#I got the jacket from a thrift store and it feels like a weighted blanket I love it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luvnami · 3 years

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𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @yacoka - 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - thank you so much for commissioning me stinky lyra!!! i hope you like it <3 if you like what you see want to leave a tip/comm me, just click on the appropriate links :-) more notes at the bottom

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - @forgetou

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - alcohol, food

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - tsukishima kei x yachi hitoka x gn!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1034

yachi is in the middle of preparing dinner when you and tsukishima crash through the front door.

“ugh, all my stuff is wet,” the blond grumbles.

he kicks his damp shoes off by the genkan before shuffling further into the apartment, rubbing the spot on his head where he had bumped it yet again against the doorframe. meanwhile, you’re struggling to untangle yourself from tsukishima’s windbreaker and the straps of your backpack. yachi rushes over to help.

“leave your things by the fan! it’ll dry faster,” she calls out to tsukishima.

you hear his bag hit the ground, and the shower starts up immediately after. yachi has to help pluck the green jacket off of you before you’re able to dump your wet belongings on the floor.

“oh, why did it have to rain so suddenly?” you mourn.

wet hair is plastered to your face, obscuring your field of vision. yachi giggles as she parts it so that you can see. her soft fingertips (except the rough one that she had burnt making takoyaki last week) brush against your skin gently and you smile.

“i’m home.”

“welcome back.”

thankfully, tsukishima doesn’t take too long to get out of the shower, leaving you to dart into the warm bathroom to peel your wet clothes off. you can faintly hear his conversation with yachi through the pitter patter of water against your skin as they talk about what’s for dinner.

“i hope the both of you don’t get a cold,” yachi says when you finally emerge from the bathroom. she hurries to set the table for dinner where tsukishima is already laying out chopsticks and rice bowls.

“kei gave me his windbreaker. if anyone’s getting sick, it’ll be him,” you tease and plop down by the table. tsukishima glares at you.

“if i hadn’t given you that, you’ll be complaining about getting wet. not like it helped, anyways. the rain was really heavy today.”

“aw, kei! just say that you love me already!”

tsukishima groans in disgust as you lean forward, smacking a wet kiss on his cheek. he wipes it off with the back of his hand and you chuckle.

yachi brings the hotpot over, placing it on a portable gas stove. the pot is filled with delicious ingredients, ranging from chinese cabbage and shiitake mushrooms to thin slices of meat. you drool.

“the meat was on sale today! we still have two more packs in the freezer, so eat up.” yachi smiles brightly and lights the fire.

dinner is spent slurping rich broth while chatting over how school had gone that day, your wet books fluttering like butterflies by the oscillating fan. tsukishima even fetches a couple cans of beer for everyone to share and all of you are soon warmed up by the hot and delicious meal.

“hitoka’s cooking is the best,” you sigh in satisfaction, resting against the sofa as you sip your beer.

“hehe, i’ve had a lot of time to practice.” you can spot a faint blush tinting her cheeks as she hangs her apron and comes over to the tiny living room to curl up next to you.

tsukishima is busy flicking through reality tv channels, trying to find something interesting to watch. you wrap your arm around yachi’s shoulders and plant a kiss on her temple.

the apartment that you share is barely big enough for everyone to fit comfortably in. you often find yourself knocking something off of the kitchen counter accidentally, and hearing a dull bump with a tired ‘ow’ often means that tsukishima must have hit something with his long limbs again.

it’s cozy, though, and you wouldn’t trade anything for a larger place (though a bathtub does sound tempting). because there’s still scorch marks on the wall when yachi nearly burnt the house down while making french toast, and the tiny scribbles of your three faces on the wall behind the television when you first moved in.

tsukishima’s oddly sentimental about the thrifted sofa (despite a large, fish-shaped stain that he thinks is pee — you hope that it’s wine). maybe because it’s where he had told you and yachi he loved you both for the first time, or maybe because it’s the only spot where the three of you can cuddle somewhat comfortably. he makes do with his feet sticking off of the sofa most of the time.

there’s an old biscuit tin that yachi uses to store her hair ties and clips by the window, the dog design faded from sunlight. sometimes, she manages to convince tsukishima to let her play with his hair and he usually ends up with sparkly heart shaped clips parting his fringe in the middle. you can assume from his tired but amused face that tsukishima only does it because it makes her happy.

you take another sip of your beer. your face feels a little warm, but it’s not enough to make you tipsy just yet. yachi gently grabs your hand and steals a mouthful from your drink, her soft hair brushing against your arm. the remnants of her cherry tinted lip balm remain on the edge of the can. maybe it’s the food that’s making you sleepy? yachi’s weight rests comfortably against your body, and she radiates heat off of the soft bear-print hoodie tsukishima got for her birthday.

the lights are dim — you bought a cute mushroom lamp to reduce your electricity bill, especially since tsukishima enjoys staying up late. he’s seated on the floor with a pillow hugged to his chest. tsukishima leans his head against your thigh, blonde curls tickling your skin as he fiddles with the remote in his hands.

you let your sleepy eyes droop shut and bury your face into the crook of yachi’s neck. she lays her hand to rest on your thigh. tsukishima lowers the volume of the television and takes your beer can from you when he notices that you’re dozing off. he drapes a blanket over you and yachi not long after, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

love must be as natural as this, you think. as natural as the blooming of flowers every spring, as the waxing and waning of the moon.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨) - the last line is a reference to tsukishima and yachi’s name. the kanji for their names respectively means ‘moon island’ and ‘compassionate flower’. this line was written in mind of the face that tsukishima is the moon and space, while yachi is the earth and flowers.

so what does this make the reader? you are a mortal human being, existing between these two great creations.

it is only natural for us to be in awe and in love with the earth and space, as all other humans before us have.

hence this is why the love is ‘natural’ (metaphorical), and also because when you fall in love with someone, it can be difficult to pinpoint the exact reason why you love them because you’re already caught up in the motion of doing so (literal).

i hope that makes sense! i honestly wanted to focus more on this theme but i got carried away with how a small home is often packed full of memories that you often don’t realise until you’re moving out, etc. i honestly would love to write about this pairing again lol it’s really cute.

i didn’t describe the apartment in full detail, but i got the idea of tsukishima bumping his head from this article. i also found this while doing my research, but honestly it’s more of an apartment for working couples than struggling college students lol

#tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei fluff #yachi hitoka #yachi hitoka x reader #yachi hitoka fluff #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima fluff #yachi x reader #yachi fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #hq fluff #tsukiyachi #tsukishima kei x yachi hitoka #hqhangoutnet

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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TL;DR - I wonder if neurodivergent people prefer cold weather because we like the comfort of heavier clothes?

