hawksliner

[hawksliner]

★Baji

[hawksliner]

Calm After The Storm Ft. Single Dad!EJ

A/n: The title says everything! I've wanted to write for Euijoo for quite some time so I'm happy I finally could!

Spoiler alert: I'm gonna try to write as many fics as I can during this Easter break since my exams are right after.

Genre: Single dad au, dad au, fluff, romance (?), angst

Pairings: Single dad!Ej x Kindergarten teacher!Himari (fem oc)

Warnings: Mean parents, and Ej breaks down, extremely sad and stressed baby.

The late afternoon sun cast golden light across Fuma’s backyard, where pastel streamers danced gently in the breeze and balloons bobbed on strings tied to the fence posts. The scent of grilled snacks and sugar hung in the air as kids ran around in squeaky shoes, giggling, faces painted like butterflies and superheroes.

But EJ stood near the back porch, his son Euisang squirming and screaming in his arms, red-faced and tear-streaked.

It was Mayu’s 6th birthday party — Fuma’s daughter. A celebration that should’ve been sweet and fun. But for EJ, it had turned into a slow spiral of stress.

Euisang had been on edge the second they arrived. The music, the shouting, the colors — everything was too much. And now? He was inconsolable.

EJ bounced him softly, whispering, “Shhh, it’s okay, Sangie. I’m right here, it’s okay,” but Euisang thrashed harder, fists pounding his chest, hiccuped screams pouring out of him.

He heard it then — the murmurs from the snack table.

“Single dad, apparently. Poor thing.”

“No wonder the boy’s like that. These kids need mothers. Can’t just fool around and expect no consequences.”

EJ’s stomach twisted. He shifted uncomfortably, eyes on the ground. It wasn’t like he planned this life. His ex had handed over a baby and walked away. One day, he was just a regular university student. The next, he had a son.

Fuma noticed from across the patio and quickly crossed the yard.

“What’s going on?” he asked gently.

EJ gave him a tired, embarrassed look. “He won’t calm down. I should probably take him home… everyone’s staring.”

Fuma shook his head. “It’s fine, really. These things happen.”

He reached out. “Can I try?”

EJ hesitated, then handed Euisang over. But the little boy just cried harder in Fuma’s arms, curling his body away, overwhelmed and flushed.

And that’s when it happened.

One of the mothers nearby, holding a cup of fruit punch, sighed a little too loudly.

“This is what happens when a child grows up without a mother.”

Fuma froze, then slowly turned to face her, expression sharp.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, voice still calm but steel underneath. “You can’t just say that.”

EJ gently reached for his son again, arms trembling slightly as he took Euisang back from Fuma’s hold. The little boy was still crying, his face flushed and scrunched as he buried himself into EJ’s shoulder.

“It’s alright,” EJ muttered quietly to Fuma, trying to soothe Sangie with slow, rhythmic pats on his back. “I’ll take him home. This was a mistake.”

Fuma’s eyes softened, but he shook his head firmly. “No, it’s not.”

He turned to the woman, his voice calm but edged with steel. “With all due respect, ma'am, you can’t just judge people without knowing them. Just because he’s crying like this doesn’t mean he always does. The baby is just overstimulated.”

The woman scoffed audibly. “Overstimulated, he says. The baby’s face is red with tears! He seems uncomfortable in his father's arms! You should just hand him over to the professionals — you don’t seem fit to even care for him.”

The tone, sharp and scornful, carried across the backyard, silencing the chatter of nearby guests. Heads turned. Eyes stared.

EJ felt the heat of humiliation creep up his neck, his fingers tightening around his son’s tiny frame. He wanted to cry — scream — disappear.

And then, a voice spoke up.

“He’s trying really hard.”

Everyone turned. A woman had just entered the backyard through the side gate, a glittery, colourful gift bag in one hand and a breeze catching the hem of her soft beige cardigan. She had medium curled black hair pinned partially back, eyes sharp but warm. She stepped closer to the scene without hesitation.

“Fun fact,” she said, tone casual but firm, “single parents have more on their plate than the general pairs of parents. Not saying two-parent households have it easy, but single parents juggle work and childcare while being both mom and dad. Every day.”

A ripple of whispers followed.

“Who is that?”

“Wait... isn’t that Miss Kojima?”

Before anyone could answer, a tiny blur raced across the yard.

“Teacher Kojima!!” Mayu squealed, running full-speed into the woman’s side.

The woman’s entire face lit up as she bent down to hug her. “There’s the birthday girl! Don’t you look like a princess today?”

Mayu giggled and twirled. “Yeah, I know! Dad made it for me!”

“That’s amazing! Isn’t he the best?” she grinned, handing over the glittery, colourful bag. “And here’s something special, just for you.”

Mayu gasped dramatically and held the bag like it was treasure. “Thank you!!” she squealed before darting over to Fuma with her gift.

The woman stood straight again, her expression cooling as she turned back to the judgmental mother.

“It’s the child’s special day. Don’t go ruining it with your disdain towards single parents.”

The woman scoffed. “Why are you even defending them?”

The newcomer smiled politely, but her words came like smooth steel. “Because my dad was a single parent. And he raised me on his own. I know how hard that life is, and I won’t stand here and watch someone belittle a parent who’s doing their best.”

Her gaze softened slightly as she looked over at EJ — who stood frozen, overwhelmed, his son still trembling in his arms.

“If two-parent households work fifty times hard,” she continued, “single parents work another fifty times harder.”

Fuma nodded silently beside her, a quiet but proud smile tugging at his lips.

EJ didn’t know her. Had never seen her before. But in that moment — with his son wailing against his chest and his heart bruised from the words thrown his way — he felt like someone had just stepped into the storm and held up an umbrella just for them.

And for the first time that day, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

The woman scoffed again, clearly flustered, her voice shaking with anger. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

Himari’s smile didn’t falter, though her eyes were hard with resolve. “If you can’t take the sight of single parents, maybe you should leave. And come pick up your child after the party is over. We’re all here to enjoy this day, not listen to your harsh judgments.”

The woman went silent for a moment, her face flushed with humiliation. She stared at Himari, eyes narrowing. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

Himari straightened up, her posture confident and unyielding. “Kojima Himari. Kindergarten teacher. Specifically, your daughter’s kindergarten teacher.”

The woman’s eyes widened in shock as realization hit her. Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat.

“Goodbye, then,” Himari said sweetly, a hint of sass in her tone. “Maybe the next time you feel like making judgments, think about how much harder it is for parents who are doing it alone.”

