Thank you guys so, so much for your reviews! You really cheer me up when I need it the most.

Miss Panda, since I cannot reply to you directly, thank you so much for such a wonderful and long review! Unfortunately, I haven't come any farther than looking up the name of the series you suggested - I'm drowning in work ':D :(

In any case, here's a long chapter - happy Sinterklaas!

Get ready for some perfect harmony...

"I will colour my hair!" Erza's yell bordered a shriek. Jellal halted in his tracks. Turning, he frowned at how she clutched the door frame.

"You…?" he tried in vain to make sense of the new height her outburst was reaching.

"I will colour my hair," Erza panted, "a different colour than red." Her chest was heaving, eyes piercing his almost menacingly. Insanely for sure.

It took him another moment to form words.

"… that's… kind of the point of colourin—"

"If you leave this house—" Erza shouted, interrupting herself. Her gaze flashed from his feet to the threshold beneath her own. She inhaled deeply, her voice booming with the same intensity as before; as if she had not just tried to make sense out of her own argument. "If you leave the two-metre radius of this house, I will colour. My. Hair." She stared him down, breathless. "Permanently."

"Are you threatening me?" Jellal's brows creased further. Mood swings were one thing – if an extreme one, given that she was usually just as weirdly vagarious – but this…

"Jellal," Erza said, quite threateningly. Letting go where she had already scratched the wood of the front door's frame, she pointed at him with one finger. It was shaking.

"I—"

"If you dare leave me now," she growled, having to catch her breath. She did not finish. Perhaps she did not do so purpose, he feared, intentionally leaving him to wonder what unspeakable things she could do to him.

He sighed. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jellal gathered up every ounce of will he had in order to stay put. Not that a distance of mere two metres were going to save him should swords start flying, but he was trying to make a stand.

"Erza, I'm only leaving to get brown sugar," he explained for what felt like the hundredth time that day. "The brown sugar you've been asking me for since yesterday."

"I told you not to leave me!" She screeched. He cringed, praying that the streets were as empty as they sounded – and that it was not quiet because of her.

"It'll only take a few minutes; look, the shop is right—"

"I will colour—"

"I'm still not sure I get the point of that," he let out another sigh, this time sharper. He had to remain calm for both of their sakes. His hands itched to rub his temples, the headache that had been knocking against the inside of his skull worsening.

"I know what you're thinking," Erza snarled. He frowned again. She was narrowing her eyes at him, a low growl building up in her throat when he approached her.

"No, you don't," Jellal said as composed as possible. He took her by her arms, having to tighten his grasp when she struggled to back away. She hissed at him like a cat, trying to get him off. He made sure not to let her. "Erza, we've been arguing about this since eleven. It's three o'clock now," he reminded. She only glared at him, and for a second, he thought to see honest hurt glinting from behind the obvious anger.

He let go then, taking a step back. It might have been three o'clock, but her attire was not too much in favour of going outside. All he wanted was to get shopping and come back – and for her to stay warm and safe.

Still overchallenged with her own hormones – at least so he hoped – Erza opened her mouth for another severe warning, but he placed his finger over her lips. She bit it. Crying out in surprise, Jellal winced back. He blinked at her in slight shock, seeing that same set of emotion play over her features.

Just before it transformed into rage again.

"That's it! That's the last straw!" She yelled. The door flew shut with a loud bang, the walls rattling. He stood there for another heartbeat, staring at the door.

"… it didn't do anything though," he muttered, inspecting his finger. Letting out another sigh, Jellal turned to go. The shop was just a street down. If they did not have brown sugar, he was doomed. Maybe a fresh bread roll from the bakery would cheer her up, he mused, just when it hit him. The bank. It was right next to the shops. A little surprise was guaranteed to cheer her up.

"Young man," Jellal was once again halted. This time by a strange voice. Looking up – up the stairs to the neighbouring house, that was – he was met with a wrinkly face. Small, dark eyes twinkled at him from behind a pair of round spectacles. The old man waved his arm invitingly. "Over here," he retreated back into his house, beckoning Jellal to follow up the few steps to the front door.

Puzzled, crestfallen and at the same time harried, Jellal felt his feet move of their own accord. He stole a glance to the side, but the door to his own house was still closed.

"I have some brown sugar, you can borrow it," the old man said as he led the way inside. Not having focused on anything but the storm in his mind, Jellal then realised where he was. The abundance of carpets gave it away.

