Sailor Moon Fic: we live in a house
It's cold and it's snowing and this is for poor tosca1390 who had to walk home in this mess. And because we spent an inordinate amount of time talking about this particular subject. So, you know.
we live in a house
they want to call this a growing pain. it's more like an exercise in patience.
sailor moon | usagi/mamoru | future fic | 1,248 words, PG13
-
Her wedding ring catches in her hair. It's painful; she threads her fingers through the strands, pulling gently as she tries to peel them away from her band.
"I swear," she mutters. "I'm going to cut it all off."
Mamoru hears her from the bathroom. He appears in the frame of the door, leaning against it as he dries his hands. His mouth twitches and she narrows her eyes.
"I mean it," she says.
It's the stress, Usagi reasons. Her nerves have started to pull at her. Between talking with Luna and talking with Setsuna, the reality of Crystal Tokyo has set itself firmly into her mind. She picks it apart most days, studying the complexities as carefully as she can. There are her own memories of her past as well, the voices and conversations of her mother, of things that she has yet to come to terms with as well. Inevitably, she thinks, it comes back to her stupid hair.
She's already pulled the strands free from her customary style. It spills into her neck, her shoulders, and over her hips, swaying as she moves to cross her legs into the bed.
"I love your hair," Mamoru says softly.
She scoffs. "Mamo-chan," she says. "I -"
"You're stressed," he cuts her off. He tosses the towel back into the bathroom. He comes to the bed, their bed, stepping against the corner where her legs rest. He reaches forward, brushing his fingers against her bangs. "Your poor hair," he teases.
Her eyes narrow and she flushes. But he presses his fingers through some of the strands that rest against her shoulder, lowering himself so that he can kiss the strands. Her breath catches.
"Do you really want to cut it?" he asks.
Her cheeks are still warm. "Yes," she mumbles. "I always want to cut it. Mama used to try when I was little, but it always grew back exceptionally fast. And when I got older, well - it was always too long to try something new." She shrugs too, curling her fingers around his wrist. "And," she admits, "I think part of me wants to send Luna into a panic attack for old times."
He chuckles. "You're cruel."
But then he drops the strands in his hand, reaching for her hand as well and tugging her to her feet. She looks at him in surprise.
"Come on," he says.
The arch of the sink is cold against the back of her thighs. She is wearing one of Mamoru's shirts, as she always does for bed, and it rises against her skin as she shifts and her legs dangle off the edge. When Mamoru comes back into the bathroom, he holds a pair of scissors and another towel.
"Hair grows back," he says.
Surprised, she can't help blush. "Yes," she says. "It does."
Her fingers seem to be working without thought, pulling the strands of hair into a long braid. She works them together until the reach her waist, the end of her braid dusting against her knee. Mamoru sets the towel down, studying her.
It took them so long to get here, she thinks. Or it seems like it. Sometimes her mind wanders back and she remembers that she is no long fifteen and the world is not as big as it seemed them. They are still walking into this together, much like every other aspect of their life, and for that, she thinks, she is forever grateful. She does not want to know what she would do without him.
"I trust you," she tells him first.
Mamoru laughs softly. "Is that what I was going to ask?"
"Yes." Her lips twitch. "You have never not been thorough, Mamo-chan."
His gaze is warm. He reaches forward, brushing his fingers against her cheek. She turns her mouth to press against his palm. She sighs.
"I feel selfish," she murmurs.
"Don't." She looks up and he slides a hand around her braid. It curls around her fist, trapped under his fingers as he winds it around his hand. "Should I start coming to these meetings?" he asks, when she tilts her chin up. "You always come back and it's as if she -"
"Mamo-chan," she says. She touches the hand with her braid gently. "I am trying to ease the tensions between you and the girls and the others. I think while she understands that I tell you and Mina-chan everything, personal appearances are another thing entirely."
"So cutting your hair?"
She laughs. "It does give me a headache."
He leans over her. His mouth grazes her forehead and she laughs again, pushing at his chest. The scissors are in his hand again
"I trust you," she says again.
