Caesar on a TV screen

tojis scared of nobody, hes done a lot of scary shit in his life, and none of that has ever really bothered him the way you do when youre upset with him.

the worst part is that you never yell about it either, you just get quiet in this awful way that makes the whole apartment feel wrong while he sits there trying to figure out exactly how badly he fucked up this time.

right now hes slouched at the kitchen counter watching you cook dinner in complete silence after finding out he lied about where he was last night, and for maybe the first time in years, toji genuinely feels nervous.

not because he cheated, because christ no, he'd rather die. he just told you he was out working when really he had been wasting half the night at the track with the guys, throwing away money and stumbling home at three in the morning smelling like cigarettes and beer.

now youre upset for real.

you stand at the stove stirring something slowly without looking at him even once.

"..baby." he tries carefully.

you dont answer him at all, dont even glance in his direction, and toji immediately shifts in his seat while his rough hand drags down his jaw as he watches your back like hes trying to predict incoming danger.

"dont start that quiet shit...come on."

you keep stirring the pot like he didnt speak, and somehow that gets to him worse than yelling ever could because now hes just sitting there alone with his own stupidity banging in his head.

he scrubs a hand down his face hard enough to pull at his skin before trying again.

"…i said m'sorry."

you finally look at him over your shoulder, calm and unreadable, and toji straightens immediately like somebody pointed a loaded gun at him.

"alright, nah." he says quickly, sitting up properly now. "quit lookin' at me like that, shits makin me nervous."

you turn back toward the stove without answering, and the genuinely distressed look on his face would almost be funny if you werent still irritated with him.

"baby," he tries again, something almost pleading sitting underneath his voice. "i know i shoulda called. i know that. wasnt thinkin straight."

you stay silent long enough that he finally pushes himself out of the chair and walks toward you carefully, slower than a man his size usually moves, like he knows one wrong move might make everything worse. his hands hover near your waist for a second before finally settling there, fingers digging into the generous flesh, warm and cautious while he leans down toward your shoulder.

"dont stay mad at me," he mutters quietly. "hate when youre mad at me."

you stay quiet just long enough for panic to start creeping back into his expression before finally sighing, one tired little sigh leaving you while you keep stirring dinner. did you calm down yet?

the relief flashes over him instantly, and thats when your nails dig into the back of his hand immediately.

"If you lie to me again," you say, grip tightening on his hand. "I'll smother you in your sleep."

tojis entire face drops so fast its almost impressive. his brows pull together while he slowly lifts his head from your shoulder to stare at the side of your face like hes trying to figure out whether youre serious or not.

"Im expecting a manipedi this week," you continue flatly, turning back toward the stove like this is all perfectly reasonable.

"you taxin' me now?" he asks

"and you better go earn that wasted money back right now." you say, menacing. "or gold help me ill bang you in the face."

tojis mouth opens, then shuts again immediately when your nails dig harder into his skin. he squints at you suspiciously while you finally let go of his hand and turn toward him fully.

"chop chop, boy." you say.

"the hell you just call me?" he asks

you grab the front of his shirt before he can keep complaining, tugging him down just enough to press a soft kiss against his cheek. and then you pull back slightly, look him dead in the eyes, and say very quietly.

"get out my face."

he immediately steps out of your way.

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“ryo,” it rolls off your tongue naturally. as if you’ve called him that thousands of times before. you don’t realise it until he suddenly stops in his tracks.

sukuna narrows his eyes. you turn your head and look up, oblivious to your slip-up. the sorcerer doesn’t utter a word and instead glares down at your short frame. he looks irritated, or more annoyed.

“oh,” you realise why only a few seconds after.

you bow your head at him and try to explain yourself in a hurry. normally, you’d address him with respect like everyone else does. ‘my lord’, ‘lord sukuna’, or even ‘master’.

Sukuna’s developed an irritating habit. Whenever he’s fed up with you, or whenever he doesn’t want to entertain one of your questions, he’ll simply stay quiet and gesture towards his stomach. It’s kind of like saying ‘talk to the hand’. But in his case, it’s ‘talk to the stomach mouth’. 

Then his stomach mouth will shoot you this wide, smug grin, like it’s more than happy to converse with you. And you’ll just toss up your hands and groan, annoyed that your husband won’t even bother to speak with you face to face. 

But recently you've taken Sukuna up on his offer, turning the tables to give him the silent treatment while still chatting away with his stomach. Because Sukuna underestimated just how much that mouth of his likes to rile someone up. Even if it’s the rest of his body. 

Now, Sukuna’s lounging on the bed, limbs draped carelessly along the mattress. He’s trying to feign indifference. Trying to pretend he’s unphased by the fact that you haven’t spoken to him in four whole days. 

But you know better. You see the slight clench in his jaw, the scowl that deepens on his face each time he steals a look your way. He watches as you sit by the window, gazing at the scenery outside. 

When the silence stretches on longer than he can bear, Sukuna sets his pride aside to clear his throat and ask, “Are you still doing this?” 

You don’t even spare him a glance, continuing to look out the window. “Middle Mouth,” you say, “will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I have no idea what he’s talking about?”

Sukuna scoffs in disbelief, but that mouth of his flashes its teeth and singsongs, “Sukunaaaa. She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard you,” Sukuna huffs, speaking to you instead of his stomach.

He hates this whole situation. Hates that you're not speaking with him. Hates that you’ve given his stomach mouth a nickname. And he hates that the mouth is entertaining it at all. 

 His jaw clenches once more, and he sighs before saying, “You’re ignoring me.” 