He noticed too late that the old man had already left for the kitchen. Remembering the nacre lamp and the nail in the wall, Jellal found his way into the dining room. Clinking was heard from the side, so he followed into what was in fact the kitchen.

Instead of being plastered with rugs, it had colourful tiles all around, going up half the walls and covering the floor. A dark green shimmered from below his shoes, and when regarding the smaller tiles on the walls, Jellal spotted delicate mosaic to have been worked into them, each square showing a different kind of flower.

Rustling brought him back to the present. The old man had fetched a bag of brown sugar from a cupboard, now spooning more and more into an embossed tin box.

"Oh, that's very kind of you, but I wouldn't want to—"

"I insist, come, come," the old man started waving again, bobbing his head alongside it. He had to rectify his glassed on his nose, smiling up at Jellal almost cutely. The thickness of the lenses made Jellal thank his lucky stars that his own eyes were at least not that bad.

Somehow, a minute later, he found himself sitting at the old cherrywood dining table. A porcelain cup was shoved up to him, adorned with more flowers while the saucer had ivy leaves painted on it. The old man shuffled around in the same way his wife did, pouring them tea.

Jellal noticed how there was a standard lamp close to him now. He wanted to offer to fix their cable; to help them use their ceiling light again. Ultimately, he decided against it. He did not want to feel any more awkward that he already did, thinking he might have come across as intrusive.

"Pregnant, huh?" The old man broke the silence, having sat down. Jellal's head snapped up, mind focusing again. He gulped.

"Is it that obvious?" He grimaced. So much for people not noticing the fight. At least this was their next door neighbour, he tried to soothe himself.

It brought back the outside wall he had made someone crash into. The trip to the bank might have to be postponed – or perhaps undergo a change of aim.

"She sounded like it – my wife was a behemoth when carrying our son," the old man admitted. Jellal had to smile to himself when his host erupted with laughter. It was not the Ambrose category of 'hoho's; rather a grunting, snorting laughter.

"I can hardly imagine with her," he honestly said, if still uneasy. He had met her before as the sweetest of old women, but telling that to her husband seemed odd.

"She once stomped a bug and then cried over it for another day," the old man laughed again. "And she kicked me out of the house whenever I snored – well, out of our small flat, that is," he chuckled fondly at the memory. As if the building was the problem, Jellal thought to himself. A quirky geezer, his neighbour was, but in a lovable way.

"Even in winter?" he asked, trying to be polite. Not doing as Erza was expecting of him did not aid him in the least when it came to being comfortable.

"Especially in winter," the old man laughed. "Not that it was ever cold enough to break the habit." When he laughed this time, Jellal thought to hear more of a snore than a snort. "You shouldn't worry too much about it. I still snore like a tractor and we've been married almost fifty years," he said. It made Jellal's eyes bulge slightly, eyes drawn to the ring on the wrinkly hand.

Glancing down at his own, he noticed to have been playing with it. Fifty years…

"But didn't you feel bad whenever she got angry at you?" He asked, not knowing why. It just bubbled out of him, just like Erza's late-night confessions of having sneaked food into bed. Again. Only when caught, of course.

"Has she been angry at you before becoming pregnant?" The old man raised a brow. In contrary to most other people, the gesture seemed almost placating on him.

"Constantly," Jellal managed a sheepish grin.

"For what, if I may ask?" He took a sip from his cup. Jellal mirrored him.

"For…" he played for time, astonished by himself when – once again – he actually told the truth, "…beating myself up," his shoulders slumped slightly. "For lying about my wellbeing – and everything else, for that matter," he muttered. "For being reckless or overworking myself, being hard on myself," he went on, fading out. Throughout it all, he could feel a gentle smile directed at him. He shunned it as if meeting benevolent eyes would turn him to stone.

"Perhaps she is onto something there," the old man slowly said. Jellal dared glance up when dark eyes wandered to study the leaves in the teacup. "A snore is one thing, but harmful thoughts—"

"Oh, yeah, no, she's right," Jellal nodded hastily. "I'm not disagreeing with her there – mostly," he added under his breath. "And I'm working on it," he quickly said. That friendly smile returned, easing him little by little.

"Good," the old man beamed. "You know, my wife told me what a kind young man you are; I think this is yours, hm?" He reached across the table, finding a small sachet bound with threat. Pulling on the silken ribbon, he let a small item drop onto the table with a soft thud.

