🪽 . . .⠀⠀keigo takami x fem!utsushimi!reader 𓏵 drinking ⸝⸝ sexual scenarios ⸝⸝ no smut ⸝⸝ slight angst ⸝⸝ slight injury description ⸝⸝ m.list for series
hawks dropped mirko off before looping back around to your house. he wouldn’t force her to stay and help. he had invited you, but he also wasn’t going to leave you like this with camie. poor girl was probably already asleep, as it was creeping up on half past eleven.
pulling into the driveway, he cut the engine. he slid out, closing the driver side door before opening the door to the backseat. you scooted to the edge, placing your feet on the pavement of driveway. he leaned down, arm snaking around your waist to help you up. your arm looped around his neck, hand gripping his shirt gently.
hawks closed the door as he pulled you out, leading you up to the front door. as he was digging in your purse for your keys, you spoke up.
“camie isn’t home, went to a friend’s for the night,” you mumbled, “got the house to ourselves…”
he glanced at you, smirking faintly at your implication.
“not when you’re our like this,” he stated. you rolled your eyes as he pulled your keys from your purse, unlocking the door.
“there’s some more liquor in the pantry…”
he sighed as he led you inside, sitting you on the sofa. the issue? he was folding. you two were in your house, away from stupid pervy pricks, and he didn’t have patrol until tomorrow evening. enough time to recover from a hangover, right?
“should be on the top shelf,” you stated, your hand brushing over his lower stomach, nails scratching against his shirt just a bit.
in mere minutes, they were on the sofa together, passing a bottle of vanilla vodka back and forth. his arm was draped over the back of the sofa, your fingers brushing over his bicep. you were rambling, words not quite making sense. you were too far gone to remember he was your boss, your brain too fogged to connect the puzzle pieces of why he looked familiar.
“y’know, i heard shotgunning made the buzz better,” you smirked softly, taking the bottle from him.
“i’m gonna be your lab rat?” he asked.
you took a mouthful of the vodka, setting the bottle aside. you shifted to straddle him, his hands moving to grip your soft hips. your hands cupped his face, tilting his head back just a bit. pressing your lips to his, you let the liquor fall into his mouth. feeling him swallow, you pulled back.
hawks’s hand left your hip, grabbing the back of your head carefully as he pulled you close again. you giggled against his lips, but you didn’t pull away. why would you? making out with a total hottie, why the hell would you ever pull away?
your hips ground down subtly, a soft moan escaping you both. hawks gently pulled you away. he wouldn’t go any further, not with you like this. that drunken haze in his mind may have gotten heavier, but he wouldn’t take advantage of you like that.
the following morning, you awoke in your pajamas in bed—head throbbing. you shifted, feeling something odd draped over you. it didn’t feel like any of your blankets, or any blanket you had ever felt. you looked down, shooting up when you saw what it was.
a massive crimson wing. looking to your side, you saw him—still out cold. you scrambled out of bed, ignoring the wave of nausea. your boss, who also happened to be the number two pro hero, was in your bed.
not that you were too angered by it, more so shocked than anything.
you slipped out of the room, heading towards the bathroom. you opened the medicine cabinet, grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen. popping a few into your mouth, you cupped your hand and filled it with water, using that to swallow the medicine. you then made your way downstairs. you’d talk about what happened last night when he woke up, and then you’d speak of that letter.
you started the coffee machine, filling the silence of the morning with the faint hum of it. yellow-orange light filled the kitchen through the window, illuminating the room for you. you began making breakfast—miso soup, rice, fried eggs, and pickled raddish. you didn’t make much, just enough to feed you and the man upstairs.
as you cooked, the thought of eating eggs being cannibalism for him crossed your mind, but you remembered him eating fried chicken once for lunch. surely, eggs wouldn’t be much different.
when he finally came downstairs, you were just pouring creamer into your coffee. he approached, leaning against the counter beside you.
you shook your head softly. he sighed.
“thought that,” he mumbled, “you were pretty wasted.”
