Chapter Text
You were on the floor.
Why the fuck you were on the floor you didnt know. You remembered dancing. Remembered doing shots of something with Shoko. Remembered going outside to smoke and chatting (flirting) with some of the guys. Everything after that was a blur. You really had no idea how you ended up here.
It was really comfy though, so you weren't complaining.
The ground was wet. Sticky. Something sharp was digging into the skin of your back, ripping the fabric of the dress you wore, cutting into your skin leaving a trail of hot, thick blood down your skin and onto the floor.
You were laughing. Sipping from your cup that was somehow full of some mysterious liquid. Vodka? Tequila?
A mix of both, most likely. You really loved to drink.
The world around you was a blur of movement, the flashing of strobe lights, people jumping over you, talking above you, looking down at you, waving their hands in front of your face to check if you were alright. Some looked concerned, while some took photos claiming it was ‘aesthetic as fuck.’
You were great. You don't think you'd ever felt this great in your life. You felt so light, so perfectly dizzy. In that moment, on the dirty kitchen floor in the frat house, you fully felt like you had peaked. Nothing could beat this. No feeling could ever come close to the joy you had circling your brain.
Until you saw him standing over you.
Beautiful.
Glowing, bright blue eyes.
Soft, scruffy white hair.
A smirk on his lips as his mouth moved around syllables you couldn't detect, the words falling on your deaf ears as they drowned out all the sound, your brain focusing on nothing but him. Nothing but his face, so sharp yet so soft and elegant, so boyish yet so manly at the same time, a perfect mix of youth and adulthood. He had dimples. Dimples. He was the most perfect man you think you’d ever seen in your life.
“Jesus…?”
You saw him laugh, his eyes crinkling shut and his smile getting deeper, emphasizing his smile lines and his dimples even more. Were you dreaming? Was this all some drunken hallucination? Could you be so deep into some religious psychosis that you had begun to envision his angels descending from the heavens to seduce you?
“—although I am glad you— Are you even listening?”
What?
No. Of course you weren't. You were far too distracted by his face to be listening to anything he was saying. He looked much prettier with his mouth shut, you realized, his lips tugged into a small smile as he waited for you to reply.
Reply to what?
“You ain't dyin’, are you?”
You shook your head. But if dying felt like this you would happily surrender yourself into its dark, warm embrace. “No. No I'm— ‘m sooooooo good.” Even better now that your eyes have been blessed by the lord himself. You weren't religious but this could be a turning point for you. Surely God had to exist to create something as perfect as this.
“Who’re you??”
He raised an eyebrow, his face setting into a confused but curious glare. “Satoru Gojo. Y’dont know me?”
Not really. You furrowed your brow, trying to get your brain to actually function properly and stop melting into a drunk, horny mess. It was hard. It was really fucking hard to think with this angelic creature above you. All you could really manage was a small, tiny movement of you shaking your head.
Suddenly a hand shot out in front of you, causing you to flinch. You didn't even stare at it, unable to take your gaze off of Gojo Satoru. It was a fitting name. Unique. One of a kind. A name that would only fit someone as beautiful and breathtaking as he looked.
“You gonna take it? I don't have all night, pretty girl.”
It took you a lot of effort to drag your gaze away from his face towards his hand. His fingers. His long, strong fingers. His veiny, rough palm. His blue painted nails. The small wrinkles and divots of his palm lines. You should become a palm reader just to have an excuse to touch his palms everyday.
Your arm raised and tried to grab on, but you missed, and when you tried a second time you missed again. And again. By the fifth miss your face had settled into an angry pout, groans of frustration coming from your lips. You really wanted to touch him. Wanted to touch him all over. Did he have abs? He probably did. You wanted to run your fingers across them, run your tongue across the skin of his—
“Lemme help you with that.” His spare hand grabbed your wrist, guiding your limp, uncoordinated hand into his, your fingers linking together. It felt better than you had imagined. They linked together like they’d always meant to be, his skin so warm and soft and inviting that would let out a whimper when he tightened his grip on your hand.
He didn’t give you time to settle, didn't give your brain time to catch up with the millions of thoughts slamming your brain at once before pulling.
He pulled you up with one hand, the other hovering nearby, catching you when your body lurched and you almost fell back down again. “Careful…”
How would he sound fucking into you? How would he sound whispering in your ear, running these thick strong hands over your waist, over your tits, over your soaking wet pussy?
How would he even fuck you? Would it be fast? Rough? Soft and tender? You really could see it both ways. He seemed like the type to do both. “You with me?”
His voice cut through your thoughts for a second. Yea. Yeah you were with him. You were always gonna be with him.
You should give this divine angel your number.
Yeah.
That’ll be good.
“G’ve y’my num’brrrr.” Your voice came out stretched, syrupy, barely holding itself together. You didn’t even know if the words made sense, but you meant them. God, you meant them. You slipped your hands from his grip once you had steadied yourself and patted around your hips, looking for your phone that was, you assumed, shoved deep into the pockets of your dress.
Thank god you had the foresight to buy a dress with pockets. You’d be fucked without them.
You heard Satoru laugh. “Use my phone.” You felt his hand grip your wrist again and felt something hard and cold sliding into your finger, and Satoru’s phone screen lit up your face. “Password’s 241217.”
Your shaky fingers hit the keys on the phone, slipping once or twice causing you to huff in frustration and Satoru to laugh. “You always this cute when you're frustrated?”