"The lustre terminal," Jellal recognised. He had to marvel at the neat way of storing it, everything inside the house seeming like a treasure. "I left it here for you – well, for the electrician," he emphasised. "Otherwise I'd be glad to do it, too," he offered. The man smiled again, then rose from his seat.

"How about," he dragged himself into the kitchen with swishing steps, "we make it an exchange," he picked up the tin box of brow sugar. "And should we not reach an electrician any time soon, we'll come up with something else to pay for your efforts," he bargained. Reluctant to accept, yet keen to return home, Jellal received the tin box.

"Thank you."

"Oh, and this here," the old man opened another cupboard, clinking sounding when he rummaged through. "My wife told me to give you this," he said. With from age shaky fingers, he held up a glass. A simple, slim glass, but with an engraving on the side. A pacifier. The image alone made Jellal's stomach go in loops.

They had not bought a single item of furniture for the baby, his brain suddenly shouted at him. Neither any accessories apart from that romper Erza had gotten ages ago.

"A good luck charm – she used to have a mug that she drank nothing but carrot juice from while pregnant and she still claims it's the reason our son never needed glasses," he laughed again, adjusting his spectacles. The idea did seem appealing, Jellal inwardly admitted.

Leaving with the tin box and glass – all wrapped into ancient newspaper and placed in a self-made felt bag – Jellal thanked his neighbour again on his way out. His voice must have been audible, because he had not yet inserted the key into the lock, when the front door to their own house flew open.

"Jellal!" Erza rushed him in a hug, throwing her arms around his neck until her feet lifted off the ground. His shoulders fell. Gently, he returned the embrace, relief washing over him. "I'm sorry—I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you; I thought you'd never come back, I'm sorry, I—"

"Hey, hey," Jellal set her down but she squished herself into him. Fearing a breakup and then not letting go regardless – being Erza in all her glory. "I'd never leave you, and you know that," he murmured above her ear. Releasing her – still holding the bag he had been gifted – Jellal reached out to stroke her hair.

Her hand flashed up, grasping his. The other joined, wrapping around it to make sure he would not leave. He waited while she clutched his hand, using the time to carefully shove them inside and close the door behind him. When finally able to move his hand – however still trapped – and lift her chin, he was shocked to see red streaks down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Erza repeated. Her lips shoved out into a pout, making him smile. He leaned down to kiss below her eyes, luring out a relieved sigh. "I know my hormones are making me go crazy, but I should've known better," she squeezed his hand. At the same time, she squeezed her eyes shut, her voice losing its wobbliness the more he plastered her face with reassuring kisses. "I'll never let it go of the rails like that again," she promised.

Slipping out of his shoes, Jellal wound his hand out of hers. In the same motion, he wrapped his arm around her. She fell quiet, waiting while he guided them into the kitchen. There, he set down the bag, then turned to face her again.

"Erza," he snuck his arms around her thighs. She gasped when he lifted her up, making it impossible not to meet his eyes with her face hovering mere millimetres above his. Her hair veiled them into an almost comforting half dark. "You know I would never leave you, not for any mood swing or bad day or hair colour in the world," he said. She blushed when he brought up the argument, but said nothing. "Whether you're angry, happy or confused, disappointed or sad, I love you just as much.

"I love you no matter if you're laughing or crying or shouting or snoring," he insisted. "Or snacking," he smirked, and she tightened her quivering lips as not to giggle. "I always love you as immeasurably as I do right now, and the only thing happening to my love for you is that it grows with every day," he proclaimed.

"That's a lot of love," Erza whispered. Then she sniffled, making his heart throb gladly.

"And it's burning like a wildfire," he grinned. This time, she giggled. She had to blink tears out of her eyes. "No matter what you do," he squeezed her once, despite the big belly and chest close to suffocating him.

"Even when I don't say anything?" Erza piped up almost humbly. She put a strand of hair behind her ear, letting light into their tiny chamber of nothing but them.

"Even when you say nothing at all," he confirmed. Her smile grew, no fresh tears tumbling onto his face anymore. "Then I adore your silence, waiting in eager anticipation to hear your voice again," he went on. Her smile softened alongside her eyes. They looked so soft, the sniffle she could not suppress did not fit anymore.

Jellal's eyes fell closed when her lips met his. Mellowly at first, then deeply with a hunger to return just how valued he had made her feel. He returned it with just as much vigour.

