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celestie0 · 20 days ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch10. what if?

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency department, just got broken up with your boyfriend of 7 years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation with him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw slight age gap bc gojo in this fic is 34 n reader is 29

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 10/x

ᰔ words. 7.2k

a/n. helloooooooooo my ihm loves!!! tysm for tuning into this new chapter. sorry i am always an hour late to posting them LOL but anywho...as always...hope you enjoy...see ya at the bottom...

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Your eyes flutter open at the early hours of the morning, chest feeling flush from the deep sleep that had just enveloped you, possibly the first time in months you’ve slept through multiple hours without waking up at the top of every hour in cold sweats of stress.

The satin sheets are soft against the skin of your thighs where your nightgown has ridden up, feeling silky and smooth, and when you twist your torso a little, you feel a heaviness in the divot of your waist. Your sleepy eyes glance down to see a strong arm laying over you.

You panic at first, tensing up immediately, before you recognize it as Gojo’s. His hand lays weakly on the sheets in front of you, thumb twitching slightly in his sleep, but even in its lax state, you can still see pulsing veins trailing up the back of it, lining into his bicep into his porcelain skin that’s illuminated by the light just outside the windows. Smooth and pretty, but masculine at the same time, and you just now see that his knuckles are slightly red and there’s a small cut over the third one.

You lay still, unsure of what to do, and as you blink at the wall across from you, your mind wanders back to last night. The feeling of rage in your blood, unsettling in the moonlight, only to be completely dissolved by the feeling of Gojo’s arms pulling you into him, and holding you tight to his chest. So warm and soft, his comforting scent, the nuzzle of his chin above your head… when you close your eyes, you remember the sight of him hovering over you, that conflicted look on his face that was almost delicate with vulnerability, before it disappeared as he fell to your side and suddenly he was holding you in bed and you fell asleep in his arms. The memories have your cheeks feeling hot, and the fabric of your nightgown becomes suffocating.

You turn your head a little to glance over your shoulder, and you see that somewhere along the night, Gojo took his hoodie off, and you realize he’s shirtless behind you. Your heart beats a little faster in your chest, the otherwise shallow cadence of your early morning breathing picking up in speed, rousing you from sleep, and now you were so wide awake you could feel every sensation of his body pressed up against you from behind.

When you squirm a little, he mumbles deeply behind you before his arm curls around your waist even tighter and he pulls you in closer to him. You gasp, feeling him nuzzle his nose into your hair and his thumb presses into your rib cage right beneath your breast.

��Satoru,” you murmur, shifting more in his strong hold, and when you do, your butt wiggles against the front of him and—

Oh.

He’s—

He’s hard.

And you’re almost entirely shocked still from the way it feels against your ass.

Even through the thick fabric of his sweatpants, he feels heavy and imposing and hot and big—

You wiggle your butt against him a little bit more, curiously, because you can’t help it, and he groans near your ear.

“Mm,” he mumbles, deep and guttural. “Don’t.”

“Why are you hard right now?” you hiss at him.

“Huh.” Is the only noise he makes as he tries to drift off back to sleep.

“I asked you a question.”

He shifts with a sigh. “Morning wood. Testosterone is higher in the AM. You’re a nurse, you should know that.”

“Well make it go away. It’s uncomfy.”

“How?” he asks with amusement in his voice, like he’s hoping you’ll continue to feign innocence because it was the cute thing to do.

“I don’t know. Go tug on it in the bathroom.”

You feel him exhale an amused scoff, then he presses his lips to the nape of your neck lazily, making you gasp, and you feel his mouth stretching into a smile against your warm skin. “You’re funny.”

The intimacy was searing, it spreads a heat across your entire body, and god, his voice… that deep, groggy sound that rumbles in his throat with the slight drawl in his tone…and when he presses a kiss behind your ear, it was over for you.

“Hey,” he says softly, to get your attention, his chin nuzzling the crown of your head, “thank you.”

“For what?” you exhale, somewhat airy, as if trying to prove that you’re not entirely affected by his touch.

He kisses the side of your neck. “For last night.”

Your heart is beating fast, and you blink a few times before you say, “I’m still mad at you.”

He sighs. “I figured as much,” he says and then he drops his head back down onto the pillow in retreat.

Would it be so wrong?

Is the question you ask yourself.

You’ve already pushed his buttons before,

And maybe it wasn’t wise to do so again,

Given the emotionally charged and rather tender moment you two shared last night,

One that has your head swimming with what-ifs that were still left unanswered,

But you find yourself wanting him now more than ever.

