"I told you not to wear heels."
Lily exclaimed as his wife kicked her stilettos across the living room. He smirked, yet it didn't reach his eyes. Despite his good mood, he couldn't help but be concerned. She didn't verbally respond to his comment, but her defeated flop onto the sofa spoke volumes. They had just arrived home from an art gallery event that her cousin hosted. His eyes were full and so was his stomach. Gorgeous sculptures AND bacon wrapped scallops? Life could not get much better. Marrying into high society certainly had its perks
"Stay there. I'll go check on Levy and the kids then I'll be right back."
Lily waited for her muffled exclamation, he couldn't tell what she actually said with her face shoved into the couch cushion so the response was more to confirm she heard, before proceeding. He enjoyed these events a lot more than she did. In her defense, they aren't the easiest people to get along with. Her family still shuns him despite the fact that he has been married to their daughter for almost eight years but he doesn't mind. He's used to that kind of treatment. She is not. Walking around in her seven inch heels was difficult, but keeping her mouth shut through all the racial slurs and underhanded comments was what truly did her in.
When Lily pushed open the purple painted door to his daughter's room he was met with three sleeping figures on her bed instead of the one he was expecting. Levy's petite form is slumped against the wall, soft snores and a little drool escaping her opened mouth. Sari and little Isaiah are peacefully curled into her sides, the books they had coerced her into reading are strewn out around them with one rather large novel sitting on her lap, still open. The soft light from the bedside lamp bathes the trio in golden shadows as if they never left the magical land Levy had undoubtedly been painting in their imaginations. Lily carefully walks up to the side of the bed and reaches down to run his hands through his son's wild curls. The three year old is drowning in stained cotton or, more specifically, one of Lily's ripped up work shirts. A smile warms his features and fits perfectly into his defined laugh lines. He picks up the small boy and takes him to his own bed before heading back to tuck both Levy and Sari into the six year old's bed. He sends a quick text to Gajeel explaining that Levy won't be home tonight and not to worry before turning off the light.
He makes his way back down the hall, pausing to admire a photo of his wife and kids that was taken over the summer. Isaiah and Sarai are nicely tanned, but Shagotte's fair skin is a deep red. She had a bottle of aloe constantly by her side for weeks after that trip to the beach. It's crazy to think that he's raising a family in the same house where his grandparents raised him. The ominous grandfather clock he used to fear when the sun went down is now a soothing tick tock. A constant reminder of his happy childhood. When he finally returns to the living room his smile fades. His wife is in the same position except that her neat bun has been released and her long, platinum blonde hair is now splayed across her back.
"Hey, darling. Are you sure you're not sick?"
Again, her response is muffled by the pillow.
"Could you repeat that, love?"
Her neck lifts just enough so that she can turn her head to the side and flop back down. The mascara and eyeliner she spent so much time on is now smeared underneath her eyes. She looks kind of like a raccoon... the loveliest raccoon he's ever seen.
"I'm sick of certain things if that's what you mean."
"It's not. Want me rub your feet?"
"...Pretty please."
"I'm sorry if they stink." She mumbles.
"We have two kids together. I don't think you need to warn me about anything stink related anymore…" He gently lifts her legs to make room for his own large form on the couch. Once situated, he lays them across his lap. As his dark hands around her swollen feet a contented hum rumbles from her throat down to her toes, encouraging him to continue, "as long as it's not a diaper."
His teasing pays off when she finally glances back at him, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"No promises. My dream has always been to have a smoking hot husband, a cute garden, and three little ones."
"Three?" His thumb traces the arch of her foot admiringly, imagining the prospect.
"At least."
"Well then, I guess we better get working on that. I want to be a supportive, smoking hot husband after all." His hands move to massage her calves, but her feet push into his abdomen, demanding his attention return to them. His pout is answered by a smirk which still gives him heart palpitations.
"Uh-uh. Paws off the merchandise and get back to work. You have to earn it."
"Alright, Your Highness." He replies with a smirk of his own before doing her bidding. The grandfather clock's ticking and the AC's hum command the atmosphere for some time. He enjoys the sounds nighttime sounds of the house for some time before he begins to question Shagotte and he have shared many comfortable silences together, but they don't often last this long- especially at night. Her favorite time to talk is at night because she thinks it makes people more honest. She's either asleep or upset. Judging by her stiff upper body he's going to guess the latter.
"What is it?"
His question hovers above her, bouncing with every tick of the clock, waiting for her to breathe it in.
She inhales deeply.
"Well, I was just thinking…" She fills the silent, dark room with her exhale. Anxious thoughts that have been kept pent up all night swirling around with it, "Do you mind? Does it get to you when they, you know..."
He pauses to think yet his thumbs continue to rub gentles circle into the pads of her feet.
"Yes and no. I don't want to say that I'm used to it because that's not true. I don't think it's something I will ever truly be okay with; however, I've come to terms with it because I get to come home, kiss our children goodnight, rub your feet, and cuddle all those nasty comments away."
"We've been married for years yet I'm still surprised by how mushy you can be."
"Does that mean I've earned it?" No smirk or mischievous glint this time. His hopeful smile is met by an unimpressed eyebrow raise, "Okay, okay. More foot rubbing and less talking."
"Mmm... I love you."
"I love you too."