So I’ve been seeing a lot of posts (as is usual) from people who prefer hot weather vs. people who prefer cold weather, usually dunking on the other side for their preferences, and something’s started to occur to me. I have a theory that just popped into my head, and I wonder if it might be accurate or if I’m just overthinking things, and if there’s been any kind of study on it. I might look it up later if I could figure out where to start looking.

BUT. I wonder how many of us who prefer cold weather are neurodivergent?

Hear me out on this. I’ve got a lot of reasons for hating hot weather, and okay, even people who like WARM weather probably don’t like 100-degree, 150% humidity, fuck-all hot weather. Like, nobody likes that. But my preferred temperature is 64F or below - like, no joke, 64 is what my air conditioner is set for at night during the summer. I don’t just like cool weather or temperate weather, I like it cold. But it’s occurred to me that what I like about cold weather isn’t it being cold, or the way it stings your hands, or anything like that.

What I like is wearing sweatshirts and sweaters. Bundling up in a coat. Snuggling down under blankets. But I’m picky about my sweaters and sweatshirts, too. I tended to buy from the men’s section even before I knew I wasn’t cis, but I always told myself it was because women’s clothing was too thin, that it didn’t keep out the chill right. I bought men’s jeans, too, because I preferred the heavy denim, I just always assumed it was because I’m overweight and the lighter-weight denim wears out in between my thighs too quickly. But looking back on it now, I always preferred my clothes heavy. Same with my blankets. I can’t sleep under just a flat sheet. I have to have a heavy blanket on top of me, shoulders to toes, or I legit can’t sleep. I have a weighted blanket now that’s just long enough to cover me and some nights I have to fuss over it several times to keep my toes from poking out at the end.

It’s also why I haven’t bought a new coat in several years. I have a leather coat I bought at the thrift store some years ago, and I love it (it’s buried in my closet somewhere, but it also didn’t get cold enough this year that I really needed it, so I haven’t bothered trying to dig it out) because it’s heavy. Before that I had a black leather trench coat, also bought from the thrift store. The last coat I bought new was a ski jacket in middle school, because I was, well, going on a ski trip. Mom thought I wouldn’t like the one I picked out because it was a) black and b) heavier than all the other ones for sale, but I wore that thing out. I haven’t bought a new coat because I’ll pick them up and they weigh, like, six ounces and I just go “no thank you” and put them back.

Heck, I don’t even like jewelry that doesn’t have weight to it. If a pendant isn’t a substantial chunk of metal or stone, I put it back. I like the solid feel of it resting against my chest. I even prefer heavy earrings to the lighter ones.

I have anxiety. I probably have either ADHD or autism, neither of which I’ve ever been diagnosed with. I have always slept under heavy blankets and with a fan going (I need the white noise - wore out two white noise generators in college). It’s just always been a thing for me and I never noticed it until recently, when I started learning about weighted blankets and swaddling and the like and went “oh, that explains so much!”

So...yeah. I wonder if they’re related?

#ceaseless watcher turn your gaze upon whatever the fuck this is #neurodivergence #cold vs hot weather #long post

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ad1thi · 3 years

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Bruised, Not Broken - CHP 2

...i may have forgotten to cross-post on here again, so im rectifying that!! the next chapter will be out in a couple of days!! (as long as i don’t forget)

chapter 2/? || also on ao3

She wakes up a couple hours after they’ve checked into the motel.

It’d been interesting checking in: James pillowing her head in the crook of his neck and carrying her out of the truck bridal style to the motel reception; and trying his best to convince the pimple-faced teenager who’d drawn the unlikely straw for the night shift that she was his girlfriend and James simply didn’t want to wake her. His normal guy wasn't behind the register, and it made the whole thing more complicated than it needed to be.

There was a minute when James wondered if it was easier to just shoot the kid and be done with it, but then the keys were slid across the desk and he turned back to his phone, apparently no longer interested in what James was doing with an unconscious woman in his hands.

The room they’ve been given is a couple floors above the reception, and ordinarily James would prefer a room on the ground floor, because they were easier to both enter and escape from; but this particular room overlooks the parking lot and the entrance to the motel, so he’s still got a couple of good vantage points if he needs them.

He’s left the woman on the bed, rearranging her and draping the thread-bare blanket over her body before slowly easing her out of his jacket. He doesn’t like leaving her alone, especially when she’s not even in a state to look after herself should she need to - but James needs to go back to the truck and grab his stuff.

He also needs to make a trip to the nearest shops, because he hasn’t packed for more than a day’s trip. He’s okay with wearing the same clothes over and over, but he needs to grab a couple pairs of briefs and boxers if he’s going to get through this trip. He leaves one of his guns on the bedside table; loaded but with the safety on and locks the door on his way out, to make sure that nobody can get in without his say so.

He knows that she’s awake when he gets back, because he unlocks the door to see her sitting up, blankets pooled loosely around her waist, and the t-shirt she’s got on doing nothing to hide the way that she’s shivering.

Old instincts die hard though, because the first thing that James notices isn’t that she’s awake, or the stiff way she’s holding herself, likely from all her injuries.

The first thing James notices is the gun that she’s holding; pointed directly at him.

The key jingles lightly where it’s nestled in the lock as James slowly puts the bags he’s holding down on the floor, and then straightens himself just as slowly. He’s been around victims before, and Rule Number 1 is always the same: No sudden movements.

He lifts his hands up near his shoulders, palms facing her, in a facsimile of surrender, and once he’s sure that she’s recognised the move for what it is, asks in a low voice, “You want to put that gun down, doll? You could hurt someone with it.”

Her grip on the gun loosens imperceptibly, but she doesn’t lower it.

“That’s the plan,” she shoots back, and oh, she’s got a pretty voice, “Unless you can give me some sort of reason why I shouldn’t.”

James shrugs, “You’re in a strange place, barely clothed, and I’m a strange man who just let myself into this room. You’ve got no reason not to shoot me doll.”

Her eyes narrow at that, “You’re not helping yourself here.”

“Can I step in? I don’t want to get the cold air in. You’re shivering enough that I’m worried you’re going to collapse if it gets any colder here.”

She gestures with the gun, and James takes a couple of steps forward, nudging his bags with his feet and fishing the key out of the lock before kicking the door shut with his heel.

“I’m not trying to help myself here,” he continues, “I’m trying to help you. You got no reason to trust me. From the looks of it, you got no reason to trust anybody for a real long time. I can tell you that you can trust me, but me and you both know that my words mean nothing to you. My actions on the other hand, well I’m hoping those might convince you.”

“You want to take that gun and run? I’m gonna let you do that. Hell, I’ll give you the keys to my truck too, make things easier on you. But I’ve got a job; and that’s keeping you alive until your piece of shit husband’s arrested. I’m gonna do that job with or without your trust, because I don’t need your trust to keep you alive.”

