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Kenma: I accidentally messed up my life, how do I start a new account?

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osamu thinks that atsumu has it worse, yknow? like atsumu has more stress and bigger issues and more things to deal with. and because of that, osamu feels like he can't reach out. it would be rude to.

atsumu's starting out on a brand new team, he's making it big in the public eye, he's living on his own for the first time, he's trying to find a new therapist that's closer to him. so what osamu missed another rent payment and has to pay his roommate back for two months of rent now, that's nothing but osamu's own failure. he can't possible reach out for something so stupid when atsumu's got so much more on his plate.

and sure, osamu feels lonely and like all of his friends are going out and doing bigger things. and he's stuck as a line cook at a small restaurant that doesn't even pay enough to pay for half of what he owes for rent. he misses having someone to just lean on. facetimes and calls and texts from everyone isn't enough.

he can't let atsumu see him fail, though. he can't fall apart because he chose to go away from atsumu. he chose to live a separate life. so now it has to be good, or it was all for nothing. the fighting, the making up, the deciding to be stronger than they were before. it would all be wasted because osamu is a failure.

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Suna opened the door and a heavy sigh escaped his lips.

It was raining and the chill of the night carried a light smell of dump leaves and dirt from the plants Suna kept outside, next the doormat of his apartment... it mixed with the unmistakable iron scent.

“What the fuck do you want?” His voice was quiet but sharp, cutting through the silence. It was past midnight. Maybe even later...

The low chuckle that followed was too soft to match the sight in front of him -Osamu, bruised and bloodied, drenched in rain. And Suna hated it, because it made him feel a familiar warmth inside his guts way too easily.

“Just wanted to check on ya, sleep-deprived ass.”

Immediately Suna shut the door. He nearly slammed it on Osamu's fingers, but the hand caught the frame just in time.

“Osamu,” Suna grumbled frustrated as he shoved the door opened. "Osamu,” he called him again, his voice stern.

But the brown haired twin stepped inside the apartment anyway. A hand with bloodied knuckles on the door and the other sliding on Suna's waist.

“Osamu...”

His voice was too weak and the thump of the closing door covered it. Feet shifted until Suna's back was pressed against the wall. Osamu's body caged him, incredibly warm despite the dampness of his clothes.

“I missed ya...” Osamu's lips found the soft skin of his neck, murmuring against him.

Suna's hands gripped Osamu's shoulders tightly, unsure if he wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

“You're drunk... and beaten up.”

The retort fell on deaf ears.

And Suna gasped softly as Osamu's lips started to trail wet kisses down his neck. Suna's body trembled under the slow and deliberate touch.

“Lemme stay tonight.”

Suna shook his head at his pleading.

“No-”

“I'll be gone in the mornin'-”

“Exactly.”

His tone was harsh, made up from self-defence.

But Osamu always knew how to make his knees weak.

“Then I'll make ya breakfast...”

Osamu's hands squeezed gently Suna's waist, bringing their bodies flush together.

“Just lemme-”

“I hate you.”

Suna's words came out in a breathless murmur.

“I love ya too, Rin.”

In the morning, Suna woke up to an empty bed and tangled sheets.

The lingering cologne on the pillow beside him was already fading.

From the kitchen, the smell of breakfast drifted in.

But the apartment remained silent.

Suna could hear only his heartbeat stop for the common disappointment.

It was always the same.

Osamu made him lick his bloody bruises clean...

Just to leave him with only one for himself, right above the pulsing point of his neck.

[PS. This is inspired by the lyrics sentence “Ma te lo dico subito tu non venire qui se poi cerchi solo un brivido, lasci solo un livido” from Rubini.]

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"She cries for these who remained, not those who left."

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Oh, please... the angst!! I love it.

Well.. if i get a strike here as well, so be it idc at this point

Tw! It's sad au and fake guns

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@//miyosamu: I don't know if nor when you'll read t...

When the notification made Suna's phone ring, it was in the middle of the night. He couldn't find any sleep, even if his eyes burned and his body felt sore. Suna was splayed on the couch of his living room and scrolling through the home of a social media and then suddenly-

Ping!

His heart missed a couple of beats as he saw the name. But Suna made himself stronger. With trembling fingers, he read the short text's preview. An ugly laugh bubbled up from his chest, and it was fuelled by regrets and resentment. Suna couldn't really believe that it took a stupid fucking video online to make Osamu think about him after so long... so many years of silence between them. When Suna... well, Suna never stopped thinking about him. Not ever once. The distance and the new lives they chose for themselves didn't change the warm and soft feelings Suna held for Osamu, not even a bit.

It was sad realising that the intensity wasn't matched.

But now Suna was having a bit of rest from his broken heart.

And he didn't let Osamu trample on it again.

Suna ghosted him.

