Clover's known from the moment he walked in. He knows he wants peace. He knows he wants to mend. He knows he wants a permanency that he chose, not a permanency that he was stuck with after the dust finally settled. He knows what he wants, knows it like he knows what it means to live and what it means to die - to almost die. He also knows that he wants roses.

Five times Clover reaches for Qrow's hand, and the one time Qrow reaches for his.

The problem doesn't start when Qrow moves to a new city. It doesn't start with the moving boxes left untouched or the flask left abandoned in his dresser or the neighbor down the hall who smiles at him every other morning. It starts once there's footsteps down an empty hallway, one by one until It comes knocking at his door.

"Wishes aren't free," the witch hums, the lilt of her words light like the toll of a bell, the tinker of windchimes. "I require compensation, and your singing voice will do just fine." The wolf thinks about the prince and the way their fingers might interlock through the bars of his jail cell, and with a deep breath, he answers, "Okay." / a fair game Liar Princess & Blind Prince AU

Five times Hange says "see you later," and the one time Levi says it back.

Once upon a time, they were thought to be inseparable. But now, with a decade under their belt and the bonds that were once there now torn at the seams, it occurs to Qrow that not all good things were made to last.

"You're going to get me in trouble one of these days," Clover says, but that doesn't stop him from weaving his fingers through Qrow's hair and tugging him closer. The fluidity in which Qrow settles between his outstretched thighs is mesmerizing, enough promise in his grin to be lethal. "So keep quiet," Qrow tells him.

From the very start, Qrow is an enigma. He always has a way of looking infallible, and Taiyang wonders what it is he hides behind that mask, wonders how raw the skin underneath might be.

The world was dragged to a deafening stop, but right now, it is spinning again, with Taiyang as its axis. Dawn is still far away; it is a respite, a lull between battles, the calm before the storm. They want forever, as unrealistic as that is - they want it badly, frantically, but they settle for tonight instead. For tonight, and then the next, until Qrow can't stay any longer.

"Maybe one day, you can settle with us," Taiyang tells him, early one morning when Qrow finally stops by. "Maybe," Qrow says. He has this look on his face for a moment - helpless like he wants to say something, raw like a confession of his own is on the verge of spilling forth. Something in his neck twinges, and he repeats like a wish, a prayer, "Maybe."

Quickly, Qrow realizes how perfectly strawflowers compliment Taiyang. They're strong. Persistent. Beautiful. It is as if this lone flower was made specifically for him, created only for him to embody, crafted only for him to coexist with. Each petal shines a lovely shade of gold, and it's fitting, Qrow thinks.

Qrow can see the red strings of fate. He wishes he couldn't.

There is something so unexpectedly gratifying about being addressed as a professor after all these years.

Clover doesn't keep track of how far they go. The moon ignites the never-ending stretch of water, its reflection rippling with the languid sway of the ocean. There's only Qrow now, staring at him like he's the call that brings the tide rushing home, like he's the star that burns the brightest in the sky.

Clover is patient and steadfast, confident and careful - he is dignified, and in James' opinion, there is nothing more gratifying than watching a normally dignified man fall apart.

Clover just needs to let go once in a while.

There's a strained stillness about Clover; his lips press to a thin line for a moment, and something twinges in his jaw, and carefully, he says, "I don't think your husband would appreciate all the flirting that's been going on." Qrow blinks once. Twice. "My what?"

Blake's simper is the thing that hides itself deep within the surrounding caves, the flash of her fangs the terror that resides in the dark underbelly of the approaching trench. Her touch sparks a rush under Yang's skin like that of a tidal wave, searing through every vein, jumping wildly between the bones of her wrists.

"You wouldn't have been caught alone so easily if it wasn't what you wanted." Eren feels the corners of his mouth tug fleetingly upwards.

Ruby likes Clover a lot. Qrow finds it increasingly difficult to not like him just as much. (Or maybe a little more.)

Something innate keeps him there, knelt and obedient. Something tells him that he belongs there. That he was made to obey just as he was made to kill. It's all he knows. It's all he is.

"There's better uses for your tongue," Genichiro told him. Weakly, Wolf glanced back upwards. His face was flushed, his breaths soft and tremulous, his own cock hard and straining against his hakama. "Teeth aren't a necessity."

Qrow tries not to take it personally.

Genichiro knows their arrangement isn't healthy, but he can't help himself.

No matter how hard Genichiro tries, he always plays into Wolf's hands.

Kuro knows better than to ask Wolf to rest. Instead, he asks Wolf to keep him company.

The Hunter loves how small the Admiral makes him feel.

According to local legend, there's some sort of creature that lurks in the forest at night. Some folks say it's to keep the children out of harm's way; others say it's a creature whose sole purpose is to protect the forest. Eren discovers that this so-called legend couldn't care less about either.

Shane's first step to healing is forgiveness.

Shane tries, but sometimes, it isn't enough. Sometimes, he needs a little bit of help, and that's okay.

Sebastian really hoped that Sam felt the same when he was sober.

Shouto's become increasingly attached to his phone, and occasionally, he's got this goofy smile on his face when he thinks no one's paying attention. He's changing in more ways than one and Enji doesn't understand any of it.

"You're flirting with me, aren't you?" Eren would deny it, but the cigarettes, burn marks, and alcohol said it all.

It's hard for Abigail to keep things from getting too complicated when all she wants to do is hold the farmer's hand.

The Hunter's eyes never left Maria's, not even as she clasped her hand around the slick, fluttering delicacy within. Her breath ghosted over the Hunter's lips, "Do you still dream, good Hunter?"

Just one more time, the Hunter would always tell himself, because there was no such thing as a fruitless hunt. One more time, regardless of what they do to him.

Alfred knew what beasthood entailed. The allure of blood, the beginnings of sunken pupils - it was only a matter of time before he started to give in.

The Hunter never truly believed that she was nothing more than a plain doll, just as she never truly believed that the Hunter was a mere beast like the rest.