“gathered that from the headache,” you laughed, watching as a soft smile spread across his face.
“after the bar, we dropped mirko off and came back here. we kept drinking from a bottle of vodka that was in the pantry…made out a bit—”
he winced, “yeah, but we stopped before shit got carried away, dovie. i wouldn’t do that.”
“but you’d lie about that letter?”
he stilled, eyes focusing back on you.
“i…i went into your office and found it, read everything camie told you. that part of my life was supposed to be something that people didn’t know, not until i was close with them, if ever. she told you too soon.”
he remained quiet, allowing you to continue.
“i know she told you to keep it hush-hush, but you should’ve told me.”
“i should’ve,” he admitted, gaze averting.
“i know she wanted to prevent you from hurting me by accident, but people have used those things against me, so they—i keep them to myself until i know i can trust someone.”
“if i tell you something secret, will that help?”
you giggled softly, “this is some middle school kinda stuff.”
“so? you wanna hear or not?” he laughed.
“yeah, sure, tell me,” you smiled.
“my dad was a lowlife villain. we lived in some bummy shack because he was wanted for murder. i was isolated my whole childhood before i eventually was handed over to hpsc so my mom could be financially stable. haven’t talked to my mother in years, don’t plan to change that. only a few people know my actual name.”
your face softened, your hand resting over his on the counter. you weren’t sure what you had expected his upbringing to be, but you hadn’t expected this. he seemed so happy and carefree, far from what you’d expect from a man who had been given up as a boy for the sake of his mother’s financial stability.
oddly enough, it soothed you a bit. he wouldn’t judge your past, as he understood what it was like to be dealt a terrible hand by the universe.
you already knew from that file, but you could play stupid for him.
“keigo,” he stated softly, “keigo takami.”
“pretty cute,” you smiled sweetly. he smiled back.
“don’t tell anyone, yeah? our secret.”
“yes, boss,” you giggled.
you two enjoyed breakfast together, as if you were friends—not just coworkers, well boss and secretary.
“sorry about last night,” you apologized suddenly after a few minutes of peaceful silence.
“coming on to you like that. it was inappropriate, you’re my boss—”
“dovie,” he began, “it’s fine. pretty sure you forgot who i was, anyways.”
your face warmed, “i was that drunk?”
“mhm,” keigo hummed, smirking in amusement.
he stayed that afternoon. both of you sat in the living room, simply talking. talking like friends, not coworkers, not a civilian and a hero—friends. you shared more details about what camie had told him, and in turn he shared his own. then, topics shifted. you spoke of movies, books, food—learned he can’t cook very well, aside from the simple basics—music, and more.
why had you ever thought your past would have ruined this? you knew he would never stoop that low, but that little voice in your head fought that.
keigo didn’t leave until four that afternoon, as his patrol started at five o’clock. you followed him to the door, leaning against the frame slightly.
“i’ll see you monday morning, birdie.”
you nodded, looking up at him. as dumb as it was, you didn’t want him to leave. not after that conversation, deep and discovering.
“be safe,” you called as he took off. you waited until he was out of sight to close the door.
camie returned home just a few minutes later. she had gone shopping as well, immediately showing everything she had gotten—just like always. she had gotten new clothes, a few keychains, and some jewelry—all of which she was thrilled with.
after she put her things in her bedroom, you two began making dinner together. music hummed from your phone, abandoned on the counter as you spent time with your sister. as she went to grab the olive oil, she noticed something red peaking from behind the edge of the counter.
camie walked over, leaning down to grab it. a crimson feather. she gasped, looking over at you.
“hawks was here?” she questioned, holding up the feather.
you glanced over, sighing softly, “yeah.”
“did he stay after you came home last night?”
“yeah, and nothing happened—don’t even ask.”
camie giggled softly, “he was still here, though!”
you smiled faintly. you couldn’t deny you had enjoyed your time with him, even if you wanted to so camie wouldn’t get too ahead of herself.
