The entirety is dedicated solely to Baby Chiba, who I swear is a beast at sexy writing. Sorry for the blankness I produced in the FFVIII fandom, but I hope these little minis will somehow bring a small smile to your face!


"That had better be a gunblade in your pocket, Seifer."


Somehow, Seifer had noticed that his full attention on the ceiling changed at the sound of an angry pistol clicking—Soon, without squinting his bloody, damn eyes, he realized that all he could ever see was that aura of promising fatality directed at the perverted swine of a politician, see the black combat boots, up, up, up, ammo-laden crimson belts; the sight of Squall jamming the weapon into the jugular area of the bastard made the ache in his bound wrists boil in delicious excitement.

And the latter speaking with that silver storm of a tongue…

"Just who the hell do you think you're messing with?"

He made sure he'd record this situation into his naughty book later.


"Someday, Mr. Squallaby, it'll just be me and you, babe: under the sky, under the stars…"

An incredulous snort. "I already know you're proposing the 'under the sheets'."

Time Compression

Why are you leaving me my name is what the radio tower poor disgusting boy I'm not she's turned you into her lapdog hunt every one of your kind stop it are you going to keep walking stop it destiny's for the weak stop it stop it don't stop it stop it feed me lies stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it Squall stop it stop it stop it Squall Squall Squall stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it Squall damn it stop it don't stop it stop it stop let go stop it stop it stop it stop it


"Hey, is my gunblade longer than yours?"

"…I know mine is thicker."


"I'm not suffering from insanity, damn it! I'm enjoying every shittin' second of it!"


A massage to the throbbing temple. "This is why you can't have children."


Body turned in victorious grace, the cross-slashing of the tempestuous gunblade. "I don't have time for the weak."

Wipe his cut lip, the sweat on his brow, plaster the smirk on his face. "Then you must have all the time for me, then."


Without a doubt, Seifer had invariably—and very proudly—considered himself to be the stereotypical cynical lover, albeit his way of loving was distortedly out of the conventional—cross out the oxymoron, and add in his sexy style of strutting, and he was good to go with all of his reasons and values.

But with Squall…

He realized that he didn't know why the hell his new best friend was the couch in the living room.


"Squall… how the fuck is my sexy face in your deck?"


"Squall, you have to get up and at least eat something!"


"Yo, Squall. What? What? Hey, man! C'mon! Look: You want me to sneak in a hot dog or—alright, I get it! Geez…"


"Don't mind this cowboy disrespectin' you: just came to keep my darling Missy appeased."


"Squall." A quick push of austere reading frames. "It would be of best decision to get some movement."


"Woof, woof!"


"Squall, get up, please! Please, please, please! Another tour of Garden?"


"Whazam, commandy-wandy! Why don't you come and paaarrrtaaayyy with me?!"





Movement: sheets rustling, a hoarse cough, a tightening grip on his aching hand. "…augh….Squall?"

"You fucking idiot!"

Silence from the rest.


"Come, let this Sir Knight whisk you away into—"

"Get that paperwork done—now."

One More

There was no telling how long he'd last at this rate.

Rental cars…hotels are about 100 gil a night…add in the food and the other necessities…and the underground transits…


Damn…we've been running for two months, and the gil's getting depleted…And I sure as hell don't know how much more shit Galbadia's gonna rub in to have my head on a platter…


And I'm taking the damn commander of Balamb Garden with me! How the hell did this even happe—


A look into that promising face, his very face that had a cool hand pressed into his cheek, to see that reaffirmation of belief that they'd damn create a life of their own…no knights nor castles nor dragons nor sorceresses nor any other principalities…

"It doesn't matter to me."

And then he believes so…

But he wished that reality's advocate was at least intimidated.


Squall never realized how much the earth was really rotting.

Until now.


No matter how much he wanted to punch that sad look off the other's face, he couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off the dim orbs that couldn't hold in that refracting glare. Where the hell did that damn arrogance go? What they had to go through…fighting against the viral demons with buggy little eyes…Garden crumbling a second time…

The fight…

Where the hell did that all add up to?

Oh. The earth was rotting.

"I'm sorry," he says, Hyperion lowered to the side in dismal agony. "I—"

He does not move; he does not know how to fucking breathe that instant.

"Babe…you know how it is…" Seifer's brazen chuckles that used to reverberate through his chest in pleasant echoes now sounded staler than the remnants of the tinged corpses littering the roads they tread. "I can't go any further than this."


"I'm sorry, Squ—"

The earth was rotting, the earth was rotting, the earth was damn rotting.


"Shut up," he curtly replies, digging his face in the collar of the latter's worn trench coat while sliding his arm around a bent waist; damn that Seifer for being so heavy. Normally, he would've taken that surprised expression for a count in his book, but this connection, this very thing that held both of them sane, was the only thing they had left—together. So whether they were caught in the end or spent the rest of their lives living as rotting vagabonds…

"You're too heavy."

What difference would anything in between create?

"….y-you know how I do."

Love Letter

Send to:


Subject: Seifer

Attachments: , , , , , ,

Waiting:to hold off in expectance of a prior engagement, to stay with anticipation, to remain with the knowledge of an upcoming event

For: towards, in a giving sense; syn. because; to (connotation)

You: one directly refers to the other; casual term

I'll come and pick you up at Tears' Point with Zell and Quistis after your project.

Laugh at my email, and you'll be on the couch.


P.S. Did you get properly treated for the swine flu?