If anything, there are memories of her mother standing over her, of summers before school started - and ended too, she thinks - and the scissors in her hand. She was always gentle when she washed her hair afterwards. But Mamoru's hand is firm and steady and she touches it, her fingers running against his knuckles.
He brings the scissors to the braid. Usagi barely blinks.
He cuts twice. It falls first just below her shoulders. The next time, her hair rests just against her chin and she laughs out loud, sitting, straddling him in bed. His shirt has ridden up against her thighs again. She shakes her head and her hair falls everywhere, resting easily against her cheeks and then her chin again.
She's delighted, she thinks. Her head feels lighter too. Mamoru is smiling; he shifts and sits up, threading his fingers back through the strands. The ends are a mess, maybe not to bad, but she has a feeling that the girls will drag her off to a salon anyway, reading her all sorts of riot acts because of this.
"You look beautiful," he murmurs. His mouth catches hers and she sighs happily, biting a little at his lip. "It's so strange to see it short."
"Eh," she says. "Hair is hair, right?"
"It grows back," he agrees.
"Super fast, of course."
Mamoru chuckles. His fingers press against the buttons of her shirt and then he's pulling at them, one by one, and then pushing the shirt off of her shoulders. He drags her over him and she laughs, giggling when he turns and presses her back into the sheets. His hand brushes over her belly and then slips between her legs.
He doesn't say anything else. He knows she loves his hands.
True to form, Luna lectures her on the importance of identity and history. Setsuna tries to remain expressionless, but Usagi can tell that whatever her decision says, it unsettles her. The other girls are just bewildered and surprised; Minako is the one that still drags her to the salon, sitting her in a chair so at the very least, her ends can be fixed.
Her hair is wet. The towel rests against her neck as the stylist disappears to grab her tools. Minako is sitting in one of the chairs next to her, staring her in amusement. Her mouth twists.
"I know why you did it," she says.
Usagi studies her in the mirror. Her fingers twist in the wet ends. They feel strange and light, much lighter than the night before. Her fingers move to the back of her neck and she rubs the skin lightly. It won't change anything.
There is something too serious in Usagi's smile. "It'll grow back," she says.
we live in a house
they want to call this a growing pain. it's more like an exercise in patience.
sailor moon | usagi/mamoru | future fic | 1,248 words, PG13
-
Her wedding ring catches in her hair. It's painful; she threads her fingers through the strands, pulling gently as she tries to peel them away from her band.
"I swear," she mutters. "I'm going to cut it all off."
Mamoru hears her from the bathroom. He appears in the frame of the door, leaning against it as he dries his hands. His mouth twitches and she narrows her eyes.
"I mean it," she says.
It's the stress, Usagi reasons. Her nerves have started to pull at her. Between talking with Luna and talking with Setsuna, the reality of Crystal Tokyo has set itself firmly into her mind. She picks it apart most days, studying the complexities as carefully as she can. There are her own memories of her past as well, the voices and conversations of her mother, of things that she has yet to come to terms with as well. Inevitably, she thinks, it comes back to her stupid hair.
She's already pulled the strands free from her customary style. It spills into her neck, her shoulders, and over her hips, swaying as she moves to cross her legs into the bed.
"I love your hair," Mamoru says softly.
She scoffs. "Mamo-chan," she says. "I -"
"You're stressed," he cuts her off. He tosses the towel back into the bathroom. He comes to the bed, their bed, stepping against the corner where her legs rest. He reaches forward, brushing his fingers against her bangs. "Your poor hair," he teases.
Her eyes narrow and she flushes. But he presses his fingers through some of the strands that rest against her shoulder, lowering himself so that he can kiss the strands. Her breath catches.
"Do you really want to cut it?" he asks.
Her cheeks are still warm. "Yes," she mumbles. "I always want to cut it. Mama used to try when I was little, but it always grew back exceptionally fast. And when I got older, well - it was always too long to try something new." She shrugs too, curling her fingers around his wrist. "And," she admits, "I think part of me wants to send Luna into a panic attack for old times."
He chuckles. "You're cruel."
