docholligay:

(Forgive any typos, I literally just threw this together in the last five to ten minutes after seeing your post.)

Her hair is tangled, her dress is rumpled, and Minako’s drunken vulgarities still ring obnoxiously in her ears. Normally she’d be rather cross with this predicament, but tonight is special, the hotel is a haven, and for now, she’s surrounded by nothing but love. Michiru stops at the foot of the bed, posture perfect and head held high, and falls ungracefully onto the faux silk duvet. She doesn’t need to see Haruka’s face to know which smile accompanies the chuckle reverberating deep in her throat, amused and tired and echoing love. A stiff thwack against the carpet rings her jacket’s resting place, and the exaggerated pops Michiru hears between Haruka’s grunts ensures that those buttons will need to be reinforced. A chore for later–she can hardly lift her head. A sewing needle, however lighter, would be a monumental task in comparison. The bed dips and Love closes in with strong arms and a stronger will, nuzzling her nose in Michiru’s hair as she pulls her to her chest, carefully avoiding the edges of her vest. Michiru appreciates this–waking up with red crevices on her cheeks would be unsightly and, more importantly, Haruka would tease her about it until they faded. She sighs when fingers knot behind her head. No words are needed. They rarely ever are. She rests upon her nightlight soul, and welcomes the tide of love.

OH MY GOD I AM TOO GAY FOR THIS THIS IS TOO GAY I AM DYING I AM DEAD