pairing: bokuto koutaro x f! reader genre: romance, angst, loads of fluff wc: 3.1k summary: bokuto loves you. he can’t help but tell the world
Your first day working for the MSBY Jackals wasn’t supposed to be like this.
The corridors you run down frantically looking for your new office smell faintly of sweat and salonpas, a world away from the sterile offices you used to work in, and distracting you enough you barrel directly into Meian Shugo, the captain of the team. Then as if it weren’t bad enough that you’ve slammed into a literal brick wall face first, you were dealt with a mountain of files, stacked to the ceiling that your predecessor left for you to wade through, which meant that you missed lunch (the horrors, your stomach shrieks) and now you have to deal with whatever predicament Bokuto Koutaro has seemed to find himself in.
The guy in question seems nice enough, though he curls in on himself, shoulders bowed, allowing his manager to do most of the talking. The manager in question – well. He reminds you of the scumbags you met in law school, the boys who hide their smirks behind their hands when you make a mistake, talking within your earshot about how the girls in class are going to pad the bell curve, hi-fiving obnoxiously whenever one of them would land some cushy job with a big law firm (jokes on them, most have crashed and burnt out of law completely, while you’re working in their dream job HA) –
“Wait a minute”, you silence the manager (Ono-san, you think his name was) with an imperious wave of your trusty red pen. “Repeat. Rewind.” The manager looks vaguely offended, but you can’t be bothered, you’re too annoyed by the stench from his sliminess that’s permeating your nostrils.
“Bokuto-san has had death threats sent to him for months and you’re only now asking me whether you should report this to the police?”
Can I just say how AMAZING UR FIC IS LIKE WTFFF NOT TI MENTION HOW FUNNY THE FIV IS LIKE It’s like he flips a coin everyday and asks “should I be an asshole or a huge asshole today?”. THIS PART KILLED MEEEEE HELP EIHSUA
ok seriously I love the reader how sarcastic and relatable ￼they are,how well written the fic is, I’m honestly looking forward to the next chapter.
AHHHH TYSMS! i’m really glad you found it funny,,, thwnk you for sending this,, I hope the next chapter will meet your expectations mysterious anon <333
genre : slice of life(ish), no romance in this chapter
synopsis : being immune to quirks hasn’t done a lot for you in the past, but upon meeting Tomura Shigaraki, you wonder that perhaps it could do some good for him.
a/n : i’m testing out a new writing style and this entire fic is unedited and has only been proofread once pls tell me abt any typos or mistakes,,, p.s. there is a lot of dabi slander i’m sorry
Working in an office is bland.
You weren’t a secretary or anything, just a person in a glass box going through pages and pages of someone else’s finances.
Clients come and go, there’s the occasional gossip spread by a particularly mean group of middle aged women with the gall to hide daggers in their sleeves just to get ahead of everyone but other than that, there was nothing to do. If it wasn’t for the severe desperation for money that kept you going then you would’ve - A) turned into a Disney princess and live happily ever after with a bird on each shoulder, or B) turned into a hero (or a villain, they’re equally as enticing) ; however, neither of the options seemed likely.
Frankly, you as a whole just weren’t that interesting. Your quirk, nullify - as they like to call it, literally doesn’t do anything other than prevent your body from being physically damaged by quirk related attacks, you can’t even control it for gods sake it was - and still is - always on as if you were a light with a broken switch. What are the odds that you manage to pull the most boring quirk from the genetic gacha machine - worst of all, neither of your parents carried this quirk so where the fuck did it come from? Were you a secret lovechild? Is mom and dad not telling you something? God knows. Thankfully, once you reached 17 your parents were kind enough to tell you whence your quirk came and that your grandma had the same quirk. Finally, one mystery solved.
Fast forward a few years and now here you are, working in an office, bound to four walls for - what feels like all eternity but is actually just 7 hours - a day. Excluding the regular overtime that your boss likes to indirectly inflict upon you. Calling him a menace would be an understatement, more like a 4 armed hell-raising demon. It’s like he flips a coin everyday and asks “should I be an asshole or a huge asshole today?”.
You’d been working at the office for a good couple of years yet you still lived in a shadier part of the city, you weren’t a thug of course but that college debt did some real damage to your sad, sad bank account, if a bank account could frown, yours would’ve been violently sobbing with its snot pooling on the floor. You could’ve chosen to live with your parents but the thought of burdening them for a few more years felt wrong ; so what better way is there to save money than to move into the cheapest, habitable apartment you can find and live off of plain pasta until you can afford to move out? And honestly, it wasn’t that bad. Sure there were loud inconsiderate neighbours, sporadic flickering lights and some unearthly being that you were convinced is the ghost of the past tenant living in your home but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures.
