[ A/N ]:

heres the new update :D

thats about it.

i think i forgot my writing format again. here, my good friends, is the perfect example of a "quality'" author who never fails to upload "quality" content that "entertains" the readers.

[ ok im done ]

[ thanks for taking the time to read the chapter :D ]

× ×

"Are you hungry?"

You lifted your head off of Sting's shoulder, to which he responded with a short whine, as you gazed into his eyes. You felt slightly stupid for asking the question, since his answer was almost always-

"No."

"Wait—what?" you immediately said in shock, "Are you sick or something? Are you feeling okay? Do I need to get you water?"

He shook his head every time you had bombarded him with questions, shutting you up by wrapping one of his strong arms around you and pulling you towards his body once more. "I'm not hungry, I just want to stay here and cuddle with you."

With your bodies pressed against each other, he rested his head on your shoulder, shutting his eyes before you decided to play with his soft, fluffy blonde hair, that never failed to keep you entertained. When you would accidentally pull on a strand too hard, his face would scrunch up in pain, and you would immediately give him a quick kiss to make his pain go away.

It was a typical lazy afternoon; earlier, Lucy and Wendy had dropped by and paid you a quick visit before they offered to babysit Lance for the rest of the day. Sting agreed in a heartbeat, while it took you a few minutes of contemplating before you finally agreed to Lucy and Wendy's request. The two girls grinned brightly and quickly snatched Lance and took off, leaving you and Sting to your own devices.

You and Sting went back to sleep, taking advantage of the hassle-free, Lance-less morning by sleeping in. The two of you had woken up for real half an hour before noon, so the both of you ate brunch while Sting was wearning nothing more than his boxers, his hair sticking out everywhere.

Afterwards, the two of you began lounging around in the couch, having no energy or motivation to get up and do something productive, like clean the house, or sort through Lance's wardrobe. Sting wanted to cuddle, and he knew full well cuddling would lead to—other things.

"You sure you aren't hungry?" you asked him again, "Because later, I won't have the motivation to drag my ass all the way to the kitchen to get you food."

"Your ass can stay right here—where I can slap it," he said with a sly smirk. One of his hands dared to travel downwards, and you quickly slapped it away.

You shot him a look.

You rolled your eyes before Sting chuckled and suddenly grabbed you. He let you rest on his lap, making it so that you wouldn't get to see what Sting was doing without having to do a three-sixty. Completely trusting that Sting wouldn't squeeze your ass every four seconds, you leaned against his back, enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapped securely around you.

It was the quiet yet intimate moments between you and Sting that you loved so much. The silence that veiled the both of you were more than enough to paint a clear picture of just how much Sting loved you, and just how much you loved him. It was a give and take relationship, and if it was Sting, you were willing to give him anything and everything if it meant his happiness.

And getting to see Sting happy was a true blessing.

Right now, your "blessing" was running his fingers through your [h/c] hair which you braided a few minutes after eating brunch with Sting. He let out a grunt of annoyance before you felt his hands slowly remove your hair tie as he manually undid the braid, allowing your hair to cascade down your back once more, albeit it was slightly curlier than before. Sting gave you your hairtie, and you wrapped it around your wrist so you wouldn't forget about it.

"What was that for?" you questioned, "You ruined the braid I spent like—five minutes on."

"I like it better when you're hair isn't tied up," he admitted, his fingers combing you hair as he spoke, "but—don't get me wrong, I still think you're beautiful either way. A guy just has his..preferences."

"Mhm."

» time skip

In the course of a few hours, you and Sting had kept changing positions, to try and get as comfortable as possible. The heat of late afternoon soon became intolerable, so, you and Sting transferred to the much cooler, much more comfortable bedroom.

Sting was sprawled out on the bed, effectively taking up all of the space as he relished in the coolness of the room. He eventually dragged you to the spot next to him, wrapping his arms around your figure as he rambled on and on about how you were "his, and his alone".

"I love you," he declared over and over again, "God, I love you so much. I forgot what life was without you—no, seriously, I forgot."

You giggled at his attempt to try and be cute ( Sting didn't need to try, he was always adorable ), "Well, you were one of the most self-absorbed pieces o' shit I had ever met. And if you hadn't met me, then I'm pretty sure that, sooner or later, one of your guildmates would have strangled you to death. Even Rogue admitted that he hated you back then, he just never bothered to say it out loud."

"Wow," he breathed, his face holding more disappointment than you had ever seen in all the years you had been together, "way to show you love me, (Y/N)."

"Sorry," you said sheepishly, "but I absolutely detested you when I first saw you, so much so that just the thought of you was enough to get me riled up."

The look on Sting's face was priceless. He looked offended, disappointed and it was as if you were that pesky fly that he couldn't get rid of no matter how hard he tried. You offered him a weak smile and he ignored it, a scowl on his face as he pretended to be mad at you.

How you knew he was merely pretending? Even when Sting was royally pissed off, he still wouldn't shut up. He would just keep talking, even when you weren't paying attention, and when he was mad, the tips of his ears would turn red in the cutest way. When he would finally stop talking, he would cuddle out his anger, and he would just hold you, and you would be quiet, because you wouldn't want him to get mad again.

So you were well aware he was pretending, and he was also making it pretty damn obvious.

"Sting," you called out softly, "I know you aren't mad at me."

He let out another whine, burying his face in your neck, his grip on you tightening as his constant moving ruffled the sheets. Some of the light from outside, which was already beginning to fade, shone on the blonde-haired male, adding to his already breath-taking features. You played with his hair, listening to the sound of his breathing as he gradually drifted off to sleep.

You were never going to get tired of this idiot.