“So no,” he runs his hands through his hair, “I’m not trying to help myself here. I’m trying to help you. And helping you means telling you the truth, no matter what.”

For a couple of minutes, she’s silent, staring at him down the barrel of the gun.

If he wanted to, James could rip it out of her hand and have her on her back in seconds, completely defenceless. He could pull out the gun he’s got resting in the small of his back and fire a warning shot, not close enough to injure anything but something that’ll make her flinch. Given the way her hands are shaking, it’s entirely likely that James could just duck and she’d miss him entirely.

Pointing the gun at him isn’t about her having the upper hand. She doesn’t have the upper hand, not with his training, his years in combat, his expertise. From the moment James stepped into the motel room, he’s had the upper hand.

No, pointing the gun at him is about her thinking she has the upper hand; about her taking back control of her life, having some semblance of independence and security. James left the gun on the bedside table for that very reason.

Granted, he didn’t expect her to wake up in the time that he was gone, nor did he expect that he’d been on the business end of the gun, but the end result is the same: she’s in a position where she thinks she can defend herself, where she feels like she’s the powerful one for once.

James is willing to risk getting shot for that.

Eventually, she sets down the gun, resting it on her lap but not letting her grip on it fully lax. Almost as if she’s coming down from an adrenaline high, she realises how cold she is, and pulls the blanket to cover her chest and shoulders, shifting her hips down the bed to make herself more comfortable.

James waits for a beat to see if she’s going to say anything, before picking up his bags and making his way across the room. He sets his duffel bag on the desk, testing it lightly to make sure it’ll hold the weight of his bag when it creaks, and then sets down his shopping on the floor right next to it.

He squats down to his knees, and fishes out the brown paper bag, tossing it onto the bed. She eyes it warily, before a hand sticks out of the blanket to grab it.

“It’s a cheese-burger and fries,” he offers, and her eyes widen slightly, “It’s a bit cold now, but I figured you’d be hungry whenever you woke up.”

“You’re his friend, aren’t you?” she says between bites of fries, stuffing her mouth with them like she’s never seen them before. Given her stick figure, James would put money on the fact that it has in fact been ages since she’s indulged in anything other than a salad, “The one he told me about. You’re that retired assassin.”

James frowns, “Friend might be stretching it. But yeah, I’m the one he told you about. James.”

He settles on the edge of the bed, for no other reason than there’s nowhere else to sit but the bed, and when he sticks his hand out; she covers it with her own.

“Toni,” she swallows around a couple of fries, “I don’t know what he told me about you, but my name’s Toni.”

“He didn’t tell me anything about you doll,” James huffs, “Didn’t even tell me you were a person. I just got a call in the dead of the night telling me that I had cargo to move. ‘Bout lost my shit when I found out my cargo was you, thought I was meant to kill you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Toni asks curiously, and James has to consciously stop himself from gripping the bed sheets hard enough to tear because nobody should sound so cavalier about their own death.

“I don’t do that stuff anymore. I only got into it because there’s not much jobs for a banged up vet and I needed something to pay the bills, but the minute I earned enough to keep me comfortable? I got out of that life. Didn’t like killing people when I was in the Army, and I didn’t like killing people when I was out of it.”

Toni’s moved onto the cheeseburger, and she hums around it, “He said you were like that.”

“Like what?”

“Honourable,” she licks at her lips to catch the crumbs, “He said you were honourable.”

At that, James smiles, “I’m a lot of things doll, honourable ain’t one of them.”

“You just helped a girl you don’t even know escape halfway across the country. You put a gun on my bedside table, because you wanted me to be able to defend myself, and you didn’t even flinch when I turned it on you.” She waves her half eaten cheeseburger, “You went out and got me food, on the off-chance that I might be hungry.”

“Dishonourable men don’t do that. Trust me, I would know.”

James swallows thickly, around the lump that’s built up in his throat. It’s been a long time since someone called him honourable, had a kind word to say about him - and then there’s Toni.

“I got you some clothes,” he says in lieu of an actual response, “I don’t know what your size is, so if something doesn’t fit right, just let me know and I’ll go get something new. But I figured you’d want to change into something more than..” he trails off, gesturing at her to convey what he means.

“We're not going to be here for long, no more than a night, but the shower’s yours if you want to use it. I’ll shower in the morning before we head out.”

Toni nods, clearly nonplussed by the sudden topic change, but she slips out of bed and walks over to where James is pointing at a plastic bag of clothes, rummaging through them till she pulls out a pair of trousers and a long sleeved t-shirt.

“I couldn’t find any good jacket, but there’s a thrift store a couple miles from here that I figured we could stop at tomorrow. Until then, you’re welcome to use mine.”

“I’m just gonna - “ Toni gestures behind her at the bathroom, and James averts his eyes as she walks past him to go in. Now that she’s conscious, he’s suddenly much more aware of her state of undress; and he’s not about to ruin all the progress he’s just made for her.

He keeps his eyes trained on the floor until he hears the water turn on; then pulls out his phone to start looking up the quickest way to get to Natasha’s place.

tbc

tagging a few people who were interested in this: @favreaus, @lovelyanthony, @the-pasta-monster, @warmachinesocks

#my writing #buckytony #winteriron #bucky barnes x tony stark #bucky/tony #bucky x tony #bucky barnes/tony stark #Bruised not Broken #female tony stark #assassin bucky barnes #modern AU

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hannahcoursey · 4 years

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Wind Chill

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,838

Request: Hi there! Do u think u could do an imagine where the reader almost freezes to death and wakes up in Dean’s arms? You can pick the circumstances, but I think it’d be fab! xoxo

The days had been getting shorter as the end of December rolled its way closer and closer. You and the boys had your eye out on every news outlet and local scanners for anything that went bump in the night, but the radio waves were eerily silent.

The three of you sat in the library, all working on your own things. Sam sat in front of his laptop, tapping away, the clicking of the keyboard the only noise that floated through the bunker. You were neck-deep in a new book that you had gotten your hands on at a thrift store during the last job you’d worked a few towns over. It was some sappy love story that made your heart flutter and your face blush and you would never be caught dead reading it - which is why you’d ripped off the front cover. Dean sat closest to you, swirling around a glass of whiskey that was a sip from being empty. The silence between the three of you was comfortable and welcomed in your hectic lives. That was, of course, until Dean couldn’t sit still any longer.

“Okay I am officially ready to rip my eyes out,” He announced, standing and wiping his hand down his face. Sam stuttered a laugh and shook his head.