A feeling you don’t want to confront in your head,

But one you feel coarse throughout your body.

You let out a shaky breath and push yourself back against his front, feeling his rigid erection press up against the flesh of your ass, and he lets out a choked groan, one that sounds both aroused and mostly confused, before his arm slides down from under your breasts to hold you around your lower torso instead, almost anchoring you to whatever grinding movements you were making against him.

“You keep this up,” he says, “and I can’t make any promises about what happens next.”

You shuffle your thighs, both because you were aroused but also to coyly deflect any responsibility in riling him up, despite the fact that your ass still brushes against his front from the motion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you quip, innocently.

“You’re lucky that I play along,” he says, and it felt like a reference to all of the times he just chooses to deal with your sporadic attitudes like it was no big deal even though you’re sure it would frustrate the hell out of any other man.

His arm suddenly releases hold of your waist, then his palm smooths over the hill of your hip and down the velvet skin of your thigh, the texture of his hand rough compared to the duvet half-laying over you right now. You clench your thighs together, any and all movements of yours coming to a halt from the violent reaction you have to his touch, and there’s a small little voice in your head that’s screaming bad bad bad bad bad bad BAD idea to let him touch you like this but when he kisses down the curve of your neck, it’s entirely drowned out.

“Waiting for you to slap me,” he mumbles, “aaaaaany second now.”

“I’ve sworn off violence,” you gasp when his fingers feather a touch near your inner thigh.

“How convenient.” He pulls you in closer to him as he continues to tease you with his fleeting touch. “Your skin is so soft,” he says, pads of his fingers pressing into the plush of your thigh, his thumb hooking up the hem of your nightgown to gain more access. His nose brushes the hair away at the nape of your neck before he inhales indulgently. “Smells nice too.”

“Satoru.” Maybe it was a warning, or maybe it was just an acknowledgement of the man behind you that’s slowly touching parts of you that were unmapped by him before. Hell, it could’ve even come off as an encouraging moan of his name, for all you knew. You could hardly hear yourself think, let alone what you say.

When his lips press more firmly on the side of your neck, at that sensitive curve of supple skin, you’re unable to hide the reaction your body has to him anymore, a soft moan leaving your lips as you squirm with arousal and a borderline impatience. He pushes his front against your backside in response to the noise, and your eyes shut close to intensify the feeling.

He’s less chatty than usual, and you figure it’s because he’s sleepy and his brain’s not working, and maybe that’s why he’s tolerable to you right now, enough so to where you’re not too pissed off or annoyed at something he has said or done, hence why he has the opportunity to snake his hand up the front of your torso right now without you smacking him across the face for it. At least that’s the excuse you’ll tell yourself.

When his thumb brushes against your nipple, you let out an airy moan and press your entire body back against him with full desire.

“Fuck, you don’t wear anything underneath these?” he all but growls, his hand cupping your breast, gently kneading the softness that he finds and you swear you feel his cock jump in his boxers.

“W-Why would I wear a bra while I’m sleeping and at home?” you breathlessly manage to say.

“Well it’s hard for me to picture you braless underneath gowns that make you look like a 17th century pilgrim.”

Oh. Okay, yeah, there it was. That urge to smack him.

But the thought melts away when his thumb and index finger pinch your nipple, harsh in grip but gentle when he pulls on it, and you’re fully grinding your ass against him at this point, the arousal coiling tightly in your lower tummy, only barely relieved by the tight press of your thighs together.

The large span of his hand squeezes both your tits at the same time, making you moan against the pillow, a sound he reacts to by fully bucking his hips against your rear. “God, knowing that you don’t wear anything underneath these is gonna torture me whenever I see you around the house now,” he acknowledges with a sigh, forehead dropping to rest on your temple as his messy fringe falls against your eyelashes.

The warmth of his hand leaves your chest as it finds its way smoothing down your midriff, and he briefly digs the heel of his palm into the soft plush of your lower belly, almost as if to experiment, and you completely jump and then writhe in his hold from the ache of pleasure that courses through you. He’s pressing open mouthed wet kisses against your neck now, more liberal with the groans and grunts that he leaves against the wake of your feverish skin as he grinds against you, and the tips of his fingers slip past the band of your panties but—

He can’t get any further than that.

His lips leave your neck and he lifts his head up a little to glance at the state of your thighs, and then he looks down at your face. “Spread your legs.”