You didn't reply, so focused on typing your phone number into his notes app that you didn't even register the fact that he’d called you cute. Once you had somehow managed to type it out, you added your name next to the long sequence.
You wanted a picture with him.
You should take a picture to commemorate the day you met one of heaven's angels. You didn't even ask when you closed his notes app and opened his camera, arranging yourself into what you hoped was a nice pose while you stuck your arm out to get a good angle.
You looked a mess, your hair was in your face, on your lips, stuck to your cheek, frizzy and knotted from your time spent on the floor. Your lipstick smudged and dragging down the sides of your lips, your eyeliner and mascara dripping down your face.
Satoru didn't seem to mind. He leaned in next to you, his hand moving to touch your hip, stopping you from stumbling in place, making sure to keep you upright. He was so close.
So close you could feel the breeze of air hit your face when he exhaled.
“You gonna take it, or what?”
Fuck. His voice was even better when he spoke nearer to you. So warm, so teasing, bright and scratchy.
Even through the cracked lighting, the shitty angle, the chaos of the room behind you he looked unreal. Looked like the angel you fully believed he was.
“Smile,” you said, though you were already doing it. Wide, a little crooked, a little unsteady.
He didn’t.
Not really. Just that half-smirk, lazy and knowing, eyes flicking from the screen to you for half a second, admiring you, maybe. You didn't know. You had better things to focus on.
The flash went off, sharp and blinding, freezing the moment. Freezing your unhinged, toothy grin and Satoru’s lazy, smug smirk.
You blinked hard, vision spotting, then immediately dropped your gaze to the photo.
There it was.
Proof. Proof that you had met the love of your life. Your future husband. Proof that you had met God’s creation live in the flesh in a beer soaked, weed smelling, dirty frat house kitchen, just as he had intended.
“Lemme see,” he said, leaning over your shoulder.
Again.
Too close. Always too close.
You angled the phone back, your fingers brushing his as he steadied it, his chin nearly brushing your temple as he looked.
A beat of silence. Then a soft exhale.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s a good one.” It really wasn't. It was blurry and messy, but that didn't matter to you. Or to Satoru, apparently. He gazed at the photo, a much softer smile tugging at his lips this time, making him look gentle and kind as opposed to smug and confident.
You didn't care. He looked hot either way.
Really fucking hot.
So hot you couldn't keep your hands off him.
Or another shot when he asked if you wanted a drink.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
You didn't remember getting back to your dorm.
One moment you were at the party making out with Satoru and the next you were bursting through the door, rudely interrupting your roommate, Utahime, who was up working on her paper.
She took one look at you and just sighed. “Good night?”
“Mhmmmmmmmmm. Meet my soulmate.”
“Your soulmate.” She raised an eyebrow, lowering her laptop screen and standing up, helping you take off your shoes. You were covered in mud. Literally. You had it on your dress, on your legs, on your arms, even in your hair.
“Don’ remember there bein’ mud…”
“You probably fell on your way back. Did nobody walk you?” Doing your best to recall the last hour of your life was almost impossible, so you just shrugged.
Your brain had bigger problems. Like your future marriage to Satoru Gojo. “So perfectttt, ‘hime. So fucking hot, oh my goddddddd.”
Utahime rolled her eyes. She wasn't really one for parties, she had come with you to one of them on your first week here, and had decided after getting home completely sober and having to deal with 3 drunk, high and puke covered teenagers that frat parties weren't for her. “Mhmm, let's get you in the shower.”
She practically shoved you in the bathroom, helping you out of your dress and underwear. You didn't feel embarrassed, she had seen you in much worse and this was hardly the first time she’d had to help you shower after a night out, but you couldn't help but feel like a scolded child when she took your arms and sighed. “You’re covered in cuts and bruises. You should be more careful.”
You snorted. “Boringggggggg. D’you wanna be my maid of honour?"
“To your wedding with basic white frat boy named Luke 7 billion? No way. That's gonna end in disaster.” You roll your eyes and make it to the toilet, sitting on the seat while Utahime rummages about, muttering under her breath about you being a disaster.
“His name isn’t Luke.”
“Yeah? Then what is it? Brandon? Brayden? Zach?”
“Satoru.”
Silence. Loud, very sudden silence. The rummaging stops. Everything seems to stop.
“Say that again?”
“His name is Satoru.”
Utahime looks at you, at your naked, mud covered body slumped on the toilet seat. “You’re unbelievable. You are not marrying Satoru Gojo.” She sounds mad. Really mad. Utahime is scary when she’s mad because it doesn't happen often, and when it does it’s explosive, loud and violent.
You whine, a pathetic, high pitched noise you never thought would come out of your mouth.
You didn't feel that great anymore. The hazy, joyful feeling you had at the party slowly fading as the consequences of more shots than you could definitely handle caught up to you. The world was slowly getting dizzier and dizzier, your stomach tightening and cramping, causing you to gag, causing your face to turn chalk white.
“Hey. You okay?”
“‘M gonna throw up.”
“What?!”
“‘M gonna throw u—” You lurched forwards, aiming for the sink right in front of you, aiming to at least throw up in there instead of all over the floor.
You miss.
Horrifically.
Vomit covers the front of Utahime’s pyjamas, drips down her shirt and pants before collecting into a small, growing puddle on the floor.
There's silence for about a minute. Pure, rage filled silence as Utahime closes her eyes and takes deep breaths. You’re so fucked.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you in the morning. I hope you understand that.”
Yeah. You did. You really fucking did.