“Go kill something, you’re nicer when you're not bloodthirsty.” Sam finished, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him. You smiled and looked up at Dean.

“You hungry? I can whip something up for dinner.” You asked, peering up at the elder Winchester. He looked at you pointedly.

“Y/N, in all fairness, the last time you cooked, I was feeling it for the rest of the week - and not with my mouth.” He squinted, wincing inaudibly. You rolled your eyes.

“Fine - starve for all I care,” You stood up and put your book under your arm. “I’m gonna go see what we have.”

“I think I might hit the sack, a nice afternoon delight don’t sound all that bad right about now.” Dean said to your back as a yawn interrupted his words.

“Dean you do realize what an afternoon delight is right?” Sam scoffed, amusing no one but yourself. Dean shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s the afternoon and it's delightful.” Dean’s voice dripped in sarcasm as his feet padded down the hallway. You turned and caught Sam’s eye, the both of you chuckling lightly. As you stepped into the kitchen, you reached for the light. The pantry in the open shelves was more than bare, only a box of pancake mix and a dwindling loaf of bread was in sight. You walked over and opened the fridge. 2 beers sat at eye level and a head of browned lettuce sat next to it. You tossed the lettuce and closed the fridge, grabbing the keys to one of the cars in the garage and searching for your coat.

“Hey Sam, I’m gonna go for a run,” You walked out to the library, just as Sam was closing up his laptop.

“Y/N, it’s already,” Sam started, looking down at his watch, blinking a few times, “6:30 - can it wait for tomorrow?” His eyes looked heavy as he questioned you.

“Unless you want a heaping plate of oxygen for dinner, no.” You smiled, “It’ll be quick, the longest part is the drive there and back, it won’t take awhile.” You finished, making it obvious that you weren’t asking. Sam nodded and rubbed his eyes.

“Alright well, I think I might take a nap; I could recite the local news in my sleep at this point, I've read it so many times.” He scratched at his neck. Finally spotting your jacket hanging on the railing of the steps leading to the door, you crossed the room and put it on.

“I don’t blame you, get some rest and when you wake up I’ll have dinner made.” You padded up the iron steps, looking over at his large frame. A smile crawled up his features.

“Y/N, you don’t have to cook for him,” He squinted at you sarcastically, “You could burn the bunker down and he’d still love you.” He finished as you waved your hand at him.

“Shut up Sam.” You replied, snarky. With a small laugh, he turned and walked down the hallway, right as you slipped out the door.

The garage doors opened, letting in a blast of white snow. The road out in front of the drive was covered and it was coming down hard. When you pulled out onto the road, your back tires skidded and lost traction, causing you to fishtail for a brief moment. You slowed down and adjusted to the conditions, driving a little steadier and slower than you usually would. The sky was pitch black, if you didn’t know any better you’d guess it was 2am. As you made your way to the grocery store that was around half an hour away you promised yourself you’d make it quick before the weather got any worse.

Once you arrived, you rushed yourself around the store, grabbing peanut butter, jelly and bread for sandwiches, then grabbed some bacon, pie and lunchmeat. You made sure to get some salad, croutons and dressings for Sam, as well as some frozen fruit so he could make smoothies for after his morning jogs. After gathering together some pasta, chips and miscellaneous items you headed for the only open register. You got back into your car and checked the time. It was almost 8:00 and you’d spent well over 45 minutes in the store. Cursing at yourself slightly, you started up your car and slowly moved on your way back to the bunker.

The snow had laid down thick, leaving an icy blanket across the pavement, your tires crunching it beneath their weight as you prayed you’d make it back. It had begun to sleet, the freezing rain making your windshield wipers useless. Your wheels were slipping and even time you slowed down, your breath hitched, fully expecting not to get moving again. You came to an intersection, looking around at your options. Straight ahead, there was more traffic, but not a straight shot home. To your right was a back road that led almost right to the bunker’s front door. You hesitated. Taking a breath you decided that maybe going the quicker route would leave you with a better outcome.

You pulled the wheel, moving down the beaten path. Just as the final streetlight left your vision, your car slowly took you off course, slowly fishtailing into a ditch. You yanked the wheel in the opposite direction and smashed the accelerator, but it was no use. Your wheels spun as you settled, the right side of your car tipping into the frozen outcove. You looked down at the clock. You’d only made it about 10 minutes. You have got to be kidding me. Patting the pockets of your jacket, you found your phone and switched it on. “No Signal” flashed across the dim screen as if it was taunting you. You slid it back in your pocket and looked around. You reached for the door, but it didn’t budge. You pushed your body weight against it and bounced hard, yet it hardly moved an inch. So much for walking back to the store. You turned up the heat and turned up the music just a notch. Might as well get comfortable. You peered around the back, spotting a wrapped up blanket underneath the bench seat that you’d remembered leaving a few months back. You brought it up front and laid it across you and listened to the drone of the radio.

----

A few hours passed and you checked your phone like you had done every 10 minutes. Still no signal. Sighing, you glanced at the clock. 12:48am. How had they not noticed that you weren’t back yet? A chill slipped down your spine - it wasn’t from the cold that seeped in the sheet metal of the car - What if they’d fallen asleep for the night? You shook your head. No, you promised them food, they never forgot when you volunteered to make dinner. A flashing orange light on your dashboard drew your thoughts away from the boys; Your gas was running low. No gas, no heat. You sat up straight and looked around. There were no cars in sight, everyone preferring to stay inside during the blizzard. You leaned forward and twisted the key in the ignition, the engines’ rumble fizzing out along with the ambient music of the stereo. You sat back in your seat and tried to calm your mind, as the icy chill from outside slipped its way into the car, minute by minute.

----

The blanket was doing nothing at this point. Your movements were almost painful, your extremities vibrating with the numbness that fell over them hours ago. You had tried to turn the car on an hour or so ago, but it only sputtered in response. It was 6:57am. Your teeth had stopped chattering around 3 and you hadn’t slept a minute of it. The cold was oddly uncomforting, you couldn’t drift off in the state you were in. Your eyes had grown heavier now, which worried you more than anything. You fought to stay awake, but the cold unconsciousness welcomed you into the darkness. The upside was that you didn’t feel cold anymore; you just felt tingling. The sun had begun to rise, the orange glow casting a dim shadow through the thick snow-covered car. Your eyes fluttered. Stay awake. You tried to sit up but you were just so tired. A loud knock on your window forced your eyes open; you hadn’t even realized you’d shut them.

“Y/N?” A deep voice questioned, muffled by the layers of snow that had settled over your car since you’d landed there. The car shook lightly at first and then violently, until the door crackled and creaked next to your head, allowing the sunrise to pour in. Cold air blasted in the car, your hair whipping around your face. When you opened your eyes, you were met with Dean’s, searching yours. You tried to smile, but you couldn’t feel your face move, his name fell flat on your lips. His hand laid against your face like a hot iron scorching your cool skin. You sucked in a breath and he pulled away.

