[chosopedia]

— HUE’S NAVI ⋆.˚ ★.ᐟ

♫༝⁺.𝄞 — LOCAL SOFT DOM!CHOSO ENTHUSIAST

ABOUT | CATALOG | NOW PLAYING: LOW BEAM BY HER’S

HUE | TWENTY7 | SHE/HER | MDNI [18+] — ♫༝⁺.𝄞

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © chosopedia — do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or modify my works on any platform nor feed my work into artificial intelligence.

[neskaaa]

bringing these pics back now that BA is starting cause damn.

[exile0nmainline]

Finally done!!! Idk wtf I ate to color like this

[guerrillatech]

[starei]

the concept of growing into love is so much more intriguing than falling in love. it's like, on all our good days and bad days, I will choose to love you, I will learn with you, I will live my life with you and we will grow into and with each other through the passage of time

[artandchocolate]

Mahmoud Darwish

[luvrklarc]

yuji itadori manga icons.

[penallphe-deactivated20210908]

[1:17 am]— Suna, R.

tw/cw: fluff? female identifying reader, alcohol consumption.

a/n: features bestie aran being tired of reader-chan’s lining. another self indulgent piece that I will read everyday lmfao.

“Are you gonna tell him?”

Aran follows your line of sight, and shakes his head at your dazed expression when he turns back to you.

“Tell who, what?” you ask.

Aran chuckles, brows rising when you continue to stare at his teammate.

“Rintarō,” he explains. “Are you gonna tell him that you’re interested?”

“Keep your voice down,” you whisper, hurriedly. You slump back into your seat, bringing the champagne glass to your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

Aran stares at you for a second too long and you know you’re fucked when he turns his body to face Suna.

“Oi! Rin!”

“No, no, no, no,” you chant, lurching forward to slap at his arm. “Why would you- why would you do that? Oh God, he’s coming over. I can’t do thi-”

You freeze when the man in question reaches your table.

“Can you sit with her for a second? I’ll be right back! I need to go make a call and I don’t wanna leave her all alone,” Aran stands and guides Suna into his seat, slapping him on the back before disappearing into the sea of strangers on the dance floor. You don’t even get the chance to glare at him.

Suna chuckles. “So, do you always need babysitting?”

“I- uh- no,” you sigh, draining your glass in a single gulp. “He’s being dramatic, I’m a big girl. I can handle myself just fine.”

It’s hard to miss the way Suna’s eyes linger on your lips and cleavage when he responds. “I bet you can.”

Suna Rintarō exists on the out-of-my-league end of your dating spectrum. Not to be confused with the entirely-too-pretty-for-me section that also includes him or the maybe-god-is-a-man section that also only features him.

A professional volleyball player and public figure, who undoubtedly made just as much as your best friend- which was, in your humble opinion, too much for one man- he represented your highest standard in men.

“You can go back to enjoying the party if you like.”

“What? You don’t think I’m good company?”

You’re surprised by the genuine pout on his lips too.

“No! I mean yes! You’re- you’re great company Suna-san!”

He graces you with a rare lopsided grin as he sinks deeper into the chair. He’s dressed impeccably, as is every other man in the room, except he seems to have lost his tie and possibly the first two buttons of his dress shirt. He’s deliciously rumpled, hair askew, eyes half lidded, cheeks flushed from whatever the amber liquid in his glass is.

This might be unhealthy, you think, when he shifts and the exposed skin of his chest comes into view. For a second you stupidly consider asking him to button up. The flash of a gold something catches your eye when it reflects the light cast on him by the chandelier, and you become fixated on the thin strip of jewelry that circles his throat, nestled at the base, just below his Adam’s apple is an equally gold pendant, it’s an R.

“So, are you,” he admits. “Though, with the way you’re staring I think you might be much better company than I initially assumed.”

It takes you an awkward second to realize he’s flirting with you. Him, Suna Rintarō, is flirting with you. It does wonders for you confidence. So much so you convince yourself that you can flirt back.

“I should leave,” you blurt. The words tumblr free after that. “I mean- we should leave,” a beat, “together. Uh- we- we should leave together.”

Rintarō’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline and you feel the exact moment your soul detaches itself from your body. Understandable, you think. I wouldn’t want to live here if I was me either.

When he takes too long to reply, you back pedal, eyes closing so you don’t see his facial expressions. It’s a poor decision to even speak at this point but you can’t possibly embarrass yourself anymore than you already have. “Please, pretend I didn’t suggest that. You make me nervous and I ramble when I’m nervous. I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable Suna-san. I’ll just leave and we’ll pretend this never happened and that we don’t know each other. I’ll move to a new country and get a new job so you don’t have to see my fa-”

“Please don’t move to a new country,” he interrupts. He leans forward, elbows propping his chin up as he smiles at you. “Then I’d have to chase you.”

“Wh- what?”

“And I really don’t want to do more than necessary but I will,” he pauses to empty his glass, eyes falling to your lips distractedly, “for you.”

“Are you flirting with me?” you ask. It’s the most logical decision you’ve had since he sat down.