You pull a pillow to your face so you can hide your flushed cheeks from him. You’re breathing fast and then sniffle a little against the cover. “Too much,” you muffle into it.

For fucks sake, you weren’t a virgin. You’ve had your fair share of sex in this life at your age, as you’re sure he has too. Yet for some reason the sensations, the touches, the sounds, everything he’s giving you feels so much more intense than anything else you’ve ever had in your life and you’re not sure you can handle it. At least not in any way where you can hide how deeply, deeply, deeply turned on you were right now.

“It’s okay,” he says, voice surprisingly reassuring, but that somehow makes you blush even more, and he gently nips at the lobe of your ear with his teeth while his thumb rubs soothing circles over your lower belly, “it’ll feel good. Promise. And if it’s too much, just elbow me in the ribs.”

“Thaf’s not a proffer (propper) safeword,” you muffle into the pillow.

“Baby. I don’t mean to sound rude, but do you really need a safeword just for me to touch your pussy?”

Oh.

Hearing him so casually call you baby right now did something to you…and there’s no way to even put it into words, just a feeling of visceral arousal that has you instantly melting and sweetly opening your legs for him, and he kisses the hill of your cheekbone before he settles his head back down on the pillow. He gives you his outstretched arm to rest on, your head falling on top of his warm muscled bicep, all your day-two salon blowout hair scattered across the pillow and tickling his skin, and you have to hold your breath when his hand slips right into your panties and his middle and ring fingers glide between your slick folds.

“Fuck,” he shakily exhales behind you, his touches moving with ease from the wetness, smearing it up to your clit where he rubs soft, teasing, agonizingly slow circles that match the lucidity of his sleepy state, “you’re so wet.”

“N—” you gasp when he draws them faster. “I’m not,” you insist.

“You’re gonna argue with me right now when I’ve got the proof all over my fingers?” he drawls near your ear, abandoning your clit in favor of slipping two of his thick fingers inside of you so suddenly that your entire body curls up in pleasure, thighs clenching together tightly but his hand is still strong enough to move between their pressure as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out, in and out, in and out of you, curled upwards to that spot inside that has you seeing white.

You moan with no concern of the sound anymore, freely and whiny into the air, and he ruts his hips against your ass in response to the noise, which only elicits more from you. “Keep ‘em spread,” he tells you, voice strained through his own arousal, knuckles pushing up on your inner thigh to prod you open.

Ten minutes ago, he’d have never even gotten close to seeing let alone touching the most intimate parts of you. And now, his fingers are knuckle deep inside of you. But it wasn’t enough, you’ve become greedy, and you want more.

“Satoru—” you whine, hand shooting out to grab his wrist, feeling the tilt of it towards your pussy as he continues to casually finger you while you struggle to listen to him—…struggle to keep your thighs open in the face of the desperate arousal that spreads across all your senses. “Mm, faster—”

“Would you kill me if I asked you to beg for it?” he huffs, but you can hear the grin in his voice, like he knew he was pushing it, that insufferably cocky side of him you’d usually despise if you didn’t feel his slick knuckles against your inner thigh every time he pushed his fingers all the way inside.

You turn your face into his outstretched arm, eyes shut close. “Just—” He cuts you off when his thumb finds your swollen clit, the coarse pad of it running over the bundle of nerves as he shallowly continues to fuck you with his fingers, “just do it faster—”

He slows down the pace, thumb entirely abandoning your clit all together, making you gasp, and you hear his voice near your ear when he says, “how about a ‘please’?”

“Oh my god, okay, please, you asshole!” you all but scream, nails digging into his wrist now, dangerously close to his pulse, and you make a mental note to kill him for this later, but you don’t get past the first few words in your head before you hear him say,

“Ehh I’ll take what I can get,” and then the pure pleasure of his fingers relentlessly slamming into you takes over anything else.

He kisses the crown of your head, murmuring words of sweet praise into your hair, words you couldn’t even make out if you tried, because that dull ache of pleasure in your lower belly just builds and builds and builds, even further when you glance down at the sight of him pumping his fingers inside of you over and over. Your head plops down onto the pillow gently when his arm escapes from under, so that he can wrap it around your waist, trying his best to hold you still as you squirm from the pure pleasure, but he abandons the attempt to impatiently yank your gown up instead, your warm breasts becoming exposed to cold air and he squeezes them in his hand roughly before pinching your nipple, making you writhe and arch your back. The grip you had on the wrist of his pounding hand was now seethingly harsh, nails digging deep enough to draw blood, borderline trying to slow him down from just how seriously he took your request for him to go faster, because it was almost too much, but in the most blisteringly arousing way possible.