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osamu feels lonely and then he isolates himself and it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy of loneliness. but he isolates himself because he doesn't like reaching out because he doesn't want to be a burden on his loved one's. sobbing.

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[REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPTS]

“Soulmates who are fated to kill each other”

💙♾️☠️🩸

“Do we have to...?”

Tears welled up in Gojo's blue eyes and this time he couldn't do anything about it. It didn't feel like it was a first. Something ancient and familiar left goosebumps on his skin as he stood in front of the other.

"Is there another choice?”

Geto's dark hair fluttered in the soft breeze of the late evening, but Gojo no longer had the right to reach out and tuck the wild strands behind his ears. A sharp pain stabbed through his sternum, and his heartbeat became shallow.

“Yes.”

Gojo's hands clenched into fists at his sides, white-knuckled with the effort to contain the turmoil inside him.

“Satoru.”

Geto’s voice was cold, an echo of finality between them. It was a request—a command—not to revisit old conversations. They had spoken about this, exhausted every possibility. Nothing could change.

Still, Gojo felt like he was the only one who dared to hope. Despite Geto’s resolve, a tiny flame of hope flickered stubbornly in his heart, a belief that they could find another way. Together. Differently.

But Geto seemed deaf to his silent plead. He was already prepared for the end. Since the very start... as if in the deepest part of his soul, he had always known that they were playing a losing game.

And in that moment, Gojo understood.

It was a blink of an eye.

The sky turned purple with the setting sun.

The barrel of a gun kissed his forehead, cold and unyielding.

And then, the candid skin splattered in red.

♾️

Gojo strolled down the street, a coffee in hand, letting the warmth seep into his palm. He’d made a quick stop at the café, even though it meant he would be late meeting Nanami. The blond should have known better than to schedule something at this hour. Gojo was always sluggish after a morning spent wrangling children.

He came to an halt in front of the busy main street, the ruckus making it impossible to pass. With a sigh, he looked around, quickly deciding on a different route. As he disappeared into a narrow hallway, he missed the police car pulling over behind him.

He didn't see the blade that cut him in half.

It all happened too fast.

Warm, sticky blood covered his body.

When he blinked, he was staring at the blue sky, his vision blurring.

A face came into view before everything turned pitch black—a face hidden beneath a dark hoodie, belonging to the father of the twins in his class.

♾️

It was wrong, but it always felt right. Bare skins lay under silk blankets and bodies splayed across the soft mattress. Sweat was glistering all over him, so he picked the hair tie on his wrist and put his long hair on a low bun. Some strands clung to his face, and Satoru leaned over to brush them behind his ear.

“Thanks, love.”

Suguru smiled softly and turned slightly to kiss his palm. He liked the vision of the other's skin littered in love bites, knowing he bore the same marks. They were symbols of belonging, sweet enough that he could taste them on his tongue. Satoru’s kisses still lingered on his lips. Suguru turned toward the nightstand to pick up a cigarette.

“I love you.”

Satoru murmured, his voice making Suguru’s heart melt as he gripped the lighter. That stopped him right before lightening the cigarette, he was intending to turn toward Satoru. But he didn't.

His breath hitched, and the cigarette fell from his lips.

The lighter clicked harshly against the floor.

“I love you.”

Satoru repeated, so tenderly, for him.

And the shared white sheets soaked red.

💙♾️☠️🩸

This one was requested from @amare-amabam. Enjoy the angst, bro! 👹

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I'm still thinking about them too!! Like the other day, I was quietly sipping my coffee and my mind wandered back to Omigirin. I thought that Suna and Sakusa would likely spend late nights together, when they can't get sleep because feeling restless. And they would be sitting on the couch next to each other, under the same big cozy blanket, watching some videos on Suna's phone like those calming ones where people tries new clean products or there are automatic machines working in constant and repetitive motions. The next morning Osamu finds his kitchen full of new cleaning products and he knows that they will soon try to replicate those videos!!

omirin😕 omigirin😕😕

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I saw omigirin like...

“It was late evening when Osamu reached for the doorstep. He lazily scraped his dirty shoes over the doormat as he picked the keys from the back pocket of his jeans. He felt uncomfortably sweaty, the black shirt clung tight over his tired shoulders, and his feet hurt for standing for hours in the kitchen. It was a satisfied kind of tiredness, though he couldn't help but long for a shower and a change of clothes. So he unlocked the door and finally entered home. Silence greeted him, soothing his ears from the busy restaurant's noises. He sighed heavily, stripped off his jacket, and then leaned down to remove his shoes. A groan escaped his lips when he planted his socked feet on the floor, free from their constrictions. The slippers made him feel like he was walking on clouds as he moved down the hallway. Entering in the bathroom, he started the shower and began to strip as the water turned warm. He smiled as he felt his muscles go limp beneath the stream and slowly washed himself clean. Emerging from the bathroom, he felt like a new person -still worn out by the day but more relaxed. He quickly changed into something comfortable -a loose white shirt and old blue baggy sweatpants- and walked toward the kitchen to make himself a sandwich.