With that, the woman quickly turned, her heels clicking sharply against the grass as she stormed out of the backyard, leaving the party in an awkward silence.

EJ stood there, still holding Euisang, who was now crying louder, his tiny hands flailing in the air as the raised voices only seemed to upset him more.

Himari’s gaze softened as she looked at the baby in EJ’s arms. “Ooh, what happened?”

She gently reached out and took Euisang from EJ’s arms, her voice now soothing and calm. “Hey there, little one,” she cooed, cradling him with the ease of someone who had done this many times before. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

Euisang’s sobs slowed, though his face was still red from crying. Himari rocked him gently, her hands warm and comforting.

EJ watched, a little taken aback by the woman’s calm presence. His son, who had been crying so desperately just moments ago, seemed to quiet down in her arms. He didn’t know her — not yet, anyway — but there was something about the way she moved, the way she handled his son, that made him feel a little less alone in that moment.

The stress of the past hour — the harsh whispers, the judgmental looks, his son’s cries, and the overwhelming helplessness — all came crashing down the moment Euisang finally quieted.

In Himari’s arms, the little boy clung to her shirt and hiccupped softly, his cries slowly fading into exhausted little breaths. And as EJ watched, the lump in his throat finally burst.

Both of his hands came up to cover his face, and a quiet sob escaped him. He turned slightly away, as if to shield himself from the weight of the stares still lingering in his memory, even if the garden was calm now.

Himari glanced over at him, arms still gently cradling Euisang.

Her heart ached at the sight.

Still holding the now-sleepy toddler close against her chest, she used one hand to reach out, placing it on EJ’s shoulder — patting it, then squeezing it softly, steady and reassuring.

“It’s alright,” she murmured, voice gentle, calm. “It happens. Sometimes it gets a little too much… and that’s totally fine.”

EJ’s shoulders trembled harder, his breath hitching. “I’m sorry… I just… it’s just too much,” he managed through his hands.

“I know,” Himari said quietly.

She eased down onto the garden bench beside him, Euisang still nestled against her like he belonged there. Her hand never left EJ’s shoulder, grounding him with the warmth of her touch.

“It’s totally fine to feel that way,” she continued, her voice soft but steady. “Sometimes it’s better to let it all out instead of bottling it in. That’s probably why your little one couldn’t stop wailing.”

EJ dropped his hands slowly, eyes red, voice tight. “What do you mean?”

“Kids can feel it,” she said, gently bouncing Euisang just a little as his breathing evened out. “They don’t need words to know when something’s wrong. If you’re overwhelmed, they sense it. They mirror it.”

EJ looked at his son — now finally resting, cheeks still tear-stained, lashes wet but calm. He ran a hand through his own hair, feeling everything hit him all over again.

“I didn’t mean to… I just…”

“You didn’t mean for him to carry it,” Himari finished for him. “But you’re human. You’re doing your best, and that matters. That’s enough.”

He turned his head, eyes meeting hers, and for a moment, the noise of the world faded.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Himari gave him a small smile, one full of warmth and quiet understanding. “You’re welcome, Dad.”

And somehow, just hearing that made it feel like—for the first time in a while—he wasn’t completely alone in this.

Fuma walked over with a warm smile, balancing a pack of tissues under his arm and holding two paper cups filled with sparkling, glittery fruit punch. He sat down beside EJ on the other side, offering him a reassuring pat on the back.

“Yeah, you’re doing great, Dad,” he said, using the same gentle tone Himari had moments ago.

EJ let out a soft laugh through his sniffles, shaking his head as he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “You’re just saying that.”

“No,” Fuma replied, opening the pack and handing him a tissue. “I’ve seen parents crumble under less. But you’re here, showing up for him. You didn’t walk away even when it got tough. That means something.”

He handed the glittery punch to Himari, who smiled and took it with one hand, the other still holding the peacefully sleeping Euisang against her. Then he passed the second cup to EJ.

“Figured you both earned this,” Fuma grinned. “Mayu insisted on the edible glitter. Called it ‘princess dust.’”

Himari chuckled softly. “Well, the princess has great taste.”

EJ took the cup, fingers wrapping around the warmth of it even though it was cold inside. “Thanks, man.”

Fuma just nodded, casually leaning back against the bench. “Anytime.”

The three of them sat there in comfortable silence for a moment — EJ, the quietly recovering father; Himari, the unexpected support; and Fuma, the friend who always knew how to show up at the right time. The breeze was soft, the distant laughter of children echoing from the other side of the backyard.

Euisang stirred a little in Himari’s arms but didn’t wake. His small fists curled up gently against her, and she adjusted her hold so he could sleep better.

“You’ve got a good kid,” Himari said after a while, taking a small sip of her drink. “Sensitive. Emotional. But really good.”

EJ glanced over at her, surprised by how easily her words warmed him.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. Then added, almost shyly, “You’re… really good with him.”

Himari smiled, her gaze soft and unassuming. “Comes with the job. But I also just like helping where I can.”

Fuma smirked over his cup. “She’s everyone’s favorite teacher, by the way.”

“Oh, stop,” Himari laughed, though her cheeks flushed faintly.

EJ looked down at his cup, then back at his son — safe and sleeping. His heart still hurt, but for the first time today, it didn’t feel heavy.

It felt held.

After a few more moments of calm, Himari shifted slightly to better hold the sleeping boy in her arms and offered EJ a gentle smile.

"I'm Himari," she said, her voice soft as she extended her free hand.

EJ blinked, then quickly wiped his hand on his pants before shaking hers. "Euijoo," he replied, his voice still a little hoarse from earlier. "But everyone just calls me EJ."

She gave his hand a warm squeeze before letting go.

He glanced at his son nestled against her and smiled faintly. "That’s Euisang. But I call him Sangie." His eyes softened. "He’s three."

Himari looked down at the small boy sleeping soundly in her arms and let out a light hum. "He looks older than three," she said, glancing at EJ with a kind smile. "That means you’re feeding him well. That’s really good!"

She gave his back another encouraging pat, firm but warm.

EJ chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… I’m trying. Sometimes I just put together whatever I can. I watch a lot of YouTube.”

"That still counts," Himari replied, smile never wavering. “You're doing your best. It shows.”

And somehow, those words felt like a gold star on a paper he thought had been graded F. For the first time that day, EJ allowed himself to believe it — even just a little.

EJ glanced down at his peacefully sleeping son and then back at Himari. “I could take him back now. He must be heavy.”

Himari shook her head with a soft laugh. “It’s totally fine. I carry kindergarteners every day. You relax and rest.” She adjusted Euisang comfortably in her arms. “These little moments of rest are really rare, you know.”

