We All Know Hawks Is This Easy Going And Social Person, But That Is Hawks, Not Keigo. So You Can Imagine

We all know Hawks is this easy going and social person, but that is Hawks, not Keigo. So you can imagine how big of a problem making a call is. And that’s how this happened, you and him fighting over  who calls the pizzeria down the street.

“You call, you are the one who wanted pizza” he shoved the phone to you.

“You are the most extroverted out of the two of us” you shove it back to him, the phone cord stretching as far as it could. Yes, your tiny and Japanese 80’s stuck apartment had a wall phone, but hey, it was a reasonable price in fukuoka.

“They are going to recognize my voice and keep me there for hours!”

“Japanese is not even my first language!”

“It's good for practicing!”

It was a good 30 minutes of shoving the phone back and forth, but in the end Hawks lost and was the one going to do the call. 

But the moment he heard “Hello you’re calling pizzeria-” he hung up.

You looked at him, then at the phone and then back at him. That was it.

“No mames wey, gimme the phone” 

You extended your hand at him with grabby hands, you took all your introverted courage and love for him and made the call with Keigo giving you the “you are my hero” eyes.

warnings: suggestive themes near the end.

how do you greet a god in the morning?

keigo isn't a god. you both know that. but it's at times like this, when the sun rises past the edge of the world to wake everyone up and bathes him in yellow and pastel pink, that you feel like he might have the means to be worshipped. it's a strange thing, really. he was born to be self-sacrificial. he was born to worship others.

he lost his wings. the absence leaves nothing of him. or at least, that's what he thinks.

yet watching him wake up next to you lets you worship his humanity. he is just a man now—one that you love to the ends of the earth.

there's a sound of sheets rustling as you shift yourself to get more comfortable. keigo's head is tucked into the groove of your neck, moving with you but not leaving. heavy arms are wrapped around your waist. an unintelligible murmur leaves him, acting as if he's still asleep.

but you know better because he's always awake before you.

"morning, keigo," you say, a simple greeting. your voice carries a weight like the feeling of soft feathers.

"mornin' to you too, baby," he replies, the sound of summer heat slowly rolling over your skin. a huff of breath hits you before he's leaning away to stretch.

even without his wings, he knows that you're watching him. you don't even bother to hide your staring. his outline is somehow graceful but rough. strong and warm. you see it in the way that he pulls his arms up over his head to loosen his muscles; as if he's a wild cat lengthening out their spine. his back sinks into a plush mattress and freshly-washed cotton linen.

the lines of his arms flex with his muscles. he doesn't have to worry about taking up space anymore. you think that in a way, it helps him finally breathe.

when keigo rolls onto his stomach, resting an arm on the pillow, there's an afterglow to him. his wild-woven hair sheens with gold as bright as the strips of sunlight lining his back. his tan skin glows under the cover of it. old scars of his wings—a testament of challenge in your eyes—are loud wounds on his body.

you've told him more than once that his wings don't define who he is to you. he's been trying to believe that.

he gazes at you, dark pupils changing in size. that instinct hasn't left him. small, large, small, large. they finally settle on going back to their usual shape. he still has the same look; tender but sharp. you've never thought someone could be so powerful solely with their eyes.

you feel your chest stutter. "you're really handsome, babe."

the way that keigo's eyebrows jump is amusing; almost cartoonish. he laughs, deep from his chest, and it sounds bashful. he hides his smile behind the thickness of his bicep. a second flashes and the image of him turns young.

he's twenty-five now, but he was the youngest pro-hero alive. he carries that boy-like wonder with him. it's precious.

keigo is precious.

"thanks, baby," his words are partly muffled because he's still hiding. his eyes are peeking at you. it's the cutest thing you've ever seen. "but i stare at you more than you stare at me, so that means you're the real eye-catch here."

the corner of your mouth lifts up with a grin, "doesn't matter. i said what i said."

for once, keigo decides to relent. "fine, fine, you win."

he goes quiet, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. the ridges of them feel along your skin with a dainty touch. he handles you as if you're freshwater slipping through his fingers; a fragile thing. he's careful when he touches you.

he swears an oath of protection—only for you.

you shuffle closer to him, let yourself fit into the weight of his hold. he turns on his side and fits you against his chest in a way that's deemed too perfect to be real. while your hand settles on his hip, one of his trails down your stomach. you feel his fingers pull at a frayed string on your shirt. he's touching you just for the sake of it.

keigo's voice is gentle near the shell of your ear, like melting sunlit honey, "this okay? i’ll go slow.”

it reminds you of the night before. the two of you were caught up in a hard conversation and you told him that you've never been more sure about someone keeping you safe unless it was him. his expression was nothing but raw gratitude—a rare sight—and then he was knelt down in front of you to show his appreciation.

