Braid My Hair (you × solek)
Story: you fixed his friend's braids and he got jealous —(You two are married)
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That afternoon, one of his fellow warriors came to visit — tall, loud, still smelling faintly of forest sap and sweat. He greeted Solek with a firm clasp of forearms and a teasing grin.
You noticed immediately his braids were uneven, strands tangled near the ends.
“You fought a tree and lost” you teased lightly.
The warrior laughed. “My sister used to fix them. Now she is mated and too busy.”
You tilted your head. “Sit. I will help.”
He blinked, surprised — then grateful. “You would?”
Solek watched silently as his friend sat before you. You worked carefully, fingers separating strands, reweaving them with patient precision.
The warrior sighed softly. “You have gentle hands.”
Solek’s ears flicked slightly at that.
When you finished, the braids were neat and tight, beads aligned properly. The warrior stood, touching them with clear satisfaction.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “You have saved me from mockery.”
You smiled. “Next time, take better care of them.”
He left soon after, still thanking you.
But that night, as you sat inside your hut combing your own hair loose, you felt him enter. The air shifted — heavier, quieter.
He sat down in front of you.
“What?” you asked, amused.
You blinked. “It is already braided. And perfect.”
“It is loose,” he replied.
You studied him. His shoulders were stiff. His ears angled back just slightly.
You leaned slightly to inspect. His braids were, in fact, flawless. Tight. Symmetrical. Warrior-worthy.
You smiled faintly. “It looks fine to me.”
“I want you to braid it.”
You set your comb down slowly and moved closer.
“You were jealous,” you said softly.
Then, lower — almost reluctant.
You began undoing one braid gently. “And?”
You could not stop the small laugh that escaped you. “He is your friend.”
“That does not change that you touched him.”
Your fingers paused for a heartbeat. There it was — not anger. Not control.
You resumed braiding, fingers moving slowly, deliberately.
“I touch you every day,” you said quietly. “Does that not count for something?”
He did not answer immediately.
Your fingers brushed the nape of his neck as you tightened the final weave. His breathing changed slightly.
When you finished, you leaned forward, lips near his ear.
“There,” you whispered. “Only you.”
His hand reached back suddenly, catching your wrist — not harsh, but firm.
“Do not do that again,” he said, voice low.
He turned his head slightly, enough for you to see the intensity in his eyes.
“Make me wonder if I am enough.”
Your expression softened instantly.
You slid your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek between his shoulders.
“You are more than enough,” you murmured.
His hand loosened on your wrist, shifting instead to lace his fingers with yours.
He would never beg for reassurance.
But sometimes, he needed it just the same.
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