Her words made EJ smile, just a little — the kind that reached his tired eyes.

“You look really young though,” he said curiously, leaning back a little on the bench. “If you don’t mind me asking… how old are you?”

She chuckled and tilted her head. “I’m turning 22 in a bit.”

EJ’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? I’m 22 too.”

Himari gasped, eyes going wide before she lightly slapped his arm in disbelief. “Shut up! Who would've thought we’re the same age?”

They both laughed — an easy, genuine sound that melted some of the tension lingering in the air.

Then Himari gave him a proud, sincere smile. “That actually makes me more in awe of you. Most young parents in their early twenties struggle a lot. But you’re doing really, really well.”

EJ stared at her for a second, cheeks warming at the unexpected praise. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” she replied, her voice gentle but certain, the kind of voice that made people believe in themselves — even if just a little.

Himari shifted Sangie gently in her arms, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, when he turns four, he could start coming to the kindergarten I work at.”

EJ let out a soft laugh, the kind that finally held ease. “Oh, I’ll definitely consider that. I’ve never seen him this calm with anyone other than me or my mom.”

Her smile brightened at that, a little surprised and clearly pleased. With a dramatic flip of her hair, she raised a brow and said with mock arrogance, “Well, what can I say? I am amazing, after all.”

Hearing her playful words, EJ’s smile lingered as he looked at her—really looked at her.

The way she held Sangie with such natural care… the way she stood up for him like she’d known him forever… and that smile, soft but strong.

His voice dropped to a gentler tone, almost like it slipped out before he could catch it.

“Yeah… you are.”

Himari turned slightly, caught by the softness in his gaze. Her teasing smile faded into something quieter—something warm—as their eyes met.

And for a brief second, the world felt calm. No screaming. No judgmental stares. Just the quiet rhythm of a shared moment and a sleeping boy in her arms.

That's it for this oneee!

This kind of plot is honestly quite fun to write, and Fuma as a girl dad? 😳

I hope y'all enjoyed it 🥹

Likes and rebloggs are appreciated ♥️ ✨️

[hawksliner]

welded by water

— you take the time to explore the base he offers you as your home, wandering through countless doors. but your favorite will always be the one that leads to him.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: OR SYLUS SWIMMING IN A POOL 😩 sylus’s birthday is in 3 days & i’m unwell ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ he’s gonna be celebrated for the first time and my heart bleeds i love him sm. anyway! this idea was born out of that one ingredient story where he pulls u in the pool I SCREAMED its so romantic & thinking abt sylus in a private pool changed my life 😵‍💫 i hope you enjoy!! ❀-urs

sylus x reader | fluff, romantic tension, smoochie kisses, sylus in a swimming pool hehehe

tw: suggestive touches, very brief description of drowning

You knew the base was big. You barely found your way around to the training room, feeling as if the halls shift and shuffle like an enchanted maze. Usually, Sylus would show you around— lead you by the elbow pushing forward, clasp your hands together to pull you to a secret garden, hike you up his hips and carry you to his bedroom. 

But today you decided exploring would be a good thing. Equipped with Mephisto on your shoulder (a ceasefire between you two today), you walk down the dim crossroads and forks of the building with confidence. 

You’d asked permission before, to walk around and open doors. Sylus merely hummed, lips pressed to your shoulder, saying, “Everything I own is yours.”

You didn’t take that lightly. You refused— tried to— but you knew he was certain. Every word uttered from his lips weighs like a stone in water. You knew, in your heart, he would claim the world and say that all he has conquered is yours to take and use according to your will. 

So here you are, assuming responsibility. Knowing the kingdom where you lay claim. With your phone on the notes app open, you tap tap tap away at directions and take stock of the rooms there are in his— your home.

It’s fun to discover to an extent. Although, when all Mephisto can give you is a head nuzzle and a squawk, you quickly lose interest by the fourth armory. Light fingers trace a line down from the bird’s head to his beak, “Where’s Sylus?” 

Mephisto shakes, his metallic feathers fluttering like real ones except they sound like windchimes— extremely thin iron tendrils clinking against each other like rain. One of your many favorite things about him.

The bird takes off to fulfill your request. This time, he waits for you to keep up. He leads you past an artificial greenhouse, another showcase room displaying his many gem collections, the boxing gym and then…

Mephisto perches himself on the top of the doorway of two double doors. If you’re correct, you should be west of the house. Maybe a wall of the whole structure. Beyond the threshold could be taller windows and maybe the sky. Maybe a telescope. With all the things you’ve seen, an observatory wouldn’t be surprising.

“Bet you three nut-bolts it’s an observatory.” you say and lean your weight into your shoulder against the door. “Though, I never thought him to be interested in astrono…” 

The words fizzle and die on your lips as you’re kissed by a faint blast of moisture and the sound of splashing echoing loud through the hall. Your gaze is drawn upwards at the high ceiling reverberating the sound, and then across the molded crowns of the walls. You follow the pattern, bewildered gaze racing down the curves of the large french windows. The stars— no, the galaxies, splattered like paint onto glass. The moon shines through the glass, and reflects unto the rippling water of the swimming pool. 

The pool where Sylus swam with refined grace. Running through laps with no signs of tiring. Breaking the surface of the water for breath, and then going back under to pop up again on the other end.

You’re too engrossed by the look of it all— how a room with a pool can rival the size of a library, can also feel like an observatory. You file your initial guess as a win at that.

Carefully, you step inside. Almost as if afraid to disrupt the sanctity of it all. But you push forward, into the candle-like glow of the lamps around the pool.

You make your way to the edge, sit cross legged and watch him swim. Up and down. Fast, faster. Silently and then with more force. A faint beeping signals his stop, and he emerges from the water like a god that commands the seas. The moonlight shines on his hair and transforms it into liquid silver melting over his eyes. 

Warm and cool reflect of the wet planes of his body, creating an ethereal illusion glimmering an otherworldly glow. 

And his eyes, so dark and yet brighter than a dying sun, find you. Hold you captive in their focus. Your stomach caves and your chest burns at his perception. 

The little jolt he gets in his chest whenever he finds you staring at him like that never fails to fluster him. What a gift to see you in general, but he cannot deny that he loves when you seek him out. When you emerge from your world and join him in his. When he finds you sitting there, staring, waiting for him. 

He swims from the other edge of the pool towards you. A swan through the water with practiced grace. And when he reaches your dry little island, he pulls himself up by his forearms to greet you. “Done exploring, sweetie?” 