They parted with a light smack. Big eyes plunged into his, affection glowing in them. Jellal felt his heart warm with content.

"Now," he rucked her up carefully, "I have obtained brown sugar," he announced.

"Obtained," she repeated, giggling. He beamed at the sound of it. She noticed, a self-consciously shy smile playing on her lips. Nodding firmly, as if seriously having succeeded at a quest for sugar – a quest that had only just begun – Jellal made her giggle again.

"Would you still be interest in that crème brûlée?" He set her down, arms remaining on her waist.

"I'm interested in you," she smiled, still too tenderly to be meaning her words in a seductive way.

"That's good to hear," he grinned as if it were much of a relief. Her smile broadened. "And how's that interest in me inside the bathtub?" He chanced. Her eyes lit up, another giggle escaping her. "With lots of bubblies," he grinned boyishly, attacking her neck with playful nibbles.

"How could I say no to that?" She smiled. He met her lips again, feeling her hum vibrate against him. "What's this?" Erza tilted her head at the felt bag on the counter. Her fingers kept curling around his biceps, he noted, so he left one hand on the small of her back.

"Oh, right," he reached in. She eyed the newspaper, her grip tightening ever so slightly with excitement when he gingerly unwrapped the glass inside. "I brought a new glass," he said, "now we can replace the broken one you keep using." For some reason, she only ever used that one glass she had accidentally once chipped in the sink. An unnecessary risk, as he found.

Not remembering how his first confession had made her drop it, thus being precious to her.

"I don't want a new glass," Erza sternly said. Puzzled by her serious frown, Jellal tried to redirect her attention towards the new item. She had not even seen the engraving yet.

"But this one is intact," he began, but she cut him off.

"So is this one," she tapped the overhead cupboard decidedly. No matter how many times they clashed over irrelevant things – sometimes several times a day – he was as aware as ever. Being torn between deescalating the situation and standing his ground, Jellal suppressed a sigh. She always became even more upset in hindsight when he had let her trample his opinion.

"It's chipped, we can just replace it—"

"I don't want it replaced," Erza raised her voice. "Stop throwing everything away all the time," she fumed. He bit his lip. She was going to kill him for this.

"Aren't you exaggerating a little…?" He cautiously suggested. The pinch on his arm confirmed his foreknowledge. At least she had not let go, he wanted to cheer himself up, even though staying close was by far more dangerous than being left in the rain.

"You always throw my things away."

"I didn't—"

"You threw away my compass!"

"And replaced it with a new one," he poorly attempted.

"And it's so much better even!"

"No, it—wait, what? I mean, right," he nodded, baffled by the sharp bends her mood took. They stared at one another for a minute to pass. He used that time to grasp how she had just ended their fight without planning to do so. She seemed to be in a similar state of mind. At the same time, she was comprehending how she had behaved, a light shade of pink tinging her cheeks.

"Bath?" Jellal asked after a long while. Erza hummed her agreement. Firmly keeping hold of her, Jellal walked them down the hall to the bathroom. He had yet to take off his coat. "I'll tell you about the story behind the pacifier engraving," he said. She stopped at that. He almost had to laugh when she dashed back into the kitchen to marvel at the previously overlooked handiwork.

He hung his coat over the towel rail, then turned on the water before shedding his clothes. Erza returned in a flurry, docking onto him with a tight hug from behind. He had to smile.

"I don't snore," she said, muffled into his back. This time, he laughed. Lifting his arm to have her head pass through, he turned in order to hug her properly.

"Hmm, you do," he cannily negated. "In the cutest of ways, of course," he added to avoid certain death. "Like a piglet," he whispered above her head. He winced, a short exclamation escaping him when she avenged his joke him with a pinch to where the back pockets of his trousers were. At least where they would have been, had he still been wearing them.

"Then maybe you'll also tell me what this is all about?" Erza raised a brow. Reaching behind him, he heard her search through the mirror cupboard. The tube rattled with the tablets inside, her smirk growing. "Denture cleanser? I thought you didn't go to the doctors," she said. "And that those are your real teeth…"

"I don't, and they are," he grinned. She scrutinised him as if not quite believing it yet. "It's for cleaning the toilet; our neighbour gave me the hint."

"Neighbour?" She blinked in surprise. Trailing down her arms, he led her hands to more appropriate places. It felt strange to have them there while describing such nice old people. Turning off the water, Jellal invited his beloved to sit in front of him in the tub. She happily accepted, listening with interest while he retold his encounters.