But then he drops the strands in his hand, reaching for her hand as well and tugging her to her feet. She looks at him in surprise.
"Come on," he says.
The arch of the sink is cold against the back of her thighs. She is wearing one of Mamoru's shirts, as she always does for bed, and it rises against her skin as she shifts and her legs dangle off the edge. When Mamoru comes back into the bathroom, he holds a pair of scissors and another towel.
"Hair grows back," he says.
Surprised, she can't help blush. "Yes," she says. "It does."
Her fingers seem to be working without thought, pulling the strands of hair into a long braid. She works them together until the reach her waist, the end of her braid dusting against her knee. Mamoru sets the towel down, studying her.
It took them so long to get here, she thinks. Or it seems like it. Sometimes her mind wanders back and she remembers that she is no long fifteen and the world is not as big as it seemed them. They are still walking into this together, much like every other aspect of their life, and for that, she thinks, she is forever grateful. She does not want to know what she would do without him.
"I trust you," she tells him first.
Mamoru laughs softly. "Is that what I was going to ask?"
"Yes." Her lips twitch. "You have never not been thorough, Mamo-chan."
His gaze is warm. He reaches forward, brushing his fingers against her cheek. She turns her mouth to press against his palm. She sighs.
"I feel selfish," she murmurs.
"Don't." She looks up and he slides a hand around her braid. It curls around her fist, trapped under his fingers as he winds it around his hand. "Should I start coming to these meetings?" he asks, when she tilts her chin up. "You always come back and it's as if she -"
"Mamo-chan," she says. She touches the hand with her braid gently. "I am trying to ease the tensions between you and the girls and the others. I think while she understands that I tell you and Mina-chan everything, personal appearances are another thing entirely."
"So cutting your hair?"
She laughs. "It does give me a headache."
He leans over her. His mouth grazes her forehead and she laughs again, pushing at his chest. The scissors are in his hand again
"I trust you," she says again.
If anything, there are memories of her mother standing over her, of summers before school started - and ended too, she thinks - and the scissors in her hand. She was always gentle when she washed her hair afterwards. But Mamoru's hand is firm and steady and she touches it, her fingers running against his knuckles.
He brings the scissors to the braid. Usagi barely blinks.
He cuts twice. It falls first just below her shoulders. The next time, her hair rests just against her chin and she laughs out loud, sitting, straddling him in bed. His shirt has ridden up against her thighs again. She shakes her head and her hair falls everywhere, resting easily against her cheeks and then her chin again.
She's delighted, she thinks. Her head feels lighter too. Mamoru is smiling; he shifts and sits up, threading his fingers back through the strands. The ends are a mess, maybe not to bad, but she has a feeling that the girls will drag her off to a salon anyway, reading her all sorts of riot acts because of this.
"You look beautiful," he murmurs. His mouth catches hers and she sighs happily, biting a little at his lip. "It's so strange to see it short."
"Eh," she says. "Hair is hair, right?"
"It grows back," he agrees.
"Super fast, of course."
Mamoru chuckles. His fingers press against the buttons of her shirt and then he's pulling at them, one by one, and then pushing the shirt off of her shoulders. He drags her over him and she laughs, giggling when he turns and presses her back into the sheets. His hand brushes over her belly and then slips between her legs.
He doesn't say anything else. He knows she loves his hands.
True to form, Luna lectures her on the importance of identity and history. Setsuna tries to remain expressionless, but Usagi can tell that whatever her decision says, it unsettles her. The other girls are just bewildered and surprised; Minako is the one that still drags her to the salon, sitting her in a chair so at the very least, her ends can be fixed.
Her hair is wet. The towel rests against her neck as the stylist disappears to grab her tools. Minako is sitting in one of the chairs next to her, staring her in amusement. Her mouth twists.
"I know why you did it," she says.
Usagi studies her in the mirror. Her fingers twist in the wet ends. They feel strange and light, much lighter than the night before. Her fingers move to the back of her neck and she rubs the skin lightly. It won't change anything.
There is something too serious in Usagi's smile. "It'll grow back," she says.