You swallow. Happy he is here, but you often tend to forget how he looks beneath all his designer refinery and comfy, steal-able clothes. Strangled, an “mhm” manages to wriggle its way out your throat. 

“Cat got your tongue?” he smirks, catching the way your pupils scramble down so quickly and clumsily over his body. Beneath his cool exterior, his heart spasms with endearment. “Kitten?” 

And he’s back— love of your life, most annoying man on the planet. Stupid, cocky look dripping along with the droplets of his face as he challenges you. You dig through your pocket and find a coin. 

Swift and easy, you toss it into the pool. It plops and leaves ripples right by his hip. A beat, and then he tilts his head at you in confusion. “Made a wish?” 

“Enriching this pool.” you explain. “It lacks gold, and I’ve always seen you as someone who should be swimming in it.” 

“Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t take it then.” you huff.

He chuckles, turning your upturned nose back towards him with wet fingers, making you scowl. He grins wider, “No, no. it’s just… not enough.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh. I’m sorry, would you like me to throw in a hundred in there?” 

He snorts. “Sweetheart, you can do better than that.”

“Your black card drowns then.”

He laughs, whole and soulful. And it echoes through the hall as this beautiful symphony. “None of that is enough to enrich the pool.” 

“Calling yourself broke isn’t as humbling as you think.”

“Darling.”

“What?”

“Hold your nose.” splash! In a single movement, he’s grasped your hand and pulled you into the water. Your arms flail, but his touch never leaves you as he hauls his soaked little dragon li up to the surface.

“Sylus!” you screech, finding his shoulders and pulling yourself flush against him for leverage. You didn’t expect it to be that deep. His arms wrap around you tightly as he chuckles. 

Truly, how delightful is your misery.

“Now it’s enriched.” he says slowly. Glancing down at your downturned lips and your angry brow. A request you recognize and melts you right away.

Your distance makes it easier to curl your fingers on the nape of his neck and tug his lips to yours in a slow, languid kiss. 

You breathe, “How’d you know my wish?”

He grins, pressing one, two, three kisses to your lips in rapid successions. He has no answer, but he lets you know that he wished for it too. 

You’re pulled further into the pool, his movements smooth and unhurried as he kisses you again. A man starved. The first drop of water in the desert. 

You cling tighter, worried when your feet can’t find the ground. But he guides your thigh up and taps the back of your knee so you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Sweetie.” he murmurs, motions taking pause. He delights in the way you push more, chasing his halted kisses with your soft lips. “Mm, beloved.”

“Yes?” you almost whine, irked by the interruption. Every fiber of his soul frays and blows into the wind at the sound anyway.

“Look.” he says, only because he knows you’ll love it. Gentle fingers wrap around your chin, turning your head towards the length of the pool. With your stillness, the water follows suit, and reveals an endless mirror for the endless sky. 

“Oh,” your lips part, your eyes widen, and you get the urge to cling onto Sylus’s strong shoulders a little more. You press your cheek to his to marvel at the beauty he beholds you.

The flecks of lights dance on the warbling glass you swim in, the lunar touch transmutes the water into silk. The sky is on your body and both are doused in starlight. 

“Beautiful.” you breathe, touching the silver surface carefully, watching the tiniest waves disturb the image. 

“Yes.” he says, but his fingers find your cheek. And his eyes have never left your face, waiting and watching for this reaction exactly. Delighting in the cosmos as well— on your skin, in your eyes. He thinks: Gorgeous. Ethereal. Divine.

All mine. 

You turn to see his drunken gaze at you and smile at the implication of his words. Noses brush and kisses resume. 

“I think this is my favorite room.” you say, but your head is filled with him who holds you in his space.  

His amusement takes form in a laugh, low and suave. “Yeah?” 

You hum. Brush his hair back— bundles of moonlight slipping through your fingers— plant your palms on his chest, and lean your forehead on his. 

His warm hands travel up your back, pushing you impossibly closer to his warmth. Until you’re welded by the sparks of light in the sky. Until you meld together in a warm loving tangle of limbs and breath. He says, “It’s all yours.”

But amongst all the wealth, the treasures and the rooms he chooses to share with you, he is the only one you truly desire. Him, and your soul asks nothing more. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading!

[hawksliner]

They are literally that couple 🍷

[hawksliner]

“Muah,” you beam, pressing a soft peck into Sylus’s cheek. “Muah!”

Another. And another. And another scattered little kiss along the skin of his face as he sits with you situated comfortably on his lap, hands tracing up and down your hips. It’s late—somewhere close to the sun’s routine time to rise, and somewhere close to Sylus’s routine time to fall asleep. He’s a lot easier to bend to your whims like this, when he’s tired and limp under you and lets you have your way.

He hums, curling his lips into an sleepy smile as he murmurs, “you missed a spot.”

“You don’t get to get picky when you get free affection,” you say instantly.

His smile drops. Something of a grouchy scowl (that’s more like a pout, if you’re being honest) drapes along his lips and forces them into that downward curl. Your lips do the exact opposite, curling up at the sight of his dissatisfaction.

“Well, sweetie,” he drawls, “who knew you could be so stingy?”

“I’m not being stingy,” you grin, purposely missing his lips as you press your next kiss, landing it right over his Cupid’s bow and watching as his eyes flash impatiently. “I’m teaching you a valuable lesson.”

“Which is?”

“We don’t always get what we want.”

“Funny,” Sylus quirks a brow, that awful, terrible, nightmarish and dangerous smug look returning to his features as his eyes narrow, “because I always get what I want. It’s as simple as taking it.

The room is spinning and shifting and tilting on its axis as you feel everything move in a blur—one second you’re on top of him, sat on his lap, and the next second he’s hovering over you, melting your body into the mattress like it could swallow you whole under his weight.

“Sylus!” You screech, earning a low chuckle from him, “get off of me you brute!”

“Not until you give me what I want.”

“No!”

“Then I’m not moving.”

And true to his word, he settles himself on top of you, promptly pressing all his body weight over yours as his drapes his figure on top of you. He’s heavy—in a pleasant sort of way. He feels like comfort and home and warmth pressing into you and crushing your bones with nothing more than body mass and willpower. You like it. And as if on cue, your hand instinctively finds the back of his head to smooth through his hair.

Sometimes your body just does that. Admits he’s what you want and what you need against its will. Admits it likes him there and welcomes him like your souls are two halves of a whole—one involuntary muscle responding to him at a time.

“You’re heavy,” you whine.