"Jellal?" He heard Erza climb the ladder to the attic. He sat up where he had been propping his forehead up on his hand, fingers having raked through his hair. It was already dark outside. He must have lost track of time again, working into the night.

"Are you going to bed, love?" He greeted her with a smile. Her eyes were wide awake, which he had not anticipated.

"I was," she crossed over to him, "but then I found this!" She produced a pair of socks. "What did you do to them? They were so worn out and stretched and now they're as if exchanged – how did you do it?" She nearly burst. He frowned past the wool she wiggled into his face.

"I washed them," he simply replied. The socks sank alongside her arms.

"…oh," Erza managed after another moment of silence.

"Erza," he rose from his chair, "I know I have no idea how to handle all this, and I'm as lost as you are, but talk to me," he put his hands on her shoulders. "Hormones are one thing but being taken aback at the washed state of socks is not something you'd be if you weren't under a lot of stress."

"Sorry…" she lowered her head.

"There's nothing to apologise for, just… Let's be stressed together," he gave her a squeeze to make her meet his eyes. "You know what they say: shared fun is double the fun, and shared grief is half the grief – or something like that,"

"Who says that?" She glanced up. He pursed his lips, glad that it triggered a spark of amusement in her eyes.

"Uh… 'they'?" He offered a grin. "Why don't we do something relaxing for once?"

"Like a bath?" She jested.

"I think I've had my fill of baths for this week," he said, remembering the almost daily routine of soaking for hours. "Didn't you want to go to bed?"

"Only if you're coming," Erza crossed her arms. Again, he grimaced. "I know you're 'not done' yet, but you never are lately," she complained. She threw a glance at his desk. The wooden surface had vanished long ago under piles of documents, folders and more documents. "And I also know that it's not your job to organise border patrols," she challenged.

"It's not, but think about it," he went back to grab a map, holding it up for demonstration. "If we enforce frontier protection at the main trade routes, and then station men here, here and here," he pointed along the line that separated Fiore from Bosco, "the only way in would be across the mountains – and that is either too troublesome or endangers the wares," he expounded. "And then there's the—"

"Detection lacrimas for invisibility spells, I know, and it's brilliant, but I still don't see how it's your task to come up with all this," Erza only tightened her arms.

"It isn't," he admitted, "but," he drawled, setting the map down to swoop her into his arms, "if this succeeds, there will be less crime inside our borders, and with less crime inside our borders, there won't be as many cases to take care of – hence—"

"More time off work,"

"And more time for you," he kissed her temple, "and you," he bent down, pecking her belly. The baby kicked his chin in response, making Erza laugh almost dirtily. "Alright, fine, then I'll spend it with your mommy," he shrugged, triggering more chuckling.

"I like the sound of that," Erza leaned into his embrace. "But we're still going to bed now."

"Right after we found you some nice, relaxing conclusion of the evening," he reminded with pretended strictness. She grumbled something unintelligible. "A massage?"

"You did that this morning."

"Dessert?" He ventured.

"I just finished the leftovers of today's casserole," she conceded.

"All of it?" Jellal's eyes widened. How did she even fit all of that…?

"You could tell me a story," her eyes sparkled up at him. He wavered his head, making her pout.

"I don't think I have any up my sleeve now. But I could read to you until you fall asleep."

"Just no more descriptions of labour," she shuddered, and he had to agree wholeheartedly. It was not something for cooling down or being lulled into sleep with anyway.

"Anything you want," he planted a kiss to her hair. The smirk that grew slowly, mischievously at his words went unnoticed.

"Anything, you say…?"

"She was so hot, it was breath-taking," Jellal sighed swooningly. "Lush curves, a sultry gaze and voluptuously bouncing…" his blush deepened. He blinked twice, his brows twitching while he frowned most awkwardly. "I can't read this!" He exclaimed.

Erza was rolling by now, hollering out laughter, nearly toppling down the bed. She was holding her stomach which vibrated violently against her arms. Despite his embarrassment, Jellal had to smile at her reaction. He could not believe that he had agreed to read her novels to her. He could not believe that she read them.

Erza wheezed, sweat pooling on her forehead and nape, eyes closed. He turned a few pages, frowning bashfully at what his eyes scanned. He cleared his throat.

