me: hey guys wanna send me some prompts? :3
also me, the moment I get prompts: *takes out a sewing kit to fix a button I was meaning to for the past 4 years*
plot: shibusawa and his time as a quirk researcher ft. two interns who keep trying to kill each other (aka if shibu's past isn't gonna drive him crazy, skk will)
On Anon or not, send “Plot:” + describe something you really want to RP with my muse or something you want to see my muse do (if it’s to/with another RPer, list their username) and I’ll rate it: fuck no || not really interested || huh?? || give me more details… || sure why not || OMFG YES
P L E A S ELet them drive him nuts, but hey it’s not like he’ll murder them in the futu- oh wait....
Summary: Three days after his mother died, Youichi remembers buying all the alcohol he could afford and getting himself drunk. He once thought of that night and the wildest night of life.
Obviously, he was wrong.
The night he met Sawamura Eijun was the wildest night of his life. [AU; warnings for language]
-
Youichi claws at his neck tie with something akin to desperation. His right hand is shaking so badly that he’s half worried that he’s going to drop the cigarette pinched between his middle and index finger.
He takes a deep breath then another. And he lets his head fall back against the uncomfortable plastic bench in front of the garishly lit convenience store.
The most strenuous thing he had to do today was hold his pee while he finished typing up the billing report his asshole boss kept bothering him about. But it’s been one bad day after another, and it’s starting to take a toll on him.
Sometimes he wonders how he went from having a promising career playing baseball to here—here being a dead-end job and a life full of stress and misery. (But then he does remember how he got here and he would really rather not remember, thank you very much.)
Youichi rolls the unlit cigarette between his fingers and glares at it. He’s very, very tempted but he made his mother a promise a lifetime ago that he was going to quit. And while some people may have something against promises to the dead, he keeps his very seriously. (Because he might’ve been a bad student and he might be a horrible employee now, but being a good son to his mother was the only other thing he took seriously aside from baseball.)
He takes another deep breath before checking his scratched wrist watch. Unfortunately, he’s ran out of time musing about his quarter-life crisis. It’s almost midnight and he has to wake up at ass o’clock in the morning. Youichi’s about to stand up and trudge back to his apartment when some kid braces both of his hands beside his shoulders.
Youichi blinks.
Messy hair and strangely bright eyes come into focus.
“Hello! You’re Kuramochi Youichi-kun, right?”
-
Youichi’s father walked out on his mother when he was seven days old.
Logically, he knew that the fault wasn’t his.
Mostly, however, he kept wondering whether his father cradled him in his arms as a baby, looked into his eyes and asked himself, “Did I just father the most insignificant asshole of the 21st century?”
-
Youichi drags his eyes down to an expressive mouth, shoulders encased in white cotton, all the way down to ripped jeans clinging to lean thighs.
“No,” he says after a considerable moment has passed. “You got the wrong person.”
“Are you sure? I’m pretty sure you’re Kuramochi Youichi though!”
He bats one of the stranger’s hands away, making sure to avoid eye contacts. He gropes for the satchel that he dropped carelessly by his feet earlier and makes a move to stand up.
But suddenly there’s a hand around his throat—not painful or anything but it’s enough to stop him in his tracks—and a warm breath on his ear. “Duck, Kuramochi Youichi.”
“Wha—?”
That’s when the bullets start raining down on them.
-
Three days after his mother died, Youichi remembers buying all the alcohol he could afford and getting himself drunk. He once thought of that night and the wildest night of life.
Obviously, he was wrong.
The night he met Sawamura Eijun was the wildest night of his life.
-
Youichi’s knees are shaking and he feels like throwing up. The last time he ran this much was during college when he still played baseball regularly.
He’s shamefully out of breath but he still manages to glare at Sawamura and bite out, “So what you’re saying, is that my father was an assassin and now you want me to join your secret assassin cult because it’s my fucking birthright?!”
Sawamura—damn him, he didn’t even look tired—frowns at him. “He wasn’t just some assassin! He was the greatest assassin in the world!”
Youichi highly doubted that if the guy managed to get himself killed.
Something must’ve shown in his face, because Sawamura’s frown deepened. “Well, it’s true!”
-
For the record, Youichi doesn’t explicitly agree to joining the secret assassin cult.
But he foolishly runs away from Sawamura after a rather impressive screaming match and he ends up running head first into one of the black ski mask guys pursuing them.
His hands are bound behind him and there’s a knife at his throat when Sawamura finds him.
“Let him go,” Sawamura demands, a sharp smile on his lips.
A chill goes down Youichi’s spine.
Sawamura doesn’t wait for a response. He draws a gun from nowhere and fires it straight into Youichi’s head. The bullet doesn’t even graze him, but it embeds itself into his assailant’s temple.
Youichi takes a deep breath and closes his eyes in sheer relief (mixed in with a healthy dose of disbelief) because he almost fucking died and because he’s pretty sure Sawamura just did something impossible.
When he opens his eyes the gun is nowhere in sight and Sawamura is smiling at him tentatively with a hand stretched out towards him.
