2 : Let's Agree To Disagree

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[ A/N ]:

heres the update y'all have been asking for

be happy

ya bastards

[ didnt intend for that to sound mean much love from me~! ]

i think i forgot my writing format

shit

× ×

Lance childishly stuck his tongue out at his father, who returned the gesture, rolling his eyes afterwards. Lance huffed before he headed towards your body, which was comfortably resting on the sofa, watching the two males yell at each other over the dumbest things.

They were the new Natsu and Gray; except when Sting and Lance would argue, it was more adorable than it was annoying - even if they went at it almost everyday.

This time, you believed this argument was about Nutella. Sting said that when you would make a sandwich, you shouldn't put that much Nutella, and Lance said otherwise, because you never have enough Nutella ( true that ). Then, they began arguing about other things.

It was funny from your standpoint, because the argument would get pretty heated, seeing as both Sting and Lance had short tempers, and their faces when they were mad were both cute and amusing at the same time. Sting also took Lance incredibly seriously, pretending as if he was arguing with a grown man - not a five year old child whose life was incredibly biased.

All in all: it was free entertainment.

Lance scrambled up onto the couch and seated himself on your lap, crossing his arms as he tried his best to send an intimidating glare at his father. You pulled Lance close to you before you ran your fingers through his hair, and you could feel the anger radiating off of him. You could sense the anger radiating from both of them. You wanted to comfort both of them at the same time, since it usually wouldn't take much for them to forgive and forget ( it was another trait they both shared ), but they would probably try to strangle each other next if they were too close.

So, you settled on calming Lance down, since you were pretty sure Sting would just get over it in a matter of seconds, and then proceed to cuddling with you.

"I've had enough of this," Sting suddenly declared, "I'm leaving, you two have fun with your lives. I don't want to talk to somebody who thinks caking a slice of bread with Nutella is 'good for you'."

Please tell me he wasn't serious.

...

He was.

Goddamnit, Sting; whatever the hell happened to being the "mature adult" in times like these?

"Fine!" Lance exclaimed, "I don't care! You're nothing but a meanie! I love mommy more anyway! Unlike you, she doesn't yell at me!"

To prove his sudden claim over you, Lance wrapped his tiny arms around your stomach and rested his head against it, sticking his tongue out at his father once again. Sting's face was expressionless as he stared at his own son; you suddenly wondered as to what kind of thoughts he was entertaining.

"Excuse me?" he suddenly voiced out, "I am your father."

Lance ignored his previous statement and, instead, proceeded to say: "Whatever! Mommy's mine now! You're not allowed to talk to her, because she's mine!"

Sting's lips formed a straight line as he walked towards the couch, plopping down next to you and grabbing your wrist, his eyebrows furrowed together in anger as he tried to pry Lance off of you. Lance smacked Sting's hand away, glaring at him again.

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