“Please, Satoru, I’m so close—” you whine, and the second he hears the hint of a plea in your voice, his other hand slips past the fabric of your panties and finds your clit, all four fingers relentlessly rubbing back and forth against the sensitive bud, making you scream, the heel of his palm placing a constant pressure on your lower belly, and when he curls his fingers inside of you, hitting that sweet spot that makes you see stars, you completely come undone, your orgasm washing over you as your walls flutter around his fingers that continue to coax you through every pulsating sensation, moans spilling from your lips, squirming from the pleasure, before you’re completely spent and your body slowly goes limp, relaxed, face halfway shoved into the pillow and teary eyes shut close in ecstasy, hand laying weakly in front of you on top of satin sheets as you try to regain your breath.

You hear Gojo huffing slightly behind you too. He pulls his fingers out of you and you can barely see over your shoulder that he brings them to his mouth. Fuck you need to see it. Need to see the sight of him licking them clean. But all you hear in time is the lewd pop sound when he pulls his fingers out of his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he practically hisses, sucking a sharp breath in through his teeth, and he sounds desperate when he says, “let me eat you out, please—”

“No—” you gasp, a little too quickly and a little too sharp, perching yourself up onto your elbow slightly so you can turn your head to look at him. He’s looking at you with wide blue eyes, completely at halt, like whatever your next wish was would be his command. But he also looks like he wants to stuff his face between your thighs. The duality of man.

You’re still heaving from your orgasm, feeling misty in your chest, eyelashes fluttering with a slight hesitation to say what’s on your tongue because you know it’s only because you’re scared of the intimacy, and yet you want it all at the same time, too.

“Just fuck me,” you say, and to prevent sounding needy, “I have places to be.”

You briefly bite your tongue in regret over the addition, worrying it sounded pretentious and cunty and perhaps too princessy for his taste, but instead he loses his shit. Evident in the broken and desperate groan that leaves his lips, the way he immediately starts fumbling with his sweatpants then his boxers to pull himself out and press the hot tip of his erection against your ass, insanely relished in the fact that you just asked him to fuck you, which should sound like music to his ears at this point based on how strained and hard his boner’s been poking at your ass for the past twenty minutes. And it’s a strange concept, one that has you feeling delirious with confidence as you realize that one of the hottest men you know feels like he’s the lucky one here because he gets to stick his dick inside of you.

You fall back down onto your side in as casual of a way as you could manage, and his strong arm immediately wraps tight around your waist to pull all the softness of you against all the rigidity of him, into that same spooning position that got you into this arousing mess in the first place. You can feel him shifting quickly behind you, mattress dipping with hasty movements as he slides a palm between your thighs then lifts one up to spread you open for him, and then he’s pumping himself in his hand, once, twice, face buried in the crook of your neck as he indulges in a few broken groans, the sound making you point your knee high up towards the ceiling, cheeks flush and almost ashamed by how badly you need him to tear your open right now. There’s no teasing, or tormenting, or taunting from him like there usually is, all of that skipped on the basis of the sheer desperation that coats the shaky breaths he continues to exhale behind you. He lets you bite down on his hand as he yanks your soaked panties to the side and rubs his throbbing length between your slick folds, tip bumping against your clit, his precum smearing over it before he wraps a fist around his cock to position himself at your entrance and then slowly stretches you out, inch by inch, murmuring a deep and sleepy shhh it’s okay near your ear when he hears you whine and whimper from the heavy intrusion, before he’s buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, almost at the same time that you do too, and you hear him swallow hard, his cock twitching inside of you. His arm wraps around you tighter, pulling you flush against his front as he presses sweet kisses behind your ear and you two just stay like this for what feels like eternity, his chest expanding in rugged and uneven breaths, like he’s savoring the sensation of being inside of you, before you just can’t take it anymore and wiggle your hips for him to just move already.

“Please, Satoru,” you whine, sniffling a little from the pure arousal, your nails digging into the skin of his forearm, “please—, move.”

He gently nibbles the lobe of your ear, withdrawing his hips back until he’s almost all the way out, save for the tip, before languidly pushing into you again, and your hand reaches out to grab the pillow in front of you to shove your face into to muffle your moan.

“I must still be dreaming,” he groans, slowly fucking you now with no rhythm or pace, just pure instinct like this is what he was made for, “there’s just—fuck,” he grunts when you clench around him tightly, “there’s just no way you’re letting me do this right now.”