he knows that you don't initiate first. he knows that you don't want this all of the time; he's okay with that. he makes himself understand because he loves you. to him, this relationship is valuable.

his lips press a kiss against the salt of your neck, patient. a quiet shiver travels down your spine. you feel his thumb trace the crease where your thigh meets your hip. you let out a soft sigh.

keigo nudges against you, wraps you up in his solidity. your hand squeezes his wrist two times—a green light. it's a nonverbal answer but it's enough.

his body eclipses yours and there's a glimpse of auric gold, before he drags you into hazy summer heat.

laois x reader

c/w . gn!reader reader, fluff wc: 375 a/n . this himbo has my heart in a tight grip reblogs and comments appreciated ✧*.

laois who is your beloved boyfriend and dungeon partner. your rock and your reason for adventuring.

you'd met when looking for a party to join. the moment he set his eyes on you it was like something awakened in him.

he'd done everything he could to get you on his party, and subsequently by his side.

you'd been so enamoured by him and his quirkiness that you agreed.

and the rest is history.

laois who almost always has one hand on the handle of his sword and the other in yours. his thumb writes his name into your skin, and he wishes it was there permanently.

definitely the type to have your name tattooed on him - probably on his wrist so when he fights he remembers you're with him.

laois who kisses you good morning and good night. who kisses you as a greeting and goodbye. who kisses you for...any reason really.

he just loves it - loves kissing you.

loves the soft pecks that reassure each other that you're okay, loves the long loving kisses you share when you sneak off, and he especially loves the messy, wet make-outs that he can only periodically indulge in when he knows that you, him and the party are safe.

laois who - after every encounter - looks for you and asks whether you're okay.

yes, he should care for the entire party, but he can't help the deep carnal need to make sure you are safe first.

you are special and precious to him, and though everyone revives, he refuses to see - and even let - you die.

he let it happen once and watching the life leave your eyes is something he will always see in his darkest of nightmares. the fear and agony on your face, right before you'd been impaled and taken away from him.

never again.

laois who spends almost all his free time out of dungeons with you. you're usually seen hand in hand in either hanging out in your shared rooms in inns or in libraries reading about monsters.

you have your own notebook about monsters, with personal little doodles and facts.

when laois first brought up the idea, he was worried you'd think it'd be boring. he was taken aback when you agreed with as much enthusiasm as you did.

he was even more surprised when you showed how eager you were in helping him.

he thinks he fell even more in love that day.

aromantic relationship 101: aroace drabble for laios

doesn’t see the ‘signs’ by himself. chichuck points out the way he looks at y/n. how much care and gentleness he shows to y/n. laios tries to say that you’re just a really good friend, but chilchuck’s words still hold weight in his mind.

the romance optimist marcille obviously agrees with chilchuck. the small gestures that laios sends your way: laios offering you his blanket when he gets last watch, laios holding your hand innan uneven terrain, laios’ eyes immediately searching for you when trouble arises. the conclusion was obvious (??) laios is in love with y/n!

two out of three, in favor of laios’ carrying romantic feelings for y/n. marcille plans a date at the two of them. she uses her gossip and romantic books as reference. dates around the market fair, then walking by the shore as they watch the sunset. lastly, a romantic dinner for the two of them.

all was well. you said yes when laios asked a date. you were the nicest dress you had in your closet for the date. and all things from the plan went smoothly.

all except that magical moment when laios has that eureka moment of love. yes, he does feel happy when he holds your hand. he does feel happy when you smile. he does feel happy when you’re by his side but… surely this isn’t the love that the others described. he doesn’t want you to string along.

no butterflies… no sparks… none of that romantic grandeur that marcille described. laios simply feels safe by your side. his mood does get better when you’re there but this isn’t love. this isn’t friendship either. and laios feels incomplete somehow with the lack of romantic love.

it takes a while for him to understand that he isn’t like the others. he had expressed his feelings to you. his heart bared open about the weight his heart carries, but what it means he was still unsure.

“so, uh friends?” you asked, but laios shook his head as no.

“lovers?” you said, the word leaving an numb weight on your tongue. a part of you sings when he didn’t say yes either.

“a secret third thing?” you couldn’t forget the way he squeezed your hands for a minuscule of a moment.

he looked down at you, hopeful and curious. “a secret third thing?” he repeats the phrase waiting for a single word to encapsulate the experience

“i don’t know what it’s called too. but it isn’t romantic or friendship either,” you smiled when he returned the same comforting squeeze to your hand. so you continued, “but i don’t care what name it has. i just want to be with you, if you’d have me…”

“i’d want to have you,” he wraps his hands around you in a comforting hug. there was no pressure from either of you since this experience is more important than labels.