“This could all be solved rather simply if you’d just give me a proper kiss, sweetheart. But you insist on hissing like a stray kitten in an alleyway.”

“And it’s just too easy to ruffle your feathers,” you giggle, rubbing a hand along the nape of his neck and feeling him shiver under your touch, “who knew a kiss could have you so worked up?”

“I’m not worked up,” he grumbles quietly. You smile wider. He pinches your hips in warning without even looking at you.

“Spoiled,” you murmur, “that’s what you are.”

“Spoiled is what you are with how you swipe my card,” he retorts, earning a glare from you. His eyes are half lidded—heavy, and tired, and slowly closing shut against his will as he stifles a yawn, giving you a poor attempt at a smirk.

“No kisses for you forever.”

“I think that’ll cause you more distress than me in the long run.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of talking?” You huff exhaustedly.

“I’ll stop talking long enough for a quick nap if you give me a proper kiss,” he negotiates. Like the proper, opportunistic business man that he is. So good at playing his cards right and getting the deal he wants so badly, just enough that he always walks away with the better end of the stick.

Sly, you’d call it.

Persuasive, he’d correct.

And you’re convinced. Persuaded and swayed into his trap because all he has to do is give you those sweet, tired little blinks of his eyes and that hopeful little look as he stares at your lips before you cave and fold like a piece of paper into his awaiting palms.

“You’ll finally sleep and leave me alone if I give you a kiss?” You pretend to bargain.

He nods earnestly, “oh yes, sweetie. I’ll be out like a light faster than you can call Mephisto over to be witness of our deal.”

“Okay,” you roll your eyes. “One kiss.”

“So stingy,” he chuckles.

“I’m not—”

He kisses you. Props his head up, still blanketing you with all his weight as he kisses you softly. Like he means it. Lips carving out lips like he’s mean to mold your flesh to fit the shape of his. You gasp, and he lets out a soft sigh into your mouth, closing his eyes and pressing into you as much as he can.

When your hands twist into his hair, he lets out a soft groan, slumping more weight into you (if that’s even possible) before his breathing gets shallower.

When he finally pulls away, his head tucks itself back into your neck as he mumbles, “told you I’d get what I want.”

It comes out like a soft slur. Your eyes widen instantly.

“Sylus, no—I have to get up for the day so don’t even think about—”

He’s asleep. Heavy, limp, and comfortably on top of you. You try a sad, futile attempt to shove him off, but he’s stuck. Glued to you like his life depends on it. (Sometimes it does, you think. Sometimes it feels like he lives only for you. Only knows how to breathe when he’s sure you’re there to listen to his soft breaths.)

“You asshole,” you mutter, “you spoiled, obnoxious asshole.”

He always gets what he wants—the feeling of your delicate body under his, and the nails that trace his scalp softly in defeat are good enough proof of that.

Early bday drabble. Long fic to come. Stay tuned. This is a sylus only blog. I don’t even like mydei even a little bit. What else? I think I’ve covered all my bases

[hawksliner]

tantrum

synopsis: what makes sylus snap?

tags: fluff, sylus is tired and grumpy bc he misses you, he obliterates his phone with his evol, sunshine reader probably, cartoonish luke and kieran appearance (sorry boys) word count: 842

a/n: after that magnum opus line i really wanted to see sylus throw a tantrum and i kept mulling over what would actually make him do that because i can’t see him doing anything much worse than this. i think he’d find Actual grown man tantrums lame. anyway i don’t like this and will maybe delete? nvm but i had the writing urge so i sacrificed this concept from my wips. 

When you arrived at the base after your three-week business trip, your long-awaited homecoming was…tame, to say the least. You’d been expecting a teasing “How nice of you to join us, sweetie,” or a cocky yet vulnerable “I was beginning to think you’d run away.” But once you’d stepped through the front door, Sylus had barely said a word. A soft “Welcome home” and a kiss on the forehead, and before you knew it, you were cradled in his arms as he carried you to his office.

He’d sat you both down in his leather armchair, making you face him in a straddle. His tired eyes had searched yours, and a moment later, he’d buried his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“I missed you,” you’d murmured into his ear, pressing a kiss to his hair. With a quiet groan, he’d tightened his grip on your hips and nuzzled into you even deeper.

That’d been 15 minutes ago. Basking in the comfortable silence, you’d traded kisses all the while—yours on his hair, his on your neck. 

But suddenly, a low buzzing noise cuts your reunion short: his phone is ringing.

When he makes no effort to answer, still breathing heavily in your embrace, you twist in his arms and accept the call before he can protest. 

A familiar voice crackles over the line. “Boss?” Kieran asks. “Next meeting’s in 10. The one about those stolen shipments from Linkon—we’ve been waiting to hear back for months. You coming?”

Sylus doesn’t answer.

“…Boss?” Kieran repeats. “Boss, you there? You oka—”

Red and black mist shreds the phone into pieces. 

“Sylus!” you yelp, jumping in his lap. “What’d you do that for? He’ll probably be worried. And how will I text you now?”

You pout up at him, and as you study his chronically calm expression, you see something unusual: Sylus’s eye twitches. Just for a millisecond, only moving a millimeter, but you catch it.

“I’ll have a new one delivered tomorrow. As for the meeting, I’ll stay here,” he says lightly, a tight, closed-lip smile on his face.

“But Kieran said it was important,” you reply in confusion. “Why don’t you want to go? Are you feeling sick?” you frown, starting to lift off of him.

“No,” comes his too-quick reply. “It’s just…the twins can go in my stead,” he decides simply, moving to lean into you again.

But before he can move an inch, a rhythmic sequence of knocks sounds at the door.

“Come in!” you chirp happily, too excited to see the faces you’d missed the last few weeks to notice Sylus stiffening under you.

Immediately, the door swings open, revealing two masked figures. 

“Hi Luke, hi Kieran!” you beam, and they wave back at you eagerly.

“Long time no see,” Kieran begins. “Boss, did you lose signal or something? I tried calling you about the meeting, but I think it disconnected. Anyway, we’re about to head down and—”

“Cancel it,” a frustrated growl rings out.

You all freeze.

Somehow, you’d been too wrapped up in your excitement to feel Sylus's body shaking—no, quaking—beneath you.

“W-what? But they’re already here!” Luke sputters.

“Cancel. It.” Sylus grits out the words as if holding back a snarl, and the power in his voice leaves no room for argument. 

“O…kay,” the boys say in unison, and as they back away slowly, you shoot them a sympathetic look.

Red tendrils wrench the door shut behind them, and when you’re alone once more, it’s like the man under you deflates.

