#gojo x freader

The soft, ambient glow of phone screens was the only light illuminating the bedroom. It was one of those rare evenings where Satoru didn't have a late-night curse to exorcise, and he was content simply sprawling across the mattress, one heavy arm lazily thrown over your waist while he mindlessly scrolled through his feed.

You, on the other hand, were on a mission.

"Satoru, look," you whispered, breaking the cozy silence. You turned your screen toward his face, tapping the display eagerly. "Isn't this vintage vanity so pretty? Do you think it fits my aesthetic?"

Satoru barely shifted his gaze from his own phone, giving the screen a cursory glance. All he saw was a swirl of antique wood and ornate glass before he leaned in, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to your forehead. "Mhm. Totally, babe. Looks just like you," he hummed affectionately, his voice deep and relaxed.

"Good," you chirped, sliding your phone back into your hands, "because I already bought it."

"That's nice, honey..." he murmured, humming in absentminded acknowledgment as his thumb kept scrolling. The words didn't even register.

The next morning was a completely different story.

Satoru leaned against the kitchen counter, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, only to find you practically bouncing off the walls. You were humming a lively tune, twirling past him in a blur of pastel fabric and undeniable excitement.

He leaned back, watching you with a amused smirk. "Alright, what's got you bouncing around like a little pinball so early?"

"I'm bringing the vanity I showed you yesterday home today!" you beamed, clapping your hands together.

Satoru froze, a half-empty mug halfway to his lips. He lowered it slowly, reaching up with his free hand to scratch the back of his neck in utter bewilderment. "Wait... today? But how are you getting it here? Did you hire movers?"

You stopped in your tracks, turning to him with a slow, sly smirk playing on your lips. "Let's just say... the suspect is closer than they think."

Before he could process the ominous hint, you stepped on your tiptoes, planted a quick, sugary kiss on his cheek, and giggled as you scurried down the hallway.

Satoru stood there, completely motionless. The silence stretched for three agonizing seconds as the rusty gears in his sleepy brain finally clicked into place.

The suspect... wait.

His eyes widened beneath his fringe. HE was the suspect. He was supposed to go pick up and carry a massive, solid-wood vintage vanity across town! Principal Yaga was literally going to have his head if he didn't show up for his scheduled briefings today, and here he was, drafted into off-duty furniture hauling.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Satoru groaned out loud. He ran a hand through his messy white hair, letting out a long, dramatic sigh that echoed down the hall.

When he looked up, he caught sight of you peeking sheepishly from around the living room wall, only your big, innocent eyes and hands visible as you clutched the corner of the wood.

Satoru sighed again, though the exasperation melted into fond adoration the moment he saw your guilty little face. He pushed off the counter and stalked over to you, shaking his head.

"Well," he purred, stopping right in front of you and leaning down until he was eye-level, "what are strong, handsome, loving boyfriends for, I guess?"

Two hours later, the "strong, handsome, loving boyfriend" was reconsidering every life choice that had brought him to this exact doorway.

Satoru was currently wedged in the front entrance, grunting as he maneuvered a massive, hundred-pound antique mahogany vanity through a door frame that seemed to have shrunk three inches just to spite him.

He could have used Infinity to manipulate the weight, but the damn thing had so many delicate, hand-carved flourishes and fragile antique mirrors that one wrong burst of cursed energy would turn your prized possession into firewood. He was forced to move it the old-fashioned, manual way.

"Just... twist it... left..." Satoru muttered under his breath, his jaw set in pure, unyielding stubbornness. The corner of the vanity caught on the trim with a loud thump. He froze, holding his breath, praying he hadn't chipped the wood. "Okay, pivot..."

While the strongest sorcerer alive was engaged in a life-or-death battle against a 1920s dressing table, you were living in absolute bliss just a few feet away in the open-concept living area.

You flounced merrily between the kitchen counter and the couch, completely unbothered by his grunts of exertion. A dusting of flour sat on the tip of your nose as you pulled a tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls out of the oven, humming your favorite song entirely out of key.

After sliding the tray onto a cooling rack, you flopped gracefully onto the sofa, grabbing a ball of yarn and your favorite crochet hook. Satoru chanced a glance over the top of a giant mirror frame—his white hair sticking up in crazy directions, a tiny bead of sweat running down his temple—only to see you with your head tilted, your tiny pink tongue sticking out of the corner of your mouth in deep concentration as you stitched a miniature frog hat.

"You doing alright over there, honey?" you asked sweetly without looking up, your hook moving in a swift, practiced rhythm.

Satoru took a deep, agonizing breath, muscles flexing as he heaved the heavy mahogany another inch into the hallway, determined to never, ever admit defeat.