one-shots

Imagine 35

You are training with your enemy in the training room. Sweat dripping down your forehead and theirs. You guys have been training for hours now and you can feel your muscles giving up. You swing your sword down, just wanting to end the training and get some rest. They block it so you tackle them on the ground. You frown when they land on the training mat without protest. You put one knee on their chest, the other one next to their body and quickly grab your dagger resting it against their neck. You are breathing heavily and you frown once again when you see them smirking up at you. "I guess you won beautiful",
"Don't call me-", you freeze, anger filling you when you realize what they did. "You made me win",
"I wouldn't dare", the sarcasm is dripping heavily from their lips, the smirk still on place. "I don't need your help to win",
"I know that", they say, no sarcasm this time. "But I know, that if we don't end this now, you will fight me until you pass out and I don't feel like carrying you out of here",
"You son of a-", you gasp when they grab your waist, pushing you on the ground, your positions exchanged. You glare at them, the cold metal of the dagger resting against your neck. They stare at you, their breathing fast. They throw the dagger away, resting both their hands on either side of your head. "You won y/n", they whisper. "You always win and you don't need to prove that to anyone", with that they get up and leave, but not before throwing a towel at your head. "I'm still not carrying you",