"'Don't hold back,', she said, lecherously licking her lips as her ocean blue eyes caught his obsidian-anthracited eyes – that's not a word," he criticised.

The croaking high and at the same time lowly seductive tone he attempted was giving Erza another fit. She had barely pulled herself together from the last passage, bursting out again with laughter.

"She ran her fingers along the straps of the leather harness, down to his…" Jellal had to frown even more, shaking his head to himself. He skipped a word. "And his pants tightened around his… crotch where her hand— where do you even find these?! Who writes them?" Jellal exclaimed instead of continuing. Turning the book over, he threw judging and embarrassed looks at the cover, only to find an author's name he did not know. Erza was slapping his knee in uncontrolled laughter, fading out into a squeal.

"Do…" she panted, laughing again, "do the dialogue," she managed with a shaky voice, wiping tears from her overflowing left eye. He swallowed, then skimmed ahead, inhaling and clearing his throat again. The things he did for this woman.

"'I can't wait for you any longer,'" he cawed as high as he could while furrowing his brows to focus on staying in character. "'But it was worth it,'" Jellal overdramatically rasped in his lowest, still feminine voice, "'you're so big and—' nope," he skipped to the next paragraph. Erza cackled incontinently, already sounding as if she was starting to choke.

"'Kiss me,'" he pushed out his lips to make his voice exaggeratedly low-pitched and somehow as unattractive as it could get. He glanced at Erza's quivering form, nothing but suffocating squeaks and gasps for air left. Her face was even redder than his, seemingly exploding from the lack of oxygen any second. Even the flailing of her arms had died down, everything cramped and spastic and going completely haywire.

Putting down the book he inwardly swore to never pick up again, Jellal left it on the nightstand alongside his glasses. He crawled onto his front towards her.

"Are you quite alright?" He asked. Tilting his head, he was a tad unsure whether to be amused or concerned. Erza panted heftily. More giggles rippled through her from every once in a while, but she was slowly calming down. Weakly, her hand tried to get a grip on his shirt, missing the first and second time, finally grasping the fabric at the front. It took a moment until she was ready to open her eyes, then another for her to speak.

"I…" she pressed, still out of breath, "kiss me," she imitated his disaster of voice acting, convulsing in fresh laughter. He rolled his eyes, a sheepish grin stretching across his lips. "Sorry," Erza said, then turned her head away as not to spit into face with another fit.

"Now it's stuck in my head!" Jellal complained, poking her side. It only triggered more guffaws and gasps.

"Sto-ho-hop!" She protested, helplessly wiggling with her arms and legs. Jellal's smile broadened. He rammed his elbow into the mattress on her opposite side, pinning her torso down beneath his. She shrieked delightedly, at the same time complaining and threatening as if her life depended on it.

The front door opened and closed. Jellal lifted his head, looking through the open bedroom door and straight at his guildmate.

"Hi, Meredy," he nonchalantly said.

"Hey," she greeted back. Her eyes flashed from him to a wheezing and struggling Erza. Erza tilted her head back to greet as well, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling with the blithest exhaustion as well as tears from laughter. Meredy returned the hello, seemingly unable to tear herself away from the sight for a moment.

Then she smiled devilishly.

"Anyway, I'm just dropping these off," she informed. A package of letters – Erza's letters that were sometimes still sent to Fairy Hills on accident – slid from her hand onto the floor. She turned to leave, then threw a single glance over her shoulder before disappearing again. "You do know that Jellal's ticklish too, right?" She winked.

His eyes all but popped. The door fell shut. Silence hung over their heads like a dangerously thinning cloud. He gulped hard. Reluctantly, and not without reassuring himself that his weight on her still captured her arms, Jellal let his eyes travel down. They met diabolically shining ones.

"No," he carefully began, "Erza, no," he said as if demanding a stolen shoe from a dog. "No," he repeated, tensing up at her steadily growing smirk. "H-how about a story instead?" He nervously tried. Her smirk only widened. She shook her head ever so slowly, eyes never ceasing to penetrate his. "Or a snack," Jellal bit his lip to supress a stutter.

Ice-cold sweat dripped down his nape when he realized. His pupils shrunk, his heart stopping for a second, then racing, eyes growing. Her hands were already on his ribs. The tips of her fingers had brushed his shirt, gradually, agonisingly applying pressure to let him know to have won. He could not swallow anymore, his mouth dried out.

He would kill Meredy for this.