“Dean,” You tried, licking your lips, “It’s looking like I’m gonna have to make dinner another night.” You tried to smile but your lips tingled, forcing your laugh sounding more like a wheeze.

“Don’t worry about dinner, come on.” His brows were pulled up as he looked down at you, pulling you closer to him.

“Dean, it’s been below zero all night,” Sam walked over and whispered to his brother, not so quietly. “You can’t last all that long in weather like that, she ne-” He started, but Dean shot him a look.

“I know Sammy,” He growled, exchanging looks at one another, before Sam turned around and opened the door to the backseat of the Impala. Dean looked back down at you and pulled you up to his chest, holding you close to him. He was so warm. Your eyes fluttered, constantly at war with trying to keep them open. The Impala’s heat was blasting as he settled in the back with you in his lap. Sam walked to the front and pulled out, leaving your car in the ditch. There was no music, only the rumble of the engine drifting through the cabin. You felt like you could sleep for days.

“Hey, hey, hey, keep those pretty eyes open, alright sweetheart?” Dean’s hand fell onto your cheek again as he held your head up lightly.

“Dean, I’m-” You whispered and he leaned down closer, “I’m tired.” You slurred, your eyes rolling slightly.

“C’mon Y/N wake up,” His deep voice pulled you momentarily out of the coma that was dragging you under, “Look at me, keep your eyes on mine, okay?” His face was inches away from yours, his warm breath slipping over your features. You looked up at him again, meeting his worried expression.

“I can’t-” You tried to explain it, but you couldn’t manage the words, “I’m tired.” You finished hardly above a whisper, as your eyes rolled back one last time and your world went dark. The last thing you felt was Dean shaking you.

----

You woke up to arms surrounding you. Your body was sore and felt like you had gone 7 rounds with Lucifer and your head pounded. You moved your fingers around, feeling them and making sure that they were all still there. Looking up, you connected the arms to a body and the body to a head. Your heart dropped to your toes as you looked up, analyzing every freckle that splayed across his nose. His eye’s flickered underneath their lids. I wonder what he’s thinking. You looked around. You were in Dean’s room, the guns hanging on the walls a clear indicator of the Winchester’s belongings. Slowly pulling his arm off your waist, it suddenly tightened. He grumbled deeply behind you, before roping you back in and laying his hand on the side of your face. Except when you looked up at him this time, he was already looking back at you.

“Mornin’ Frosty.” He grinned, his voice gravely and sexy. Hearing his voice like this woke up a beast in you that begged to be touched by him. You looked away as the thought ran through your head.

“Very funny.” You mused. His hand pulled your face up, his finger under your chin.

“I’m not laughing,” He said, his expression blank, “Y/N, you were in zero degree weather for almost twelve hours, do you know how close of a call that is?” He shook his head slightly and leaned up on his arm while looking at you. “Why didn’t you call? I would’ve come, I would’ve got you.” He questioned.

“I had no signal, I tried - it didn’t work.” You shrugged, looking down at your hands. He let out a sigh.

“When I woke up and you weren’t there, I just about tore the place apart,” He ran a hand through his hair, “I thought something had taken you, but then Sam said you’d left to get some food. When I opened the door and saw the weather, I knew you had to be out there somewhere.” His hand reached up and caressed your face, taking you by surprise. “Y/N, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost you.” His voice was hardly above a whisper. You stared at him, eyes wide.

“Dean,” You hesitated, not sure how to take it, “I appreciate you and Sam worrying about me-” You started.

“No it’s not like that,” He shook his head, inching closer to you, “I mean, I don’t worry about you the way Sam does,” He cocked his head to the side, “Well I hope it’s not the same, that would be an issue.” He said more to himself than to you, his eyes drifting past you in thought.

“I’m not sure I follow.” You muttered. His eyes looked down at you again.

“I’m saying that not knowing where you were for a minute there had me going like nothing else.” His lips were plush and mere inches away from you and you had to mentally remind yourself not to stare at them. And you were failing miserably. “I never want to let you out of my sight again.” He whispered, pausing a moment before leaning in and brushing his lips gently to yours. The blood rushed through you, giving you chills for a whole different reason than earlier. His hand slid through your hair and with his other hand he pulled your body closer to his. You returned the kiss, leaning in, pressing against him harder, When he pulled back, he searched your eyes for a response.

“Then don’t.” You whispered in return, a small grin crawling over your features. He matched your smile and pulled you in. He smelled like old cologne and worn leather and you breathed it in all you could. When he pulled back, he gave you a grin and held your face in his hand.

“God, I have waited so long to do that.” He smirked, his confession taking you by surprise.

“Well, maybe you should do that more,” You shrugged sarcastically, “I don’t hate it all that much.” You beamed up at him, unable to hide your happiness.

“Oh you don’t hate it?” His eyebrows shot up, his words filled with the sarcasm that made you love him, “That’s good, I’m glad you don’t.” He chuckled, pulling you down to his chest.

You knew that from now on, most of your days would be spent like this; laying on his chest, stealing kisses and exchanging laughs - and you didn’t want to spend them any other way.

----

Hey guys! I hope you liked this one - if you have any requests submit them to me and I’ll give em’ a go!

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billhaderlovebot · 5 years

Text

of heartbreak and raviolis - aaron conners

summary: you're sick and tired of everyone taking advantage of your best friend, aka aaron conners, aka the most wonderful man in the world, aka the man you love. not so subtle amy bashing fic.

tags: @whoseblogsthis @mpmarypoppins @a-second-hand-sorrow

aaron conners had always had shitty taste in women. you'd mainly thought so because none of the women he'd ever picked happened to be you.

aaron was too soft. too soft for this world and the men and women in it. they would break him. they would ball up the effervescent, unconditional kindness and love he had for people and shove it right back down.

amy was going to break him, too.

you knew she would.

and, oh, how you hated her. you hated her and how unreliable she was and the infuriating vapidness within her and her terrifying lack of respect for the man you had loved since you were seventeen. your best friend.

watching him kiss her was hell. watching him fall for her, knowing he was gone and there was nothing you could do about it, was worse.

but he was so happy, and he looked at her like she'd hung the moon.

it fucking hurt.

because you were tired of sitting by while everyone took advantage of how fucking nice he always was.

because you knew what was coming. and you didn't have the heart to say "i told you so".

"hey, hey, slow down, honey, i can't understand you."

aaron was crying. his voice came broken and shuddering down the line, trying desperately to get something out that wasn't cut with a sob burning from his chest. but you already knew what he was going to say. you knew, and you were pulling on a sweater and grabbing your keys before he could explain.

