dream she'd had in a long time. The moment she saw his face clearly it was a startling revelation, but in the weird way that dreams tended to work, she had known it was him the entire time.

"Tell me how you want it…" She shivered just remembering how close he'd been to her. If only it had been real.

She had woken up before she was able to answer him but she knew what she had wanted to say, what she was going to say: Any way you want. And she meant it. Biting her bottom lip, goose bumps covered her flesh as it became clear to her that this wasn't just any dream.

It was her fantasy.


The sun was setting. Soon it would be dark and his time would run out. He had to be fast. He screamed for her, but received no response. He had to find her no matter what it took.

The early spring flowers that she loved so much were in full bloom and they filled the meadows with vibrant colors. Clouds hung above him and water started pouring down unexpectedly soaking him to the bone. He tromped over the fragrant flowers to the nearest canopy of trees, his heavy cloak dragging behind him on the ground. Taking cover, he looked hard over his surroundings and hoped to see her. The massive urge to continue the search in the darkness lead him through thickets of shrubbery and sharp wildlife. Cuts to his arms and legs meant nothing if he could reach her in time.

And then he saw her. The only white in the dark. Her gold threaded embroideries glistened in the night and guided a path for him to follow. He ran fast, finally catching up to her and reached out for her hand but she was just out of his touch. She looked back at him for just a moment—and she was faceless. He stopped moving and she disappeared.

He called her name again, but he could only hear her laughter. Finally seeing her movements between the trees, he urged himself to start running again. He caught up to her until he was less than a foot away, but remained at the same distance regardless of how fast he ran. For what seemed like hours he continued until he was sick to his stomach from the effort. A heaviness weighed him down, effectively making the distance between them larger and larger until the gap was so that he couldn't even see her anymore. She would always be just a second away, so close, yet forever slipping through his fingers. The realization that they would never reunite landed on his shoulders like death itself. The pain was indescribable.

Mamoru woke up in cold sweat moments later. Bits of the dream remained, but the pieces hardly made any sense as his mind worked furiously to string them together again. He had no idea what he had been dreaming about, but the pressing anxiety lingered, diminishing rapidly. Every second of consciousness pulled him further and further from the truth and he could only remember his despair, but that memory was fleeting and then, just like that, it too was gone.


The jingling sound of the arcade doors had stopped holding her interest long ago. Too many months of false excitement had made her lose hope that she'd be seeing Mamoru anytime soon. He was gone and she needed to get over it.

For whatever reason she chose to look up this time, glancing away from her melting sundae to view the new visitor. And there he was. He had returned. She couldn't believe that Mamoru was finally back. He hadn't changed a bit (of course not, it had only been a few months), but seeing his dark hair and eyes, his movements… it was so comforting to experience again.

Their eyes met and he moved slowly across the room, one hand holding his long jacket and the other a cup of coffee. It wasn't until he was a few feet away that she realized he was walking to her. She kept her gaze trained on his face.


She stood up when he was close, his stupid grin much too missed to not be reciprocated. Without thought, she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. She never wanted to let go.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Mamoru's hand went to the back of her head, keeping her in place where she had buried into his chest. He smelled, felt, held her just like she remembered. She finally moved away and pulled him to sit beside her. She leaned in and he met her halfway.

Everyone else around them melted into the background when their lips met. They spun blissfully until they were no longer in the arcade but in their own little world. She was only reintroduced into reality when they broke away, their eyes never leaving each other. Mamoru held her face, whispering sweet things as he caressed her cheeks. She would never be happier than when she was with him. He held her tight and wrapped his arms around her.

"I missed you," he said into her hair. "I love you, Usagi."

Her heart burst. It was all she'd ever wanted to hear him say. She opened her eyes to look up at his adoring face, but she was the only one left on the bench. Mamoru was gone.

All was still for a long pause before it picked back up in a fast-forward. She covered her ears as windows suddenly shattered behind her. She turned to see the buildings outside leveling until only smoke occupied the sky. The table where she sat crumbled to dust and she watched in horror as the arcade walls melted. The floor shook then disappeared and she fell down into the blackness.

She screamed and landed with a jolt on her bed. Clutching her chest and throat, she flew to the bathroom tripping over invisible things on the floor and threw up in the sink.

She'd never felt more horrible.

Trembling, she stared at herself in the medicine cabinet mirror. She couldn't believe that a nightmare could have such an effect on her. The images of destruction played themselves over in her head with unjust clarity. Everything had felt so real. Her heart thumped unnaturally and she was doubled over hyperventilating trying not to puke again. Was this what having a panic attack felt like?

After a few minutes of face splashes and rigorous water gargling, she was able to control her heart rate, but the fear still lingered even as she cocooned herself under her quilt. It wasn't fair that she hadn't been able to enjoy what should have been the best moment of her (dreaming) life. Everything that she could ever have wanted to happen did and yet she hadn't been able to bask in the splendorous feelings because the world decided to combust on itself.

It seemed that everything regarding Mamoru would end broken. If this wasn't the universe giving her hints, then she didn't know what was. She yearned for Mamoru's affection, but even her subconscious understood reality. Without a doubt, Mamoru declaring his love for her would be the last thing to happen on the entire planet. She would laugh at the absurdity of her vision if only the brutal honesty of it all didn't make her want to cry.

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