You gather your documents and files into a small briefcase and prepare to leave the office, however, yet again, your boss comes over to pile more papers on your desk with a sly smile on his face and the words ‘good luck with your client’ leaving his lips. This man is the embodiment of all the reasons why you hate work. By the time you finished it all, it’d already been long past 11pm so no busses were running leaving you to walk back home with your briefcase clutched in your arms. Considering the whereabouts of your apartment, you knew better than to look back when you hear screams being ripped from some poor man’s throat during what you hope assume is a mugging.
Just a few more blocks until you reach home, all you have to do is turn right, walk straight, turn right again into the alleyway to the hidden entrance of your building and… Oh…
There lies your landlord, snivelling on the ground, begging for forgiveness and a…? man? Is that a man? With, what seems to be, strips of overcooked bacon stapled on his face and a parade of blue flames emanating from his palms, threatening to burn the whole building down if my landlord doesn’t pay up for owning a property in his territory. What a fucking joke - who does this man think he is? a magician? Can’t he take his burnt meat elsewhere and perform somewhere that isn’t directly in front of your building?
You’re tired, agitated and overall exhausted, but you choose to turn back around the corner and pretend you didn’t see anything knowing that intruding would just make things worse for both you and your landlord. Unluckily for you, you hear the charred man say ‘What was that?’ and slow footsteps walking your way. Thinking under pressure was never your strong point and now, it will be the death of you. Your eyes dart around the dimly lit street for places to hide and then it hits you. You can’t hide, not here in an empty street with trash cans full of trash, but you certainly refuse to die now. You start looking for escape routes and then the dark shape of the ladder to your building’s rooftop - which you caught a thief clambering up once - comes into view and bingo! Within a matter of seconds you’re gone, scuttling up the same ladder like a gravity-defying rat with a briefcase that threatens to fall with each movement you take to grab for the ladder.
Once you reach the summit and climb onto the roof, you peer down and see the same burnt-being squinting up your way. Triumphantly, you put both your middle fingers up and watch his brows furrow in pure anger at the sight of your smug expression. Ok maybe you shouldn’t have done that but whatever, you got back to your apartment in one piece, the contents of your briefcase made it home relatively intact and he didn’t follow you home.
In due time you’d come to find out that the lump of coal you had encountered was actually the infamous villain, Dabi, from an uprising villain group known as ‘the League Of Villains’.
The following day, you had work, again. And once again, that demon your boss made his daily visit to your desk, dropping so many files onto your desk that you could practically hear the workload - thus, stripping you off the privilege of taking the bus back home. And once again, you took your regular stroll back home, unwillingly basking in the blearing lights from street lamps and police cars.
The moment you opened the door, something felt wrong.
But then again you were too tired and overworked to really care, all you wanted to do was plant your face in between your pillows and turn yourself into a bamboo shoot.
When you turned on the light, the unsightly figure of the man from last night came into focus. Dabi? Was it? You should’ve been fearing for your life and running at your fastest speed but instead, you let out an exasperated huff as you plop your briefcase down and look him straight in the eye. ‘What do you want? I’m exhausted so make it quick’.
Dabi’s eyebrows literally shot to his hairline at your reaction, he is a murderous criminal standing in your apartment and you’re carelessly worrying over your physical exhaustion, but then again, dressing up in a greasy wifebeater (what an ironic name because that’s exactly what he looks like he’d do to his wife) and a black trench coat that looks like it was sewn together by a 4th grader, makes him look like the weird mean kid from toy story (Sid, the kids name was Sid); he looked significantly less frightening than other villains.
‘how dare you talk to me like that.’ you hear him bellow.
In one swift motion his hand reaches for your wrist and a bright blue flame is pressed onto your skin, you don’t feel fear however, quite the contrary, after all, we all die eventually and frankly, you really didn’t mind dying at the hands of some brazen man with burnt flesh, at least it sounded like a cool and mysterious way to go. But then the stench of this man wafted into your nostrils, how can a man smell like both a wet dog and rotten milk simultaneously, his awful odours might as well be classified as one of the worlds many mysteries, gods, if this is the last thing you smell… and suddenly, your will to live has returned.