"she... she said-" and he couldn't get it out. the sound of his heartbreak made your own heart shatter.

"im coming over." you breathed, slamming the door and heading out into the night to comfort the man you had always wanted but could never have.

---

amy had cheated. actually, amy had been cheating for quite some time. she had never stopped, in fact.

you'd been tangled together on aaron's couch, a mass of crying and limbs and throw blankets, for hours now.

"i thought she loved me." aaron scoffed, staring blankly out of the window to where the sun was just beginning to rise over new york.

his head was in your lap and the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity was your hand threading through his hair. "she said she loved me."

he let out a mirthless laugh, and you were suddenly furious.

"i'm so fucking angry." you whispered, eyes intent on aaron's face, angled towards the sunrise, the remnants of heartbreak in shining tracks down his cheeks.

"why?" he inquired, turning over to look up at you.

"because... because this shouldn't happen, aaron. not to you."

---

light snores filled the quiet apartment as aaron drifted off in your arms. he had moved so that his face rested in the crook of your shoulder, his hand draped over your waist. you couldn't help but feel that this was a little bit not fair. it wasn't the first time something like this had happened to him, and it wasn't the first time you'd had to hold him and comfort him and pretend you hadn't been painfully in love with him since high school. so here you were, again, the doting, supportive best friend. again. fuck.

in sleep, he looked younger. in sleep, he looked content, save for the small wrinkle between his eyebrows, the remainder of the day's emotional strain. it disappeared with the gentle press of your lips against the soft skin, and aaron unconsciously held onto you a little tighter. your heart ached as it did when you were a teenager.

when, at seventeen, you lay eyes on him at a house party, shrouded in smoke and coloured lights and the thumping bass of some nondescript vaporwave track, your heart skipped, like, twelve beats or something.

and, when, blue eyed and floppy haired, he looked back at you, raising his red plastic cup, your heart fell out of your ass. upon trying to talk to the guy who had so quickly stolen your heart, you spilled your vodka soda all over him. he tipped his own drink over your head. you stared at each other for several solid seconds of short lived fury, and then cracked up, immediately going to find more alcohol. you were best friends from that day on.

you were the one who supported him through medical school, helping him study and walking to campus every morning to give him coffee and whatever baked good you deemed acceptable. bidding him goodbye with a kiss on the cheek and the promise of a movie marathon.

you endured aaron's many vapid, fake-nice, passive-aggressive girlfriends who would loathe you and shoot you looks that, should they kill, would have you six feet fucking under.

you pushed how deeply in love with him you were right down below the surface, because his happiness was more important to you.

you thought, now, almost a decade later, as he had cried in your arms for hours about a woman that didn't feel the same, that it might be time for you to get your feelings in order and fucking tell him that all you wanted was for him to take you in his arms and kiss you fucking senseless.

and then they got back together.

"aaron, you fuck- you what?" you were absolutely livid, like, struggling-to-hold-the-phone-without-smashing-it-into-someone's-face livid.

"um, i, i just really want to make it work with her, and she was really sorry, and-"

"aaron, she broke your fucking heart."

"yeah, i know, i-

"and i was the one to let you cry your fucking eyes out on me for hours, even though it hurt. i've stood by for years, watching people hurt you and knowing there was nothing i could do about it."

"i'm not your responsibility, honey." he said. "this is my own life and i... you don't have to be involved."

"how can you fucking say that, aaron? of course i do. i won't let her do this to you again. i'm your best fucking friend, is that not enough for you?"

"...i guess not."

you'd never wanted to beat aaron to death before, but if he continued being so fucking stupid, you'd advise him not to put it past you. there was a deafening silence on the phone after that, because there was nothing you could say to change his mind, and nothing he could say that would make you not want to murder amy townsend. or him.

"i won't do this anymore." you finally said, a lump in your throat.

"what?"

"pretend that... that i'm not in love with you so that i can be okay with the manipulative assholes you pick as girlfriends."

"wh-?"

"goodbye, aaron."

---

the month that followed was probably the worst month of your entire life. you didn't speak to aaron once. no calls, no emails, no 2am visits to listen to billy joel and eat junk and talk about how you both carried the weight of the world on your shoulders. you'd always shared that weight, and, now, it was like someone had torn you in half and left you bleeding.

you were halfway through the last episode of season ten of friends, and your second box of cold pop tarts, crying your eyes out, when the doorbell rang. you wiped your eyes with the sleeve of one of aaron's old college sweaters and dragged yourself up from the couch. your breath caught in your throat at the sight of the disheveled, very attractive man hyperventilating in front of you when the front door swung open.

"aaron?" you stumbled over your thrift store welcome mat you bought because of the blue cat on it, holding yourself up on the door frame and staring up at him in sleepy disbelief.

"hi, yes, hi." aaron was breathing hard, the aftermath of running the whole two miles to your apartment in the middle of the night. "i've been thinking a lot about... about what you said, and i just, i've missed you, yknow? and, i, um, not that that makes everything okay, because i didn't listen to you, and it sucked, and-"

"what do you want?" you asked, trying not to punch him. "i'm tired, aaron. and not just physically. i'm tired of waiting around for you to love me."

"oh, well that's, um, that's good." he nodded, peeling off his jacket. "sorry, um, im sweaty-"

"that's good?" you blinked. aaron was clueless at the best of times, but this was insane.

"yes, yeah, because i realised something, um, just now, at home, with amy."

"i really don't want to hear about amy right now-"

"no, i know, i just, um, i realised that she's not who i want." he shrugged.

"it's about fucking time, aaron, i swear to god-"

"you're my best friend, and... i meant what i said, yknow, about that not being enough for me."

aaron ducked under the doorframe, bending down to capture your lips with his own. your eyes widened, and you froze up, your arms at your sides. the fact that aaron conners was kissing you just wouldn't compute.

and then it did, and you were kissing him back, your arms flying around his neck and your fingers twisting into his hair.

the kiss was searing, and your skin burned where his hands trailed across your cheeks, cupping your jaw, and up the back of your shirt, ghosting across your hip bones.

even when you stumbled back into your apartment, falling backwards over the couch, aaron was relentless, attaching his lips to your neck as if nothing was amiss.

what stood out to you was how easy this was. how you were able to fall into place so quickly as if you'd been doing this for years. as if you hadn't been pining for him for half your life.

"hey," you broke the kiss, gazing up at him in all his blue eyed, flustered, swollen-lipped glory. "hey, we have some, ah, things to talk about, i think."

aaron nodded, swallowing. "yeah, um, yeah."

you pecked his lips, closing your eyes. you just wanted to be someone who had kissed aaron conners, no complications, for a few seconds longer.