His head returns to the crevice of your neck with a soft but unceremonious thud, and his deep exhales and burning hot skin tell you he’s trying to calm himself down. 

Uncertain and a little amazed—you’d never seen him lose his composure—you give his cheek a gentle poke. “Sylus,” you whisper. Nothing. 

“Psst. Sylus,” you try again, and there’s some force behind your poke this time. With bated breath, you watch as your finger sinks into the space under his cheekbone, sighing in relief when the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. 

Lifting his head up to make eye contact, you smile at him softly. “Hi.”

“…Hi,” he rumbles, and as his crimson gaze softens, the remaining annoyance dissolves from his face.

“Are you upset?” you prod gently. 

A brazen scoff precedes the dry chuckles that fall from his lips. “And what makes you say that, kitten?”

A squint and a slight tilt of your head is all it takes. 

“I haven’t had you to myself in a while,” he begins cautiously. “Three weeks is…a long time. The longest we’ve been apart. And then the moment I have you in my arms, well…” he trails off, gesturing to the shards of phone on the table. “I just want to enjoy you right now. Undisturbed.”

“Oh, I see,” you coo, cupping his face in your hands. “Is this your way of saying you missed me too?” you quirk a brow.

“Yes,” he responds through squished cheeks, honest and unabashed. “Now, won’t you stay with me like this for a little longer?”

[hawksliner]

when it comes to chasing speed, we are a match made in heaven. sylus x gn!reader

suggestive content. mdni. ༚༅༚˳ . ♱ . ˳༚༅༚ | 1k words

inspo: "the highway is practically empty. we can ride a motorcycle from one end to the other and meet the sunrise. i almost forgot: there's no speed limits. i hope you'll be thrilled when you're riding on the back. judging by your expression, you're thinking about doing something inappropriate."

Expectantly, and utterly excited for your night ride, you watch as Sylus pulls up to the curb, his bike humming to a quiet halt once he stops at your side. The city is still bustling with life, its lights flashing in the distance, but the distraction right in front of you keeps your attention trained on nothing but this very moment. Silver strands fall free once Sylus lifts off his helmet for his eyes to land on you, standing in front of your apartment complex—dressed in that tight leather jacket—he can’t keep a smirk from tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You already look like you were up to no good.

Your gaze meets his and that mischievous grin creeps onto your lips before you say a single word. But you don't even need to, not with Sylus. You get under his skin without trying.

The teasing sway of your hips adds enough fuel to the fire always simmering beneath his skin. To stay focused on the ride rather than body pressed behind him seems near impossible tonight. It is much more tempting to cancel plans and throw you over his shoulder to spend hours entwined inside your apartment.

At least for tonight, reason wins and Sylus helps you with your helmet. A firm palm is held out for you to grasp as you climb onto the bike, your legs brushing against his the moment you settle. For a second, it feels like everything else fades at the gentle hold your arms offer around his waist. The noise of the city seems far away now with your body pressed flush against his back, and the familiar warmth which radiates through his jacket.

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” Sylus's voice is low, controlled as he glances at you from over his shoulder.

 “I’ve been ready all night,” you quip back while leaning in closer to him before resting your helmet on his shoulder.

“Are you?”

Instead of replying verbally, Sylus shuts your visor in response, though it doesn't do much to contain your laughter that seems to bounce off inside his helmet thanks the established bluetooth linkage. Sylus bites back a smile, revving the engine to regain a semblance of control over this situation.

“Let's find out,” he murmurs, more so to himself, before hiding his distress underneath the covers of his own helmet.

And just like that, you are off. Sylus kicks the bike into gear with a twist of his wrist. The roar of the engine echos through the streets of Linkon, drowning out everything else as the world blurs into a streak of lights. The wind rushes against your bodies, tugging at your clothes, forcing you to hold on tighter to your personal windshield. 

You let out a quiet laugh, the kind that makes Sylus's pulse spike in his chest. It is the sound of someone who thrives on the chaos and the speed, who loves pushing every limit.

And you do love it.

You love every second of this.

You press yourself tighter against his back, your grip around him firm, your chest close enough to feel the smooth tension of muscle beneath his jacket as the city streets give way to the open road.

Barely past the borders into the N109 zone, Sylus leans forward and the bike responds immediately—roaring louder, eating up the road faster than any speed limit in Linkon would allow. Your body presses even tighter against him as you hold on, every ounce of your being feels the rapid acceleration of the machine.

The sensation is intoxicating—the vibrations of the bike beneath you, the speed, the heat of his back against your chest. It all blends into a rush, a pull that leaves you dizzy with excitement.

The most enticing part about all of this? How your core is doing flips as if it can’t keep up with the wild energy of the night.

So you just can't help yourself.

One hand, already restless, slides lower, moving along the curve of his abs, the hard leather of his jacket giving way to the smooth skin beneath. Your fingers trace the lines of his muscles, his stomach and down the solid strength of his thighs.

By now Sylus can feel your heart hammering almost in time with the engine.

Your hand reaches lower, feeling the tension in his body as you brush against his thighs before slowly making your way upward, dangerously close to places your hand should not go right now.

The dark road stretches endlessly, but you are focused exclusively on the man in front and the playful game you're indulging in.

The silence between you is thick.

Suddenly, his hand is on yours, firm, to guide it along his body. Sylus is not stopping you, not in the least. He encourages you relentlessly.

In fact, you can tell Sylus is enjoying the control you have, the way his body responds to your every move. The hand that has been wandering is now pressed firmly against the leather of his pants to test your patience while your touch lingers with your fingers splayed across his thigh.

There is a brief moment where everything pauses.

Only the bike continues to hum beneath you, the engine roaring, but you’re focused solely on his body and how your fingers entwine with another.

The growing heat from his body is a silent invitation, causing the tension between you to further rise. Sylus lets your hand remain where it is, making you feel every inch of muscle underneath your palm.

Then, slowly, surely, he resumes the game you have started by bringing your hand further up, toward the growing bulge pressing against his leather pants.

Your breath catches, your grin widens as you witness firsthand the vibrations of the low groan rumbling in his chest.

Despite the roaring sounds of the engine, the tones of Sylus's pleasure rings through the speakers of your helmet. His voice, laden with sultry purr, calls out a warning shot to you. A short simple "Kitten."

It's a sound that tells you he wants you, craves the same dangerous excitement you do.