“Mmff,” you muffle into the pillow, pushing your ass against his hips as your form of charity, and he uncrosses one of his arms from your waist so that his hand can snake up to cup your breast in his palm, and all the words you could possibly come up with in your head dissolve into a moan of pleasure instead.

“So tight, god, you feel so good,” he mumbles, his nose nuzzling into your hair as he breathes in deep, and you feel like your cheeks are on fire.

As he continues to knead your breast in his palm, then the other, then squeezes both at the same time, you rock your hips back gently into his, your arm reaching behind yourself, fingertips grazing the short hair of his undercut before you find yourself gripping at the soft tufts above it. You hear him inhale sharply, then he kisses your temple in encouragement as his thrusts pick up in pace and you feel that simmering ache of pleasure in your lower belly grow fiercer. Like he can read your mind, his hand leaves your tits, smoothing down your torso to lay flat against your lower belly, and he sighs in content when he can feel how deep he is underneath his palm over your belly.

You sigh into the pillow, over and over again, as he minds his business in rutting his hips into yours and makes it clear to you that he’s more than enjoying himself from the guttural groans that leave his lips from the pleasure. And when you arch your back further, an invitation that he just can’t refuse, he’s suddenly turning over, making you roll onto your stomach, and he holds himself up on one arm with his chest pressed firmly to your back before he pulls your panties halfway down your thighs and slides a pillow under your tummy, your hips now raised higher for him to slip his cock right into you again, so smooth from how slick you are but you still feel that delicious stretch from the girth of him, and the angle that he gets on you like this, with your ass up in the air, paired by the feeling of his balls slapping against your skin with every thrust that he resumes on you, has you about ready to scream.

“S-Satoru—” you whimper, arms stretching out in front of you as you push your ass back into him, forehead plopping down onto the pillow in front of you, soft hair covering your face as he pounds into you. “Mm—…oh…oh my god.”

“Fuck,” he grunts in between heavy thrusts, hips stuttering briefly from the sound of your moans, “y’know, I always pictured you’d be kinda prissy in bed,” he huffs, leaning over to pull the short sleeve of your flimsy nightgown down your arm to expose bare shoulder so he can kiss you there, “but you’re actually kinda cute.”

“That’s not—ah!” you gasp when he picks up the speed, like he already knows you’re about to argue with him over it, “Satoru!” You yelp, half in frustration, half in pure ecstasy, and you can feel his annoying grin against the curve of your shoulder as he kisses his way up to the side of your neck.

“C’mon baby, just leave it at that, yeah?” he purrs near your ear, his hand coming up to lightly pinch your nipple, “not everything has to be an argument.”

“Mm,” you muffle your irritation into the pillow, high pitched and whiny which he seems to find arousingly amusing given the huff of a laugh he exhales on the nape of your neck and the way you feel his cock jump inside of you, and then he’s nuzzling his nose into your hair again, freely, messily, rubbing his cheek against soft, tousled strands as he sighs with content, and then suddenly, he’s wrapping an arm around your ribcage just under your breasts, and pulling you upright with him so that you’re effectively leaning back against his chest with an arch to your back as he continues to fuck you from behind.

“Seriously, I mean it,” he lowly murmurs near your ear as you tilt your head back onto his shoulder in pure pleasure, and he rubs his cheek affectionately against your hair at the crown of your head while you dig your nails into the skin of his forearm tucked underneath your breasts, “you look so pretty with your hair like this,” he breathes out, almost broken, and it nearly makes you cry when he kisses your cheekbone over the splayed strands of bangs that sit over the curve, “so insanely pretty.”

You were gone, you just didn’t care anymore. With exactly sixteen sweet words, you were done for. You didn’t even realize a man worshiping your hair in the middle of sex was ever something that would have you so down bad on your knees, but you had never felt more deliriously hazy in your life. And you almost want to tell him to just pull on it, then, if he likes it so much, but there’s a simmering feeling at the base of your heart that just wants him to keep being gentle with you instead.

“Satoru, please—” you moan, throat loose and airy, thighs desperately clenching together with need, which only makes you squeeze around him even tighter and the effects of it shows in the way he drops his forehead to your shoulder, his fringe tickling your skin as he breathes heavily.

“God you’re squeezing me so tight you’re gonna cut the circulation off of my dick,” he scoffs, poorly containing just how turned on it makes him feel, and he gently leans over to lay you back down on your stomach so that your cheek is pressed into the pillow and he’s back to fucking you from behind while your ass is up in the air.