"raviolis?" he asked quietly, still hovering above you with that signature, heart-melting grin.

"it's 1am, aaron."

"i know a guy."

#aaron conners #trainwreck #aaron conners x reader #bill hader

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sittingoverheredreaming · 7 years

Text

On the Night of the Ball

My entry for the prompt party, Harumichi Cinderella! Mine is a modern take, about 2600 words. Enjoy!

The phone rang just as Haruka had settled into the couch for the night. She untangled from the blanket and dove for the old landline, the long braid of her hair smacking into her back. The answering machine was in her mother’s room, and it was best not to disturb her.

“Hello?”

“So you know how I bet you fifty bucks I’d get you to go to the Halloween dance?”

“Mina, the dance is in an hour—“

“And I’ll call off the deal if you come over right now.”

Haruka sighed. “So I can either stay in pajamas and get fifty bucks, or drag myself out and get nothing?”

Mina clucked into the phone. “You can either stay in, have me come make a scene and pay me fifty bucks you don’t have when I get you to the dance, or you can come over here and not have to worry.” There was a pause, Haruka knew she was twirling her hair with her free hand. “How about this, if you come over, I’ll still pay up if you don’t go. And I’ve got the movie butter popcorn you like.”

“Fine, Mina. But I’m not changing my clothes.”

“Didn’t ask you to, buddy.”

Haruka slipped on her shoes without leaving a note. Her mother would assume she was at Mina’s, if she even noticed. And unless Haruka did something wrong, she didn’t notice.

They lived mercifully close, Mina just a few blocks away in a marginally nicer house. Her mother would be out, and father home, but it amounted to them being alone anyway. Haruka tucked the loose strands of her hair back as she got to the door. It was never easy to know what to expect with Mina. This could end with Mina literally dragging her to the dance, or it could be a wild plan that mysteriously ended in the school gymnasium, and whoops, look at that Haruka, you’re at the dance. Haruka gripped the door knob and resigned herself to losing the bet in a night of misery.

Mina stood in the foyer, dressed in a long robe she must have found at a thrift store. “Dahling, you made it,” she said in her best old-movie actress voice, leaning against the wall with a hand on her head. “I was beginning to worry.”

“What’s the plan, Mina?”

“Don’t look so resigned!” She smiled, big and devious. “I’m going to give you the night of your life.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Haruka shoved her shoulder as they filed down the hall to Mina’s bedroom. “You say that every night.”

“And compared to how you’d be without my stunning influence, it’s true.” Mina hopped onto her bed, smushing several stuffed animals. “But tonight is different. I’ve been saving up tips from the salon to pull this off.”

A new dread settled in Haruka’s stomach. “Mina, you shouldn’t waste your money—“

“You say now, having been willing to rob me dry in a bet.” Her eyes flashed, she knew she had Haruka. “I’ve still got my wages in the move-out fund, don’t you worry. But tonight’s not about what we need, it’s about what I want. And I want you to have a good time.”

“Then why can’t we stay in and watch movies?” Haruka did not do dances—not the dresses, not the shoes, not the hair, and certainly not the dancing, not where everyone could see her.

“Because we do that all the time. Tonight should be different.” Mina cracked her knuckles. “See my plan through, and then you can decide, okay? If you don’t like it, we’ll stay in and I’ll see what I can return to the store tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

Mina jumped up and grabbed Haruka’s wrist. “We’ll start with your hair.”

“Hey, wait, no. Off-limits. You promised when you started at the salon—“

“That I’d never use you as a guinea pig for styling.” Mina yanked her into the bathroom. “I’m not styling your hair, Haruka, I’m cutting it.”

“What?”

“I’m cutting your hair.” She pulled out a clipper set. “That’s always been part of the problem, hasn’t it?”

“I…” Haruka pulled on the end of her braid. “My mom…”

“Tell her it’s for a costume, and if she kicks you out anyway, you’ll stay here.” Mina softened and put her hands on Haruka’s shoulders. “Halloween is about being whatever and whoever you want to be. I, for one, want to be a slutty, slutty vampire, forever young and beautiful. You want to be something else. You can try it, for tonight, and if it’s not right you say it was all play and let your hair grow and no one will bat an eye.”

Haruka looked in the mirror. She wanted it. Always had. Her mother had caught her as a child, cutting her hair with the kitchen scissors to look like a boy’s. She had not been allowed anything more than a trim ever since. “Do you think it would look okay? You don’t think I’d look too…” She meant to say boyish, but couldn’t. Part of her wanted that, too. Not to be a boy, but to look and exist in that space she’d rarely seen occupied, of being a different sort of woman.

“This might not be the right thing to say, buddy, but I think you might look kind of…” Mina stretched back, forcing nonchalance, “well, kind of handsome.”

Haruka bit her tongue. She leaned closer to the mirror, covered the start of her braid with her hands, a poor approximation of how it might look. “I wanna do it.”

“Okay.” Mina pulled out scissors and held them to the base of the braid. “Ready?”

Haruka took a deep breath. “Ready.”

The scissors snipped, hacking through, once, twice, three times, and – thump! The braid fell to the tile like a dead animal. The bob of Haruka’s remaining hair fanned around her face. Her head felt light, the smallest motion made easier and bigger without the weight of the braid. Mina trimmed it shorter, then switched to the clippers.

“This might tickle some.”

Just the sound as she turned it on sent shivers up Haruka’s back. It vibrated the air with a magic she’d lusted after through barber shop windows. Mina ran it up her head from her neck, and Haruka had to fight to keep still. She couldn’t mess up her chance to look how she dreamed.

Slowly more hair fell to the floor in feathery clumps, until Mina turned off the clippers and dusted Haruka off. Haruka tried not to cry—the mirror now showed a woman standing tall even in her giant hoodie, hair just long enough to be fluffy on top but shaped on the sides. “Mina…” she swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, buddy. We’re only half done.”

Haruka had no more words of protest or question. Mina led the way back to her room and threw open her closet.

Haruka’s breath caught as she pulled out a suit.

“I can’t promise it will fit great, men’s sizing isn’t the same. But, you know, I tried and it should be close.” She rummaged through her drawers and pulled out a brilliant navy tie and a matching masquerade mask.

“This is too much, I can’t accept…”

“If this is a money thing, Haruka, don’t worry. I’ve been planning this long enough that I had time to get good deals.” She opened the suit jacket to reveal a big red stain on the lining. “Somehow, this has been in Goodwill for a long time, even though they insist it’s only ketchup.”

Haruka laughed in spite of her awe. “I ever tell you you’re too good to me?”

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank you Mina, you’re the best and I’ll never doubt your judgement again.’”