You are both equal trouble. Equal chaos. You can feel it in the way his fingers curl around yours, guiding you, keeping you close.

dividers: @/cafekitsune

[hawksliner]

late night takeout (street racing au)

[hawksliner]

chinese hanfu in xianxia style by 清欢纪

[hawksliner]

chinese hanfu by 青鸟集

[hawksliner]

chinese hanfu by 云间山泽

[hawksliner]

combining ykz au with bodyguard au! 🗡️🤩

[hawksliner]

late night takeout (street racing au)

[hawksliner]

Biker bf sanzu 🌸

[hawksliner]

gentle lover── pt. 02 ❝ his favorite place to kiss you ❞

Ⅰ. tokyo revengers ft. r. ken, s. manjiro, b. keisuke, h. kazutora, m. takashi, s. haruchiyo Ⅱ. blurbs Ⅲ. tw. slight angst in sanzu's, and also slight mention of obsession in sanzu's. Ⅳ. a/n. second round lets fucking goooooo !! writing another round of guys because i know everyone deserves to be softly loved by their faves

── ryuguji ken. forehead taking care of people comes naturally to ken, everyone already knew that long before it was ever said out loud. he likes knowing that you've eaten three square meals a day, and that you were going to sleep on time and waking up early enough that you had time to lounge around before you really had to do anything. he liked to cook for you and take care of you, often doing your hair in any way that you were feeling that day, knowing intimate things about you without you ever needing to speak up and tell him. he just knew you, heart and soul. the surprising tenderness of a man like him especially shows when he's getting ready to leave for work that day, his fingers finding their way to your chin to tilt your head up as he kissed your forehead, lingering for a moment longer than truly necessary before pulling away. he'd let you worry over his appearance, straightening his collar and smoothing over his outfit. he'd tell you not to miss him too much as he goes out, and that he'll be home before you know it. he'll be thinking of your kiss throughout the entire day.

── sano manjiro. shoulder as much as mikey pretends he's strong as tough, he loves being in your arms. he loves being near you, able to touch your skin, feeling your warmth against his body. it's what brings him peace at night, and what calms him down when he needs a moment just to be human. he loves knowing you're safe, right there in his arms, and he's safe in yours. he doesn't have to worry about much, doesn't have to put on a brave front. he can just simply be mikey, a much softer person than people liked to give him credit for. and that softness is present when he snuggles into your body to press little kisses all along your shoulder, feeling the softness of your skin underneath his lips. sometimes he would stop kissing and just rest his forehead against your shoulder, breathing softly and just taking in the tranquility of the situation. you made him feel safe, and cared for, with your arms around his frame, holding him close to you like you never wanted to let him go. mikey could stay in your embrace forever, just like this for as long as you'd let him be.

── baji keisuke. lips keisuke is not a man who just waits for what he wants, he takes it whenever he feels the need. and that includes kissing you. he doesn't play around, not when he wants your lips on his, although he's always being told that he shouldn't be quite so... much with it. the way keisuke is much like his personality - fiery, strong, passionate. he kisses you like he's never going to be able to kiss you again and he doesn't want to regret his final kiss. even in front of others, he kisses you with the same passion, proudly proclaiming his love in front of anyone around. he doesn't shy away from the thought of people knowing you're his, and he's yours in turn. you mean so much to him that he couldn't possibly deny you of any type of kisses you wanted, but he loves the feeling of your lips on his, kissing him back even if he took you off guard with his kiss. you'll be able to feel him smile into this kiss as his hand finds your chin to steady you, keeping you there for a moment longer as he enjoyed himself. and when he does pull away, he pecks you one more time on your lips, just for good measure.

── hanemiya kazutora. jawline no matter how many times kazutora tries to tell you otherwise, he's impulsive. all the time, he does things without thinking much about it, whether its silly little blunders to accidentally creating a bigger problem that the two of you are going to have to tackle together, and that includes how he loves on you, too. he kisses you without having a direct goal in mind, he just wants to cover you in as many kisses as you'll let him before the two of you have to get on with life. he loves kissing your face, letting you know that you're loved everywhere, always mumbling something under his breath about how attractive he really found you with his hands in your hair. he'll kiss your jawline right underneath your ear, cuz he's able to feel the muscles in your face as you smile and giggle about his cute little ministrations. from there, he can choose where to kiss you depending on his mood. he could kiss lower down your neck until he gets to the crest of your neck, or he could kiss higher up until he reached your lips, it really just depends, but he always starts right there, and had no intention of changing that.

── mitsuya takashi. nose mitsuya really doesn't mean too, but sometimes he finds himself babying you just a little bit. he does enjoy taking care of people, but he also knows that people need to be independent and walk on their own sometimes, too. while he's more than willing to help you out with anything that you could possibly need of him, sometimes he realizes that he could treat you as if you weren't able to do it yourself. of course, he catches himself from doing this any time it starts, and his way of apologizing is always the same. a sincere sorry, saying that he knows you're more than capable of doing this on your own, but he's always there to help you if you need it, and then he presses his nose against yours in a little symbol of his affection for you, before moving away and giving the tip of your nose a little kiss, his hands holding both sides of your face in a loving embrace. it never fails to make you scrunch your nose and giggle a little bit, which is exactly what he was looking for. he loves making you happy, loves knowing that you trust him so much to have him by your side, and he'd kiss you as many times as you'd let him.

── sanzu haruchiyo. wrist knowing that you were alive and okay was everything to sanzu. he needed to know every day that the heart inside of your chest still beat. it wasn't incredibly obsessive, it was just him worrying. he worried that someday he might lose you, or that something bad might happen, even when life was good and calm. always being on alert, several times throughout the day, he would take your hand lovingly, turn it over, and gently press a kiss against your wrist. it was just a cute habit of his to you, but to him, he loved that he could still feel your pulse steadily beating, and especially when it starts to race a little bit for him. there, he would trail up his kisses from your pulse to your arm, depending on whether or not you had the time, until he got to your shoulder, and then your neck, until his lips rested against yours, and his body heat had invaded yours, holding you as close as possible with his fingers now laced in yours. kissing you like this meant the world to him. it let him know that you were safe and healthy in his arms, and that you were still as in love with him as he was with you. and to him, that was everything.

──kokonoiis 2024

[hawksliner]

Making the Most of Time Spent Together

You and Kasamatsu don't get a lot of time alone together, but you try to make the most of the time you do have. That doesn't always mean going on dates.

"I'm gonna kill him," Kasamatsu muttered, glancing at his phone.

"Kise again?" you asked, threading your fingers through his hair. Yukio's eyes slipped shut, and he melted back into your lap.

Yukio hummed, both in acknowledgement and in contentment with where he was.