“all we did was talk. talked about the letter, talked about some other stuff,” you told her.
“i’m sorry about that, for realsies,” she muttered, laying the feather on the counter.
“i know, it’s all dealt with now,” you reassured.
camie grabbed the bottle of olive oil, handing it to you. she came to stand beside you, just like she always had. almost too close, but just enough distance to not let you feel suffocated.
you were off work the following day, and you didn’t hear a word from keigo. you were worried, but you merely assumed he was busy patrolling. you also forced it into your head that you two weren’t anything, not yet at least. keigo didn’t have to update you.
when you went into work on monday, you were greeted by him rewrapping his own bandages. you quickly dropped your stuff on your desk, rushing into his office to help. he only had a bit rewrapped, leaving the large vertical gash on the side of his ribcage almost fully visible.
“what the hell happened?” you demanded, smacking his hands away. he pulled his hands away, leaving you to take over.
“some guy with a blade quirk got me the other day. no big deal, dovie.”
you huffed. no big deal? he couldn’t be serious.
you reached into the first aid kit he had out, grabbing several alcohol wipes. tearing open the packaging, you began gently cleaning the wound. you ignored his winces and the twitches of his wings. you had been cleaning wounds for years, ever since camie could crawl because she was clumsy from the very moment she was mobile. you knew it was better to simply get it over with quickly.
throwing the bloodied alcohol wipes into the garbage can, you grabbed gauze, holding it against the wound with one hand while the other wrapped the bandage around his torso. once finished, you taped the bandages in place before standing upright again.
only then did you realize he was shirtless. your face warmed, but you quickly looked away. he was still your boss—you couldn’t admire his physique, no matter how gorgeous it was. you put the supplies back into the first aid kit and closed it.
“thanks, angel,” keigo smirked, looking up at you.
“why were you rewrapping it in here?”
he nodded towards the shirt of his hero uniform. the side was soaked through with blood. it was hard to tell with the fabric being black, but the sun through the window caught it just right to show the wet patch. glancing into the garbage, you noticed the blood soaked bandages under the alcohol wipes. he had bled through in the office, and he was trying to deal with it himself.
“i’ll run it to the dry cleaner’s for you,” you offered, grabbing the shirt.
“i can do it, sweets, go sit down,” keigo insisted, standing up. he tried to ignore the ache that shot through his torso, but the faint wince didn’t slide past you.
you shot him a sharp glare.
“you always say i deal with the boring shit, so i’m dealing with it. sit down before you hurt yourself more, birdbrain,” you stated.
he chuckled softly, but he sat back down. oddly obedient for a hero, much less a hero who was your boss.
“i’ll be back, don’t do anything stupid,” you snapped, turning to leave.
as you walked out, his eyes fell lower, admiring your form in that blouse and those wide-legged slacks you wore. they only helped define the curves your body had and made it ten times harder for him to not stare.
as you walked, you kept the shirt bundled up. nature forbid a fangirl see you carrying his shirt. some girls would do anything just to get his shirt. you quickly entered the dry cleaner’s, the bell above the door ringing.
you approached the little old woman who ran the store.
“hello, ma’am,” you greeted, bowing respectfully. she too bowed.
“i work for hawks, and he bled through the shirt of his hero suit this morning in the office. he has patrol this evening. do you think you could have it cleaned by then?”
“i should be able to,” she replied softly, taking the shirt, “you are lucky you got here so early.”
“thank you so much, ma’am,” you bowed once more, and she reciprocated once again.
after giving the needed information and paying, you left and returned to the agency. as you returned to your office, you proceeded into his.
“it should be done before your patrol this evening,” you told him.
“thank you, dovie,” he smirked, “you do too much for me.”
“secretaries don’t wrap their boss’s wounds and take their ruined shirts to the dry cleaner’s, not without being told at least.”
“most bosses don’t drink and make out with their secretaries either.”
“guess we’re both breaking rules, huh, angel?” keigo smirked.
that goddamn smirk, you could swear it’d kill you one day.
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