After a few seconds, you realise that the flames are taking no effect thanks to your quirk. You have never once been so grateful for your useless quirk. All you can feel is his warm wrinkled flesh on your skin, gross. A few more beats of silence later and some intense bewildered staring and you decide that tonight is gonna be a long night. Is he gonna keep holding your hand all night? Can’t he find someone else to hold hands with? What a creep.
‘Who the fuck you calling a creep? I am Dabi, Japan’s best pyromaniac. My flames are more powerful than Endeavors.’ He replies.
‘Get a load of this guy’ you snort under your breath.
Fuck. You said that out loud.
His jaw slacks in awe and his grip loosens, you take the opportunity to squirm out of his grasp and make it run for it. As soon as you reach the outside, fresh, breathable air hits your nostrils and you find yourself apologising for ever saying the city stinks. Behind you were Dabi’s footsteps chasing after you hurriedly, you know this area like the back of your hand so it was no surprise that Dabi lost you eventually, although, by the end of the chase you definitely were hacking up an organ or two and most likely would’ve just dropped dead if it weren’t for the kind, sturdy trash can that gave you enough support to stand. You could hear his frustrated yelling from the main street as you stood catching your breath in an alley, take that sucker, one point to you.
Great. Even though you managed to escape Dabi’s grimy hands, you were now in search of a place to sleep, obviously you can’t go back to your apartment now because what if that abomination of a human-being was sitting there, waiting for you? Why must the gods target you, what heinous sin could you have possibly committed for them to test you so often, sure once you accidentally melted a whole box of your best friend’s Lego’s in your youth and every so often you succumb to certain human desires but that can’t possibly be the reasoning for your misfortune, why must they choose you and not some other yahoo living an equally miserable life to play with. As you contemplate your life choices, seeking refuge in a nearby hotel for a few days is the only option and thankfully, your area had tons, you just needed to find the right one. Easy enough right?
It took a while of course but eventually you stumbled across a decent looking hotel that looked the right amount of cheap and the right amount of liveable. You walked across the dust-covered carpet and up to the main counter where a woman who looked about her mid 50’s greeted you by looking up from her book, lifting her glasses and looking you up and down with an eyebrow raised to the roof. Well… the customer service might not be great but maybe the rooms will be okay… Upon requesting for a standard room, in which she replied with a silent nod, she gestured for you to follow her, walking up a series of staircases and down an uncomfortably narrow hallway to your room. It wasn’t a great room but it’s more than enough for just a few nights. What you couldn’t understand, however, was why there was a king size bed?
‘I’ll let you know when your partner gets here’
By the time you compose yourself enough to respond she’s already halfway down the hallway, turning into the stairwell. It’s better than nothing, and who were you to complain about a bigger bed?
You didn’t bring any of your belongings with you but your wallet and phone were stashed in your pocket so you decided to order some takeout. Prices seemingly disappear when you’re running on nothing but the aftereffects of adrenaline coursing through your bloodstream, alas, you settled on 2 small dishes and 1 main dish.
As you leave your room and make your way down to the stairwell, another door swings open and a 5’9 male dressed in a black hoodie and some really worn down jeans walks directly into you (you memorise his general appearance to make the police report quicker just incase). His frail frame knocks both of you over like a couple of bowling pins. You’re quick to apologise fearing that he may be some sort of hardened criminal with no mercy for poor, clumsy citizens like yourself, standing up and going over to help him up when you realise this man has absolutely no muscle. It’s a miracle that he didn’t just shrivel away and disintegrate into a pile of bones the moment your bodies collided with all things considered. You reach your hand out, wholly expecting him to accept it but instead he backhand slaps it away with a sharp tsk. He looks up at you and you take note of his features, scruffy white/blue-grey hair, a deep scowl painted over his features, red eyes burning with agitation - which is most definitely your fault, very very arid skin, a scar draped over the corner of his lips, giant eye bags and wrinkles under his eyes, his neck littered in self-inflicted scratches, and in a sense, he had somewhat cat-like features - but then again who are you to judge, here you are drenched in your own sweat on your way to collect your greasy takeout.
‘Ah I’m really sorry about that’ you say sincerely, in all honesty, it wasn’t even your fault that he walked into you so carelessly and yet you were the one apologising. How ironic, where was your apology?
Before you could contradict yourself, a voice behind him calls. ‘What are you doing on the floor Shigaraki?’
Shigaraki…? Sounds familiar.
a/n : i think i’m trying too hard rip,,, lmk if I need to add any warnings or anything,,, other than that :’) ty for reading to the end, thank you