“That’s not how that—mm, works, you idiot—“ You struggle to say as heat spreads across your chest, and that tight coil in your tummy pulls more taut with each thrust, to where you feel your vision start to spot, and like he can tell you’re on the edge, his hand snakes down between your thighs and the rough pads of his fingers start to draw circles over your clit, making you gasp so sharply it feels like your throat has gone hoarse.

“C’mon, baby,” he groans, his thrusts picking up in speed along with everything else. He’s panting and heaving, and you feel a droplet of sweat fall from his face onto the back of your neck.

With one more pass of his fingers over your clit, you shut your eyes close, your entire body curls inwards and your orgasm washes over you in pleasureful waves, making you scream out a moan as you squeeze around Gojo’s cock over and over, and you feel his thrusts grow erratic, insane, all loss of tempo and rhythm, his grunts above you sounding so sonically desperate and it’s only when you feel the stutter of his hips, that you barely gain enough sane conscience in the whirlwind of pleasure swimming in your head to remember you have to tell him—

“Wait, Satoru—” you gasp, entirely sober from the delirium, “n-not inside, you can’t.”

“Huh?” he breathes out, in caution, like he had just been on the verge of cumming inside of you, then exhales a breathy—“fuck,” at the implication, and he stays inside of you until the very end of his composure, like he didn’t want to waste a single second of being inside of you, to where you could physically feel his balls jump against your clit with the last thrust he makes right before he pulls out and quickly replaces the squeeze of your cunt with the squeeze of his hand instead, and although you can barely see it over your shoulder, you can just picture it— how hot he looks as he pumps himself over your back with a fucked out groggy expression all over his handsome face.

“Shit, shit, shit— I’m gonna—” He fumbles with your nightgown to try to pull it up so he doesn’t completely soil it with his cum, but he only succeeds in pulling it up halfway before you feel hot spurts land on the fabric, sporadically painted across the exposed skin of your back, over your ass, your thighs, hell you’re even sure some of it landed in your hair as you hear him groan over and over behind you, a sound so lost in pleasure it has you reeling thinking about how you’re the one that’s causing it, and even after just having had an orgasm, your walls still clench around nothing from the thought.

When he has no more to give, he lets out a shaky breath, one that could constitute as a satisfied sigh, before he flops down onto his back next to you, chest heaving heavily, lips parted with deep breaths, eyes wide as he stares up at the ceiling and shakes his head like he’s in shock before he turns his neck to look at you.

You’re breathing heavily, then shove your face into the pillow, chest laying over your balled up fists you have kept near your rapidly beating heart, and you hear the heaviness in his breathing as well beside you, the sound intensified by the tight shut of your eyes, and you finally feel the horny haze in your head clearing slightly from the early hours of the morning.

The mattress shifts underneath you with Gojo’s weight as you feel him turn onto his side, and he curls an arm around your waist, pulling you in towards him.

And it occurs to you,

It finally occurs to you,

That you two just had sex.

He presses his lips lightly to the top of your head in nothing less than a kiss, before murmuring in a soft voice, “c’mon, let’s go clean you up–”

You slip out from under his arm, from out of the bed, and BOOK it to the bathroom like your life depended on it, shutting the door behind you, and then twisting the lock before you place your palms flat on the surface, huffing and puffing panicked breaths.

It only takes Gojo about five seconds to attempt to open the door, have a moment of brief confusion when he finds that it’s locked, and then knocks. “Wha—…y/n? The fuck? Is everything okay?”

“No! I mean–...yes! I mean–...I don’t know!” you yell.

Even through the wooden barrier of the door, you swear you can see him blink as his face twists with confusion, entirely perplexed by your behavior.

You breathe in deep, and exhale slowly, then rest your forehead on the surface of the door, glancing down at your feet over the cool tile of the bathroom. You shut your eyes close as you still feel the ghostly sensations of his arms handling you in bed, hands roaming across your skin, the feeling of him inside of you–

You shake your head to push the memories away, an almost visceral reaction to them, and it’s mostly silence for what feels like forever but was most likely only a minute, when you hear Gojo say on the other side of the door–

“Just come out here. Let me see you.”

You shake your head, as if he would have any way of seeing your refusal, before you say, “no, I’m–...I’m going to take a shower.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and you don’t wait to hear whatever response he does give before you’re turning the hot water on in the shower, to drown out any noise, including the sound of your own pestering thoughts.