“Thank you, Mina.”

Minako rolled her eyes. “Now, I’m going to change into my vampire dress, and give you a moment. We’ll have to leave in a few.” She grabbed her costume and vacated to the bathroom.

Haruka ran her hands along the suit sleeves. She’d worn men’s clothes before, flying under the wire with hoodies and tee-shirts that weren’t great but kept her from wanting to crawl out of her skin. This was something else entirely. She rubbed at the base of her neck, where her braid had been replaced with fuzz. She’d enter the dance a different person from the one who’d left school that day. Even if it was only for tonight, she’d be the woman she’d always dreamed of.

Slowly, she pulled off her sweatpants, then her hoodie. She slid on the pants, happy to find them only slightly too short. She stole a pair of black socks from Mina’s drawer to hide it. The shirt, on the other hand, was long, but tucked in it made no difference. Haruka pulled on the jacket slowly, suddenly worried it would make it all farcical, she’d be the ordinary gangly girl, dressing up like someone she wasn’t. But it settled onto her shoulders, tight but not too restrictive, and she turned to Mina’s full-length mirror with bated breath.

It didn’t fit perfectly. But it wasn’t glaring, and she looked… real. Or she felt real. She couldn’t think of how to say it. She fumbled with the tie until Mina came back in.

“Damn, buddy, you clean up nice.”

Haruka chuckled, then choked into tears. “Will you help me? I don’t know—“

Mina took the tie and stood behind her. “Now, you be sure to tell everyone I’m very good with my hands.” She smoothed Haruka’s collar and centered the knot. “The ladies are gonna eat their hearts out.”

“Do you think…” She hadn’t allowed herself to think too much about anyone who might be at the dance, committed as she had been to not going. But there was the girl, from homeroom, who’d sometimes caught her eye, and…

“Drag your gay ass back to earth now, buddy, you can either dream or make it happen. If we don’t leave, we’ll be much more than fashionably late.” She pulled the mask on Haruka’s head and they set out together into the night.

The gym was pulsing and packed when they arrived. The only lights came in flashing colors and through the door to the hall. Haruka pulled at the ends of her jacket.

Mina rubbed her back. “Don’t worry buddy, you’re gonna be great.”

“Nice suit, bro!” A footballer called as he passed.

Haruka swallowed. “They don’t recognize me.”

“Drastic haircuts and masks will do that. You okay?”

“Yeah I just… I feel different, too.”

Mina smiled. “Be who you wanna be, Haruka.” She paused. “Split up or stay together?”

Haruka scanned the crowd, looking for the green hair of homeroom girl. “Can we… Can I try being on my own?”

“Spread your gay little wings, buddy. You can find me if you need me.”

-----

Michiru wondered sometimes why she attended dances. Homecoming and prom she understood—they were appearances, she would be crowned Queen and have her picture in the papers, and her family would have one more thing to brag to their friends about. But the mid-year frivolities… She sighed and nodded as Rei chewed out a boy for asking her to dance. Why Rei came was perhaps a bigger mystery-- though she faced a different side of the same pressures as Michiru, she was less apt to playing along. She knew Senator Hino oft wished he’d had a son, so that his child might court the Kaioh prodigy rather than compete with her. That Rei would have better luck as she was was lost on him.

Michiru supposed the night would go as it always did—accept a dance from her homecoming king, and then a few from those who might be her match for prom. Perhaps it all came down to training, the sweaty gym was the young version of a high society gala, the attendees not yet skilled in hiding their crude underbellies.

But then someone caught her eye. At first it seemed a boy in a sharp costume, going for a formal masquerade rather than any of the silliness others sported. But then she noticed the slight curve of chest and hip, the uncertainty in movement, the charming line of the chin.

It was a girl, and a girl the way the partners of Michiru’s dreams were girls. Their eyes met through her mask. There was something familiar, though Michiru had never met anyone like her before. She rose from her seat on the bleachers, not bothering to let Rei know where she as going. She needed to know the stranger. She needed to meet this woman.

As if on cue, the dj announced the first slow song of the night.

“Um, hi,” the other girl said as Michiru drew close.

Michiru could feel her nervousness. There was something endlessly charming about it. “Hello.”

“Would you, well, would you like to dance with me?”

“I would.”

The butch’s hand was sweaty as she took Michiru’s, her fingers shaking slightly. Michiru guided her other hand to her waist. As their eyes met again, close enough to feel each other’s breath, Michiru felt a familiarity she hadn’t expected.

“We’ve met, haven’t we?”

“Sort of.” She flushed red under her mask.

Michiru thought of the tomboy in homeroom, blushing whenever the teacher called on her, playing with her long hair like she wanted to disappear. Michiru had thought of her, looked at her, more than she cared to admit. They’d sort of met, hadn’t they? Having never spoken, but seeing each other every morning… Michiru ran her hand along the edge of the girl’s hair, wondering how recently it had been cut. “I don’t want to be wrong about who you are.”

“Don’t guess.” Her eyes widened, like hearing the wrong name might break her. “I think… Monday, if you want to find me, you’ll be able to. And if you don’t, it’s okay.”

I’ll want to find you. But Michiru said nothing and sank into the girl for the rest of the song. She could feel their heartbeats mix in their fingertips, the other girl’s pounding hard even as she got more confident in her movements.

“Tell me something that isn’t your name,” Michiru said finally as the music faded into another DJ announcement.

“Um. My favorite color is blue, which I know isn’t original, but it’s nice.” Michiru nodded for her to keep going. “And… I like flowers, but not how people perceive liking flowers. Besides right now, running is about the only time I really feel good.” She blushed again, and swallowed hard. “And maybe this goes without saying, but in case it doesn’t, I’m… I like girls. And I am a girl.”

Michiru stepped into what little space remained between them. “I have one more question.”

The girl swallowed again. “Okay.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Her eyes went wide, but she nodded. Michiru stood on tip toe and, gently as she could, placed her lips on hers. For a moment, the whole world was still, narrowed down to the two of them.

Michiru rose a hand to the girl’s face as she pulled away. “I want to know who you are.”

“I think you’ll be disappointed.”

“I don’t.” Though she wondered—if it wasn’t the girl she’d been watching, would she be? “Whoever you are, I want to see you again.”

“Well. If that’s true, you’ll see me at school. And if-- if you still want to… you can ask me then.” She took Michiru’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “I think I should leave. This… I want to keep this night beautiful.”

Before Michiru could protest, she was gone, taken from Michiru’s sight in the crowd of bodies.

She closed her eyes, committing every second to memory. Come Monday, she’d find the girl.

#sam writes #harumichi cinderella #Harumichi #brotp #haruka #minako

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