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three days : satoru gojo x fem!reader
notes from the writer : fluff, 1.1k words
You’re zipping up your overnight bag when you hear the longest, most theatrical sigh known to mankind behind you.
You don’t even turn. “Satoru.”
Another sigh. Louder. Longer. This one sounds like it traveled through grief, betrayal, and three past lives.
“Yes, sweetheart?” he says, voice perfectly flat, as if he isn’t the one performing emotional opera in your bedroom.
“I’m being normal,” he replies, sprawled diagonally across your bed like he’s posing for a Renaissance painting of despair. “My girlfriend is abandoning me and our son for three days.”
He gestures lazily toward the foot of the bed.
Noodle, your ridiculous brown sausage dog, stares back with the roundest, guiltiest eyes—as if he did orchestrate your departure and is now dealing with the consequences.
“Noodle,” Gojo says, addressing the dog. “Your mother is leaving us. How do you feel about becoming a child of divorce?”
Noodle sneezes and immediately starts licking Gojo’s sock.
“Exactly,” he says, petting him with tragic solemnity. “Even he’s devastated!”
You zip the bag the rest of the way. “You’re going to be fine.”
“No. No, actually, we’re not.” He flops onto his back. “We’ll just… eat cereal for dinner while we cry together. Father and son… together in suffering...”
You stare down at him. “You don’t even eat cereal.”
“We will now,” he says. “To cope.”
You set your bag on a chair. “I’ll only be gone for THREE days.”
“Try three eternities,” he mumbles into your pillow. “Time moves differently when the love of your life leaves you alone with responsibility.”
You roll your eyes. “Responsibility meaning… Noodle.”
He lifts his head, whiye hair sticking up in every direction. “He’s basically a toddler. He peed on my shoe yesterday and I didn’t even raise my voice. That’s growth … That’s real fatherhood! ”
Noodle barks once, proud of himself.
You snort. “He peed because you told him he had a ‘weak stream’ and offended him.”
Gojo gasps. “I was encouraging him! It was constructive criticism!”
“You said, and I quote, ‘babe, he needs better water pressure.’”
He points at you. “Which was TRUE.”
You shake your head, trying not to laugh. “Satoru, I’ll be back Monday morning. It’s literally a work trip.”
He sits up slowly, like it pains him. “And you can’t work from home?”
“You want me on a conference call while you and Noodle reenact Les Mis in the background?”
“My voice acting was really good,” he mutters.
You lean in and kiss his forehead. He instantly grabs your waist, pulling you onto his lap with a soft, exaggerated grunt of heartbreak.
“Satoruuuuu,” you whine playfully.
“Don’t use my own methods against me,” he whines back, clutching you like you’re about to evaporate.
His voice is dry, but the words are dramatic as ever. “I just think it’s interesting that the woman I love is choosing capitalism over her family...”
“You heard me,” he says. “Family. Honestly, I should get custody for good behavior.”
“That’s not how anything works.”
Noodle hops onto the bed, curling up on your thigh like a furry punctuation mark. Gojo sighs and strokes his tiny head with gentle fingers.
“Our boy is confused,” he says quietly. “He thinks his mom doesn’t love him.”
Noodle lets out a tiny snore.
You deadpan. “He’s asleep.”
“Yeah,” Gojo whispers. “He cries in his dreams.”
You smack his arm. “Stop.”
He smiles—soft, crooked, unbearably fond—and you feel your chest pinch a little.
He pulls you closer until your forehead rests against his shoulder. When he speaks again, his voice is still dry, but less theatrical. More genuine.
There it is. The real part.
Your hand curls at the hem of his shirt. “I’ll miss you too.”
He nuzzles your temple. “Three days is a long time.”
“It is for me,” he mutters. “I like you too much.”
Gojo glares at him. “Wow. Even your ass is mourning.”
You burst into laughter so loud he grins triumphantly, like that was his goal all along.
He lets you go only long enough for you to stand and grab your bag. As soon as your hand reaches the zipper, he’s beside you—no sound, no warning—just six feet of clingy sorcerer suddenly magnetized to your side.
You roll your eyes but give it to him anyway. He squeezes harder than necessary, burying his face into your shoulder.
“You better FaceTime me,” he mumbles. “At least twice a day. Minimum.”
“And send pictures of your hotel room, so I know it’s not haunted.”
“And text me when you land, and when you check in, and when you—”
You sigh and place your hand over his mouth.
He grins under your palm.
You soften. “I’ll keep you updated. Promise.”
He blinks, his lashes brushing your skin. “Okay.”
You remove your hand and kiss him—quick, warm, familiar.
He melts like you cast a spell on him.
When you finally walk toward the door, suitcase rolling behind you, Gojo drags Noodle into his arms and cradles him like some tragic Victorian child.
“Say goodbye to your mother,” he whispers dramatically. “She’s going to war.”
You wave one last time. “I love you.”
He perks up slightly. “Mmm. I love you too.”
He puts a hand over his chest. “Ah. Finally. Validation.”
But just before you step out, he calls your name—quiet enough that the drama falls away.
When you look back, he’s standing there with Noodle tucked under one arm, blue eyes bright, hair messy, expression soft in a way he rarely lets anyone see.
“Come back soon,” he says. “The house feels better with you in it.”
He nods once, like he needs to believe it.
And then you leave for three days.
Satoru Gojo, in your apartment, looks down at Noodle.
“Well,” he says, voice flat. “Guess it’s just us now.”
Gojo sighs the sigh of a man entering his villain era.
“Being a single parent is so hard,” he mutters. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
“Fine,” he tells him. “Cereal it is.”