He should have know better. Because when he sat on the couch and turned on the tv, he inevitably call them out from their lairs. They were alerted by two typical actions in Osamu's routine. Suna, whose room was closest to the entryway, heard the door opening despite his headphones while playing for a YouTube video with Kodzuken. Meanwhile, Sakusa, whose room was in front of the bathroom, immediately raised his gaze from the book he was reading when the sound of running water echoed through the door. Osamu should have expected it. After the very first bite of his sandwich while a journalist was interviewing some strangers on tv, he found himself squashed between to tall grown-ass men.

On his right, Sakusa enveloped him under a blanket he had brought from his room. On his left, Suna stole his sandwich as if it were his own and nuzzled closer, putting his long legs over Osamu's thighs.  Noticing this, Sakusa moved Suna's legs aside and reclaimed one of Osamu's thighs, doing the same. In between Osamu huffed a chuckle and calmed down their quiet tantrum over his attention by putting his hands over each of their waists, squeezing gently. Suna smiled and let him have another bite of the sandwich, before wrapping an arm around his torso. On the other side, Sakusa pecked his cheek briefly and leaned his head over his shoulder. Osamu hummed satisfied, happy. He was back home now.”

omirin😕 omigirin😕😕

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I've never think about it before, but the first image that popped in my mind as I read this was Osamu squashed between Suna and Sakusa because they like to lay on him as if they were two giant cats... it's so cute that I may try to write something about it.

omirin😕 omigirin😕😕

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[REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPTS]

“Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss”

🥶🔪🩸💀

When Osamu snuck in through the back door, he didn’t question how much wealthier the house was; that was the whole point of this job—to scrape together a small sum. He crept through the shadows of the dark living room, biting his lip as he glanced at the largest TV screen he had ever seen, surrounded by an L-shaped couch that looked incredibly comfortable. Maybe he should have convinced Atsumu to come along... But his twin was busy fooling around with a raven-haired sniper he’d met recently, and Osamu said he could handle this himself. He sighed, hoping to find something valuable to make up for whatever he couldn't carry alone.

A creak echoed through the quiet house, and Osamu flattened himself against the wall. He recognized the sound—it came from the kitchen. But there wasn't any light to warn him of someone’s presence. Perhaps the owner had decided on a late-night snack. He gulped down the anxiety that made his breath tremble for a moment. He wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation tonight, but he didn’t want to leave empty-handed. Lowering the fox mask from his forehead, he rounded the corner to peer into the kitchen.

A lanky shadow sat at the table, moonlight streaming through the high window making the spoon in their hand gleam. Osamu couldn't see what they were eating, and unconsciously, he placed a hand on his stomach. It growled involuntarily, the sight stirring his hunger. Steeling himself with the thought that a captive might share their meal, Osamu checked his back pocket for the cable ties, then sprang into action.

The unsuspecting person didn’t resist as Osamu slammed him into the table, tying his hands securely—first behind his back, then to the chair for extra safety. Despite his lanky appearance, he had a surprisingly well-built frame.

“Took you a while. I was close to calling you out and offering you a seat,” the man joked as Osamu walked beside him to look at his face.

Green eyes twinkled in the darkness above the sharp lines of his features, challenging him fearlessly, even with his life potentially in Osamu’s hands.

“Thanks for the welcome, sweetheart,” Osamu whispered, glancing at the half-eaten cake on the table. Finally, he could pick up the spoon and taste it himself. Chocolate and coconut.

“Tastes good?”, the man asked.

“Had better, honestly,” Osamu replied, leaving the silverware against the plate, noticing a known brand name.

“It’s from the best pastry shop in town,” the man argued.

“I can do better, tho.”

That made the man chuckle, and Osamu stared at the wrinkles at the side of his closed eyes and the dimple where his smile became a smirk. Pretty rich boy. His thoughts tried to stray him from his goal, but he fought them back and decided to head upstairs, looking for the bedroom. Might he be so basic as to have his safe there?

“Where are you going? I thought we could have some fun...”, the man stopped him in his tracks. “You can’t leave me here all alone.”

“Watch me,” Osamu snapped back because he couldn’t entertain him, even if he would have liked it. It was dangerous, and he needed to clean out anything valuable before leaving.

“I wouldn't do it if I were you.”

This time his tone lose all the playfulness and something cold crept up Osamu's spine leaving goosebumps on its trail. Instinctively, he glanced around to identify the threat. Nothing unsettled him except-

“Kiyo-kun has you in the gunsight.”

-the high window. It explains the curtains absence...