He’s not wrong. For almost a week, you’ve been avoiding your husband, refusing to interact or even look at any part of him other than his stomach maw. But despite all of his sulking and sour moods, you act as if nothing is amiss.

“Middle Mouth, will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I am not ignoring him. You and I just had a lovely conversation, didn’t we?”

“Sukunaaaa,” the mouth singsongs again. “She isn’t ignoring you…well, me.” That grin returns, and you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh. Why didn’t you start speaking with your husband’s stomach mouth sooner? He really is entertaining.

“Stop that. Don’t humor her,” Sukuna scolds.

“Middle Mouth, you can converse with me as you please.”

“I intend to,” his maw replies. 

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, but he’s not sure whether to direct his glare at you or his abdomen. “How long do you intend to keep up these antics?”

You brush an imaginary piece of lint from your clothes and say, "Middle Mouth, please inform the rest of Sukuna that I’m still waiting on a proper apology from him." 

“I’m warning you, do not–”

“Sukunaaaa. She is waiting for a proper apology from you.”

Sukuna stares murderously down at his lower half. He’s finally met his match. The only ‘enemy’ that he can’t silence by force. Himself. 

And secretly, you think that he slightly enjoys that you’re speaking with his stomach mouth. It shows him that despite this silent treatment, you still desire some form of communication with him. 

So he’ll put up with the teasing, the inside jokes, and the fact that his wife is being stolen by his own body.

You decide to press your luck a little bit further, and say something you know will send your husband over the edge. “Middle Mouth–”

“Not again,” Sukuna groans, tossing his head back.

“Do you remember what I told you? What we talked about last night?”

“What?!?" Sukuna demands, sitting up abruptly and sending the covers around him flying.

“Oh, I remember,” his maw says, immediately grinning and playing into it. 

“Well, I was thinking about it and–”

“Why are you speaking with my wife at night?”

“Our wife. And what we discuss during late hours does not concern you.” 

“Anyways, as I was telling you, Middle Mouth, before I was rudely interrupted–”

“No. This ends now."

In seconds, Sukuna’s beside you, all 7 feet of him towering over you intimidatingly. He rubs a hand across his jaw, like he has to physically force the words out of his mouth. “I.. apologize for not answering when you asked me which of my cocks I urinate from.”

“…”

“The answer is both of them.”

Immediately, your mood lifts. You turn away from the window, smiling and facing your husband like nothing was ever wrong. “Apology accepted.” And then to his stomach mouth, “We’ll continue our conversation later.” 

꒰unrequited꒱ friend!gojo just can't tell you how he feels ꩜ angst; pining; unrequited feelings (maybe)

It wasn't easy, not being someone's first love.

To know that when he had met you, on that one fateful night that had changed the complete course of Satoru's life, you had been crying over someone else.

It wasn't until much later that this particular fact would become an uncomfortable itch; always present, always painful. Growing stronger day by day, an incessant rash he couldn't find relief from.

No, that night, it didn't even register. Satoru had just laid his blue eyes upon the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and all else had faded away.

For all he cared, it seemed like somebody else's bad day was his lucky one – even while you explained through rushing tears the whole story that had led to your very recent break up, all Satoru could hear was that you were single.

Maybe that made him an asshole, but he didn't care. He was too drunk to care that night.

And you clearly had been drinking too, drowning your sorrow in cheap alcohol, served at some random house party you had been invited to. You wanted a distraction, something to make you forget, you kept saying.

So Satoru sat with you all night. Listening, trying to make you laugh, as the rest of the party raged on behind you, the noise barely registering. Just completely hypnotized by you. Wondering how your lipstick tasted, and noting how good your smile made him feel.

He wanted to kiss you, desperately, but he didn't – why the hell didn't he?

Because now, here he was, in a position he never thought he'd find himself in.

Satoru Gojo was in love.

That was terrifying.

That night, he called you a ride home and got in with you when you asked him to. Satoru helped you up the stairs, made sure you were tucked in bed with a cold glass of water on the nightstand for the morning, and then he left.

Not even a goodbye kiss, not even a number exchanged. He just wanted to make sure the pretty girl at that party made it home safe.

Imagine his surprise when you called the next day. Apparently had even messaged everyone at that party asking about the kind tall guy with white hair, until someone gave you his number.

And Satoru cringed at himself for how his heart leapt out of his chest hearing your voice through the speaker.

Truth was, even if both of you had been sober, Satoru sensed something that night that he knew he was better off staying away from. He should have kept it that way, spent the rest of his life wondering what if.

But now?

Now he was sitting next to you on your sofa, watching a movie he was barely paying attention to. Every time you moved your thighs touched, and Satoru felt like a fucking teenager again. This movie night thing had even been his idea, just an excuse to meet you now that the two of you were getting closer.

You texted almost every day. Went for coffee sometimes. Hell, he even started running so he could see you more often, suggesting you two join the local club.

Little by little, you opened up to him. Trusted him. And somewhere along the way, Satoru had fallen completely, desperately, deliriously in love with you. And you had found a best friend.

How the hell Satoru Gojo got friend zoned he didn't know, but his inability to just tell you his feelings might have something to do with it.

But every time he considered it, Satoru remembered that night. How you had cried to a stranger at a party because you felt so fucking alone.

It wasn't just that he was jealous you had loved someone already. Sure, that didn't help, but the truth is… Satoru couldn't bring himself to live with the fact that, if he did tell you his feelings and somehow you agreed to date him, then, one day, it could be him you were telling a stranger about.

The thought of breaking your heart pained him more than the possibility of never knowing the way that damn lipstick tasted.

Because he knew what that looked like already.

And he couldn't bring himself to be the reason for it.