"You'll find a way to deal with him, you always do. Besides, he'll either calm or he won't."

Yukio hummed again, turning over into press his face into your stomach. He didn't get very much time with you now that the season had started again, and he was taking in as much of it as he could.

Even though Yukio was pretty self-assured, he did still put on an act while he was at school. Especially around Kise and the younger players.

Acting the way he did with you wasn't something he broadcasted to people. Mostly because it wasn't anyone else's business how he acted with you.

"I have to do some reading for class, you don't mind do you?"

"'Course not sweetheart, do what you've got to do," he murmured, wrapping his arms around your waist. "'M just gonna nap."

"I'll wake you up before practice," you promised, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "Sleep well baby."

Yukio hummed, already half-asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Yukio, baby, you have practice in half an hour," you murmured, shaking his shoulder lightly. "You probably have less time than that before Kise-kun comes looking for you."

"I love the game," he murmured, "but sometimes I really wish I could just not go sometimes."

"I know," you told him, "but you will still go."

"I know," he muttered, pushing himself up off your lap into a sitting position.

"Go, have some fun. Do what you love. I'll see you later, okay?" you promised, kissing his cheek and gathering up your things.

"You know you could come to practice right?" he asked.

"I know baby. But I wouldn't be able to focus there, and I don't want to be a distraction. Besides, if we spend more time together, people are going to start thinking we're codependent."

You grinned at him and he laughed, shaking his head.

"You're ridiculous," he murmured, pulling you in by the waist to kiss you.

"You like it," you teased, pressing your foreheads together. "Now go, before Kise-kun comes looking for you."

"I'll see you later," he promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he gathered up his own things.

"I'm counting on it," you told him, grinning.

"Kasamatsu-san!" a high pitched voice called out and Yukio let out a sigh that was bordering on depressed.

"Go play with the kid, baby," you told him, patting his shoulder. "I'll pray for your sanity."

He let out a dark chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You were a little surprised that he was doing it in front of Kise, but at the same time, you knew he was going to break at some point.

"I might need you to start coming to practices if only to keep me from killing that kid," he murmured.

"I have faith in you," you murmured.

"Kasamatsu-san! Is that your girlfriend? Why was I not informed of this?"

"I'm coming, you idiot. And it's none of your business!"

"I'll see you later."

Yukio nodded, bumping your foreheads together one more time before he headed for his kohai, who was making a racket an drawing attention.

You watched him leave, smiling.

He was gonna be okay.

[hawksliner]

haizaki shougo is in the sticks

for @paintoreos who requested “could you write some fluff for Hanamiya/Haizaki of them being kissed by their s/o for the first time?? 🙏❤️” and @dust-of-fandoms who requested “I have been in a Haizaki mood for a couple of days now, would he be too annoying to write fluff for? I feel like the fluffy part of a relationship with him comes after he gets over himself and starts treating his partner better.” hope this works for you both!

engawas are like japanese architecture’s equivalent of a porch. haizaki’s aged up to 20 in this so i’m not promoting minors drinking. i'm not advising that adults drink either. haizaki is permanently bad role model.

Sat alone on the engawa, Haizaki takes another swig of beer and stares out across the sticky summer dusk, dimming fields stuffed with rice flowers and mosquitos. Excluding the crickets, he hears nothing but his own breath and the sloshing of the sip of beer in the can.

When she said her family was from the sticks, she really meant it. 

It’s no place for a city boy like Haizaki. He misses the sound of anything and everything, police sirens to the neighbours’ arguments. Even thinking about the sound of the nursery kids screaming down the road is making him feel homesick. The sound of people and the sound of conflict: he’s only just realised that it’s been with him since he was born. 

At last, he hears footsteps behind him and the thump of a girl coming to sit down beside him. 

“You took your time,” Haizaki remarks, moving over for her.

She hands him another beer and opens her own. “Don’t tell me you were scared without me?”

“Scared? Of what - the crickets?”

“Bears. Ghosts. Serial killers.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not kidding,” and she points towards a couple dwellings in the distance, her nightgown sleeve slipping down towards her elbow. “When my parents were born, the guy who lived over there would have been on his third murder. It took another two deaths before the police found him, and they still haven’t found all the bodies. They say the lead investigator only figured it out when he realised how well the guy’s crops were growing. And, you know what the creepy part is? He’s been in prison for decades now but the crops still grow better than everyone else’s.”

“Yeah, well I’m not scared of him. Hell, if he ever got out and tried something, I’d-“

In the darkness, a meow. Haizaki squeaks with surprise and she bursts into giggles as the culprit, her mother’s aged tabby, trots over towards them. 

“Says he’s not scared of a serial killer but can’t even face a cat without bursting into tears.”

“Oi, he just caught me by surprise,” he replies gruffly, looking away. “I’d take him in a fight too. Dumb fucking cat.”

She’s still giggling, “what are going you going to do, Mr Big Bad Haizaki? Challenge him to a duel, 1v1 him, organise a boxing match with a cat?”

“You don’t get it. He disrespected me. Disrespected me,” he repeats, stressing each syllable, focused on trying to keep his tone sounding serious, to keep her laughing as long as possible. “As a man, I can’t let this slide.”

The cat is now swatting at mosquitos, rolled over onto his back.

“He doesn’t think you’re a worthy enough opponent. You’ll have to fight the mosquitos before you have the right to challenge him.” She takes a sip of beer and glances at the tens of mosquito bites littering Haizaki’s arms and legs. “And I don’t think you’ll win against them anytime soon.”

“Man, was this why you invited me here? Just to mock me?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And here I thought it was because a cute chick liked me.” Haizaki reaches out to the cat and lets him swipe at the man’s hands “You hear that? I’ve become a laughing stock.”

“No, you weren’t wrong about the cute chick liking you,” she says, and turns her head, and her lips make gentle contact with Haizaki’s cheek. 

No one says anything. Haizaki’s heart is going a mile a minute, even though logically he knows it’s just a kiss, really just a peck on the cheek, something that a guy who’s been in as many half-hearted hookups as he has should have long been desensitised to. Yet the intimacy of it panics him, has him blushing like a kid, has him thinking twenty years ahead to days of sitting on this engawa together, maybe with more cats, maybe even with kids, and holding her hand, and watching the sunset, and realising that the feeling of her presence, and shoulder brushing his, will always be far more comforting than any city sounds. 

He’s thinking, what the fuck is wrong with you Haizaki Shougo? 

And he’s mumbling, because love is still too big and intimidating a concept to profess, 

“Do that again.”