“Why didn't he shot me when I manhandled ya, then?”, he played it cool like Atsumu would have done if he was there. I fucking hate him when he think with his- Osamu squashed down the longing for his stupid twin. He said he could have done it anyway. And he was going to. Just like he promised.

“'Cause he knows I like it when it's a big guy.”

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Osamu rounded the table and opened a drawer to look for a rag. When he found it, he walked back to tie the man's mouth shut.

“Kinky,” came the unfortunate comment just before Osamu silenced him.

“Gonna grab a few things. Sit tight, sweetheart,” he left him behind and run up the stairs.

Incredibly, the upstair's rooms were more minimalistic than the other ones below. The long hallway let Osamu choose between three bedrooms -one so tidy that he thought it was unused, another quite empty with only a bed and a wardrobe, and the last might be of a teenager considering the mess inside. All of them with an en-suite bathroom. At the end of the hallway there was another flight of stairs that probably led to a louscious balcony, so he checked the last two doors left: a main bathroom -With a fucking jacuzzi, crazy riches!- and finally, the study.

Inside this last room, Osamu's blood ran cold. I fucked up, he hissed, licking his teeth. There was an ammunition display as big as an entire wall on his right, but the safe he was looking for was in the very left corner behind the solid wood desk. Osamu clenched his fists a couple of time and tried to think fast about what to do. He was clearly in a shitty situation, alone and also-

“Did you enjoy the house tour?”

He didn't flinched nor moved. Even if his own muscles ordered him to turn, tackle the man down and run away from there. Steadying his breath, Osamu glanced at the display's glass to see the man that he tied in the kitchen's chair, free and on his feet. Grinning like a madman.

"Ow, cat got your tongue, big guy?”, he laughed, walking lazily around Osamu as he had now the upper hand.

“How d'ya free yourself?”

"Don't you want to find out yourself?”, he tempted Osamu, sitting on the desk with skinny, long legs open wide and palms behind.

The man was unarmed. Anyway, Osamu knew better to underestimate him. He did once and now...

"Who are ya?”, he couldn't help but ask.

“Someone you shouldn't mess with,” the man levelled him with a serious look, “You're lucky I found you cute, otherwise...”

He didn't need to finish the sentence, his green eyes trailing the weapons shining inside the display. Osamu didn't have any other chance. It stung, but he didn't really want to die like this. He could probably try to rob another house -maybe below par- on the way home.

"Where are you going?” It was the second time he repeated the question tonight as Osamu started to backtrack.

“'M listenin' yer suggestion, sweetheart. I won't mess with ya.”

“Won't you?”, he pouted, "But I thought we could have some fun! None but a dumb big guy like you would ever try to sneak into my house.”

"Not in the mood, sorry.”

"Such a pity...”, he sighed and jumped from his sit to get closer, “At least, do want me to lead you the way out?”, his tone feigned innocence.

“No need, thank ya,” Osamu was already on the doorstep. The last step and I can-

“Oh please, I insist,” the man stopped, putting a hand on his shoulder, “I'd be a bad kumicho if I don't lead the people I welcome in.”

🥶🔪🩸💀 I know this doesn't exactly fit the prompt, but it was inspired by it and I thought it was right giving it the credit anyway. I hope you had fun reading this little shot I wrote for SunaOsa (with a foreshadowed SakuAtsu) and feel free to ask in the comment's section another prompt of the list with a ship you enjoy, if you like to read more. I'll be happy to write something down for you. <3

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“Sorry, 'm late I know...”

Geto turned back and saw him walking in his direction, with his lanky body inside the teacher black suit that covered most of him.

“Satoru...?”, he smiled at his name called so incredulously, “What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here!"

“Ouch that hurt,” the white haired man feign a sting in his chest, right above the heart, as dramatic as ever, “I'm a man of words!”, he justified himself.

He couldn't handle the memory of that promise Gojo was referring to. Not right now, not in that moment when it was impossibile to have him there at one arm reach...

“You're really here...”, he whispered while grasping his arms, still stunned, “It can't be, you're-”

“Suguru,” he murmured his name softly as he reached to his cheeks and holding oh so dearly, “I gave it all, 's alright, I wanna rest now.”

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You can’t understand

how much it hurts

to have all these sheet inked

black and white

by my aching soul,

and not be

acknowledged at all.

As if I never held a pen

between my fingers.

As if I never spilled my sorrow

in pages and pages

none will never read.

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I side with kenjaku bc they're creating a world of mass chaos and that means I won't have to pay taxes anymore

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You looked me in the eyes and a sad, fearful smile creeped your lips as you said: “I got the feeling you'll go far away from me.” I smiled back at you, knowing the truth: “Nah, I'll always reach out for you.”; hoping you couldn't hear the lie echoing inside my own head.

Geto Suguru/Gojo Satoru