You pull your nightgown up over your head, tossing it into a corner of the bathroom along with your panties, open the mosaic glass door to the shower, and walk underneath the overhead shower head, the water trickling down your now tousled, soiled hair, whatever style or curl that it had been smoothed into the day before now falling from the strands, until it’s flatly soaked with water, and you run your hand through your hair, still letting go of soft, remnant huffs of air from your lips to try and come down from the intense feelings that sit in your chest.

What did this mean, now? You two crossed a line that was quite literally never supposed to be crossed. Not according to your rules, or your silly contract, or any notion of this fake marriage. Will this make things awkward? Will this make things feel more real? Will this sort of thing happen again? Would you be able to stop yourself from letting it happen again?

And will this just further complicate the confusing feelings that you seem to have for Gojo?

What were the possibilities after this, if any?

You’re surprised to find that there’s a small part of you inside, give or take once any of the awkwardness passes, that is for once not afraid to explore the what-ifs.

You step out of the shower, the steam feeling sticky on your skin as you wrap a towel around yourself and then wipe a hand across the foggy mirror to see your reflection. You look fresh, clean, no longer sleepy or dazed, but you blink at the sight of you as you still feel flushed at the chest, and sad that the hair he likes so much is now gone.

How can a person feel so sure and yet so conflicted about one single thing?

Once you finish freshening up, you open the door to get back into the room, but not without peeking your head around to see if Gojo’s still there, only to see that he’s not. And so you apprehensively step out into the room, quickly get dressed, try to dry your hair off the best you can in a hurry, and then—

Your stomach growls.

“Ah,” the soft sound leaves your lips.

You didn’t even do any of the work and you’re hungry?

Your own green sickens you.

You waft across the floors of the loft in your fresh nightgown, then peek your head over the railing of the stairs to see if you hear any noises, but you don’t.

“Mm?” you hum in confusion, then slowly make your way down the stairs.

Having successfully evaded all the creaky wood, you turn the post at the bottom, making your way towards the kitchen but quietly, stealthily, the Pink Panther theme song playing in your head as you tread the wooden floors like a spy.

Your heart was beating fast in your chest, and when you made it to the kitchen, it’s empty. You round the kitchen island, trace the marbled surface with the pad of your index finger.

Where did he go?

And then you realize— it smells like fresh coffee.

You turn around near the pantry, and just at that moment, Gojo comes walking out of it and nearly collides with you in his stride.

“Oh shit—” he says, hand darting out to hold your elbow so you don’t fall backwards onto your butt, and just from that contact alone, you’re searing.

You yank your arm out of his grip and stare at him with a panic. He’s still shirtless, wearing his loosely hung black sweatpants, but his face looks freshened up and his hair is flattened down in an attempt to tame it, and he’s squinting at you like he doesn’t have his contacts in and is struggling to make out what kind of expression you’re offering him.

“Hey,” he says, “can we talk—”

You weren’t ready to talk about it yet.

Didn’t have enough time to have an existential crisis over it.

And as if God was on your side, the doorbell rings.

“Ah!! Gotta get that!!” you chirp before turning on your heel towards the main entrance, but he reaches out to grab your wrist, making your breath hitch.

“Just hold on one sec—”

“I can’t,” you say, and you both hear the doorbell ring again, “it’s probably the highschoolers I shoo’d off yesterday because I didn’t have any cash to give for their fundraiser. I promised I’d go to the ATM.” You yank out of his hold. “Highschoolers are scary. Don’t wanna make ‘em wait!!! Or they’ll…egg…your house?” You say, blinking at him, the same way he’s blinking at you, because you’re just as confused about what you said as much as he probably is. “Ah…ahahah,” you let out some forced laughter, which most definitely just sounds awkward. You take two steps forward towards the hall, but then turn around to face him again. “Um. Also. If you have any cash on you, that’d be great. I forgot to go to the ATM.”

His expression suggests that he is just so entirely confused by you, and then he watches as you beeline to the door.

You breathe in deep, then exhale slow, tuck some damp strands behind your ear, and just try your best to calm down your beating heart before you yank open the door, fully prepared to see some obnoxious teenagers, when—

You’re met with a wide-eyed, surprised-looking Sylvie standing at the front door instead.

“Ah?” you softly exclaim.

She blinks blankly, her mouth that had been slightly agape at the sight of you closing as if she found it to be too improper of a reaction for her standards, and she smooths down the fabric of the bright blue denim waistcoat she was wearing, her palms gliding down to the matching dress pants, and then tucks her neat hair behind her ear.

