"I Can Comb out The Tangles"
(((I’ve seen a couple fics that focus on Mizu’s hair and same. We’re all just staring at her pretty hair, especially when it’s down. Staring.)))
(((This is for anyone that wants to take care of her.)))
Summary: You've decided that you're gonna take advantage of Mizu's inability to move from the floor after her last fight to wash her hair.
You see Mizu freeze from where she’s trying to push herself up from the futon. With a pointedly aggravated growl, she lays back down.
Her next words come out with slightly labored breath, “If I can move around I can heal faster.”
“What? If you move around you’re gonna rip your stitches out. Again.”
You finish gathering the last of the items in your arms and heave them over to the futon. Lowering yourself behind Mizu’s head, you spread the array of items and begin to roll up one of the towels.
She cranes her neck back to see what you have with furrowed eyebrows. “What are you doing?” She had heard the sloshing of water. She identifies a wide and shallow bowl, a bucket, a teakettle, more towels, and a vial of what she assumes is perfumed oil from the decorated glass.
“I’m going to wash your hair.” You flick open her haori to check that the new bandages are still in place around her chest-
She gives an annoyed tsk as she swats your hand away. “…My hair is fine.”
“Dunking your head in rivers and waterfalls doesn’t count as getting clean, Mizu,” you close her top again.
She makes a face at that as you gently lift her head and tuck the rolled towel under her neck to prop her head up.
“Just because you disguise yourself as a man doesn’t mean you should smell like one.”
She huffs out a laugh through her nose, the corners of her mouth quirking up. She feels her hair loosening from her tight updo and spilling out onto the floor behind her head.
Her eyes close. “”The grit of a warrior is found from the dirt under his nails,”” she recites calmly, but is unable to resist the smirk that comes out. One eye cracks open to peek at you.
“You’re genuinely just trying to irritate me now,” you reply with a laugh, gathering her hair and laying it flat. You take your comb from your kimono sleeve and begin to untangle the knots from the bottom.
You fall into silence as you work. Mizu’s hand rests on her stomach as she stares up at the wooden ceiling. The way your hand smoothes over her hair as you comb out the tangles in sections feel nice.
When you tilt her head to the side to comb the hair at the nape of her neck, the dull scratch of the teeth sends a shiver down her back. It’s like when you run your nails through her hair. Her eyes close gently with a soft exhale.
A fond smile arises on your face, but you suppress the small laugh in your chest that would break the peaceful silence.
Once her hair is all nice and combed through, you untie the scarf around her neck so it doesn’t get wet.
You lift the teakettle above the bowl and carefully pour warm water halfway through, careful not to splash so closer to her face. Readjusting the bowl to sit under her head, you once again gather her hair into your fist and place it into the bowl.
She can feel the rising heat from the water warming her scalp, and hums in interest. She’s admittedly finding the thought of you washing and massaging her hair to be very appealing now after the hair combing.
You watch as her raven hair floats in the bowl, and it reminds you of everything that’s both beautiful and deadly.
You smile softly as your fingernails drag through the hair at her temple downward. You silently watch her relaxed expression as the strands of hair slip through your fingers. Her closed eyes, the curve of her lips. A deadly beauty, indeed.
Cupping the water in your hand, you run it over the hair at her temple that isn’t submerged in the water. One hand parts sections of her hair while the other wets it down. Once her hair is soaked through, you open the vial and a powdery floral scent begins to permeate the air around you two.
You pour out a handful of the oil into your palm, and begin to massage it into the hair behind her ears.
There’s a rumbling groan from deep within her chest. Her shoulders unclench even more. Mizu feels like she’s going to melt through the floor into the Earth.
You hum with pride, having brought your vigilant lover to such a compliant and serene state.
Your hands continue to massage in circles, beginning from the back of her head upward. Her hair begins to take on a slight shine from the oil, the light perfume soaking into the strands. Pressing your fingers in, around and around sections of her hair, you wash away any lingering dirt or grime from the last fight.
Your fingers actually begin to ache slightly from the amount of time it takes to massage the oil in and cover the roots of her hair. But when you look down at Mizu, her lips are parted slightly and her eyes are fluttering.
You tilt your head down at her with a curious smile.
Is she awake? Or is she just in a meditative state? Hmm…
Her breathing is quite deep and slow now. She hasn’t spoken or even twitched in several minutes.
However deep her restful state is, you’ll leave her undisturbed and finish the task.
You pull your fingers through her hair again, drawing the oil down her black strands to the ends in the water. You glide through it over and over, coating each strand in perfume.
Satisfied with how much you covered, you lift her sopping wet hair out to quickly toss the oil filled water into the empty bucket. Water drips onto the floor before you’re able to place the bowl back under her head. You dab it away so it doesn’t begin to spread to your knees or her shoulders.
You tip more warm water from the teakettle into the bowl and begin to rinse her hair. Your heart sings, seeing how she’s yet to stir. You wash the oil from her hair, repeating the motion of tossing the used water into the bucket and filling the bowl again until the water runs clear.
Your mind has quieted as well from the repetition and the process.
Scrunching her hair up to squeeze out the water, you set aside the bowl with one hand and reach for the last towel.
You wrap her hair and gently squeeze the cloth around her hair, starting from the roots downward in sections.
You pause, a little startled at the sudden break after so long in silence.
You caress her neck, “What did you say, love?”
She doesn’t answer, settling once again.
A quiet laugh escapes your throat, half confused and half amused.
When you’ve reached a point that her hair isn’t dripping water continuously, you unwrap the towel again and begin to comb out the new tangles.
“There we are,” you murmur, fanning her half dried hair out under her head. You hum with satisfaction, running your hands down the smooth length. You lean back to admire your work.
You gently run your fingers up the cut of her jaw, feeling the soft puffs of airs escaping her lips against the side of your hand. Still no sign of those beautiful blues coming back out. You should take advantage of this docile state and wait to wake her up. She’ll finally get some proper rest. Yes, that sounds good.
Her haori still has flecks of dried blood and dirt, and the wound on her chest is still fresh. But her hair is washed, and her breathing is soft, and the perfume in her hair wafts around the room as you stand and head to the pot to start dinner.
Mizu’s eyes blearily crack open for a moment as the floorboards shift. The blurred sight of the wooden roof comes back into view, and for a moment she tries to force herself awake. But the sounds of humming and the smell of perfume drift around her, and the corners of her mouth lift slightly.
jacobvanloon
germansingergirl
annaxmalina
tangentwithtanner
janainaart