“Sylvie?” you blink in surprise, “w-what are you doing here?”

She creases her brow at you, then leans back to check the house number to the side of the doorframe to check if she’s got the right house, and then her gaze shifts back to you. “What are you doing here, y/n?”

“Oh, that’s—” Your voice trails off gently, suddenly unsure, but then you find it again. “That’s what I asked you.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks again, eye contact unwavering, and somewhat impatient.

“Is a ten dollar bill enough? Or do you need a twenty?” You hear Gojo’s voice as he approaches from the side in your periphery while fishing through bills in his wallet, still gloriously shirtless and somewhat disheveled from sex and sleep, and he runs a hand through his hair before he walks right up to you, hands you a couple of bills and says, “ehhh just give ‘em a couple of twenties.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary anymo—” you start, but then his face lifts and he’s glancing towards outside of the door.

It was like something out of a movie, the way you would describe it. The way his face twists from relaxed, somewhat disinterested, into full-blown, unadulterated shock. The way his shoulders stiffen, he’s rendered still, chest decompressing with the exhale he huffs out. You’ve never seen the blue in his eyes so clearly before, not with the way they’ve never been so wide in all the time that you’ve known him, and it breaks your heart—how pretty they are.

“S—” he starts, but the syllable gets caught in his throat.

Your gaze slowly pans from him to Sylvie, who stands just outside the door, and you find that, as her eyes shift between the two of you, her expression is the exact same as his. Wide, shocked, but there was something else in there too. But just the idea of deciphering what it could be, what it could mean, makes you feel so entirely discouraged, like a stranger in your own skin, and it makes your shoulders sulk, same with the sink of your heart towards the center of the Earth.

With eyes flicking back to Gojo, you blink at him once slowly, then twice, feeling like you were out of breath from just standing alone.

You didn’t even need to ask who she was to him. You can tell by the way he’s looking at her.

Sylvie is his ex-wife.

[end of ch10. 'what if?']

[end of in holy matriphony: season 1]

song of the chapter: 'boyish' by japanese breakfast

a/n. mann i would hate to be gojo rn LOL anywho, thank you sm for readinggg <33 aaaaaaa i'm so nervous to kick off all the DRAMA and angst but............ i'm also very excited 🤭 i am once again shitting bricks posting this chapter bc i just get so nervous posting smut, idk maybe cuz i hardly post it but idk it just is so nervewracking??? and feels so vulnerable??? ahaha i imagine it gets easier the more you post it but like DAMN idk how the jjk smut authors do it. i feel more vulnerable posting this than any other chapter 🤣🤣 buuuuuut i also enjoyed writing it 🤭hehe. apologies for any typos i wrote it w one handKSDJFH im joking i just love this whole two steps forward one step back dynamic btwn reader n gojo like it's the stuff i LIVEEE for in slowburns...i'm so excited to write all the complicated emotions that come w sleeping w a man n then his EX WIFE SHOWS UP AT THE DOOR NOT EVEN AN HOUR AFTER...hell yea huuuuge and i mean BIG and i meannnn COLLOSAL shout out to my lovely beta reader leni, who held my hand as i edited this chapter lol. i had an absolute blast running this one by you 🤣🤣 tysm to all my readers who support this story <3 i was so blown away by the love w ch9, it was a behemoth to edit, and SO challenging to write. i wanted to write a lengthier author's note for that chapter bc i had SO much to say about my writing process for it but i lowkey got lazy LOL but yea it definitely tested my writing abilities the most i think of anything i've put out so far. so i really am so glad it was well received! as you may have seen, this marks the end of ihm season 1!!! sort of a cliffhanger i'm sorryyy i don't usually enjoy leaving chapters on cliffhangers but i just love the open endedness of this scene :'') ihm will be going on a bit of a break after this. i want to spend a little bit of time hashing out some of the details for the next part of the story, and also take a little time off writing! ...its ok ihm gojo my beloved... i’ll be back soon lol i sound like i'm going fucking mental. anyways. once again thanks so much for all the likes, comments, reblogs, asks etc <3 interacting w you guys is a great part of my joy these days. hope you all have a lovely day/night! ah also!!! ihm playlist!!! finally debuting it!! still a tiny bit of a work in progress but you can find it here: playlist. i name it herbal seedlings bc idk all i could think about was reader’s herb garden - ellie 🧚‍♀️✨

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