“I have been for months,” he laughs. Oh god, his laugh is beautiful. You want to bottle it and open it when you’re sad. It’s rich and deep, though that could be due to the alcohol. “You’re a little oblivious.”

You gape. As though you haven’t embarrassed yourself enough, you reduce yourself to a fish as you scramble to find some sensible response. “What the fuck?”

He nods sagely. “I agree. What the fuck indeed.”

“Don’t make fun of me Suna-sa-”

“Please,” he groans. “No more honorifics. You make me feel so old. Just call me Rintarō.”

You whisper his name reverently, eyes widening as a small smile grows on his lips.

“C’mon,” he stands from his seat, one hand outstretched in your direction. “We should leave-” he squeezes your fingers gently when you wrap them around his palm, “-together.”

inspired by true events.

[azranissu]

[kitty-kat-roxx]

Reiner the man that you are let me take u to pound town

[sakuraszn]

cowboy choso kamo — slight suggestive themes

Choso Kamo rode into town with the slow confidence of a man who feared nothing. His long duster coat trailed behind him like a shadow, dust settling in the folds of his clothes. The sheriff had called him in to deal with a problem—or rather, a woman.

A bandit, an outlaw, and a damn menace to every lawman and bounty hunter west of the Mississippi. You robbed stagecoaches, raided ranches, and laughed in the faces of the men who tried to put you in any chains.

Choso had been on you tail for months, tracking your through ghost towns, saloons, and endless miles of desert. Every time he got close, you easily slipped away, leaving only the scent of gunpowder and the echo of her laughter.

But not this time.

Tonight, the saloon was alive with whiskey, dice, and broken dreams. And there she was, standing at the bar like she owned the place.

You wore dark leather pants that clung to the curve of your hips, a loose white shirt with the top buttons undone, teasing just enough to make a man forget how to breathe. A pistol rested against your thigh, your hat tilted low to hide those sharp, knowing eyes.

Choso leaned against the bar beside you, his voice slow and deep. “Heard you been causin’ trouble, darlin’.”

you didn’t flinch, didn’t even look his way. “Heard you been followin’ me, cowboy.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Ain’t got much of a choice. You make a man chase.”

You finally decided turned to face him, eyes full of something wicked. “Maybe you’re just slow.”

Choso chuckled, slow and dark. “Or maybe I like the game.”

Your fingers traced the rim of her glass, the silence between them thick as honey. “Funny thing about games,” you mused. “Someone always loses.”

He leaned in, close enough to catch the scent of gun oil and desert heat on your skin. “Ain’t gonna be me.”

Her smile was sharp. “Guess we’ll see.”

Before he could blink, you were moving. A swift hand on his chest, pushing him back toward the upstairs rooms. His back hit a door, and you were already on him, pressing against him like sin itself.

Choso let you—let you press your thigh between his, let your fingers skim under his coat. But his own hands weren’t idle. He gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, his voice rough against your ear. “You plannin’ to rob me, darlin’?”

You hummed softly, dragging your fingers down his chest. “Only if you’re carryin’ somethin’ worth stealin’.”

Choso caught you chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. “You play too much.”

Your lips parted, breath warm against his mouth. “And you love it.”

You were right.

The night stretched long and hot, filled with whispered taunts, sharp gasps, and the scrape of nails against bare skin. You bit and he bit back, a battle waged with lips and teeth and the press of bodies against creaking wood.

When the sun rose, you were already slipping out the window, leaving behind the lingering scent of leather and a note tucked under his gun belt.

‘Next time, try to catch me for real, cowboy.’

Choso sat up, running a hand through his messy tangled black hair, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

Damn woman was gonna be the death of him.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

SAKURASZN © 2025 !

[msbratzdoll]

can i request clingy choso he’s been on my mind for awhile now 🥹

yes u cannn !

choso doesn’t know what personal space is

choso never wants to let you go. any task you do, he will be there just to cling onto you like a koala does a tree. he had no reason to be in your personal space, he just wanted to be there. choso said that he will “literally die if im not around you”, sure.

you picked up the sponge, adding a bit of water onto it as you picked up a dirty dish to clean. choso had his arms wrapped around you, his face in the crook of his neck. his purpose of being there, pointless. he didn’t help with dishes, he didn’t even say anything. he just held you close because that’s all he needed.

he craves your warmth every minute, every second, every millisecond. even during the latest of nights, sometimes he would literally tweak.

choso woke up in a cold sweat, looking around for you. you were on your side, snoring quietly. “why’d you move?” he’d whine, as if you could hear him in your deep rem sleep. he swiftly cuddled you again, his hands firm on your body so he knows you wouldn’t turn away.

even during sex, choso would cling onto you. he’s too scared you’ll go away, when all he wants is you!

“f-fuck.. c-choso.. mngh!” you let out struggled moans, you gripped the sheets, your face implemented in the pillows. choso had his chest on your back, his forehead in the crook of your neck. his arms wrapped closed around your midsection, his thrust sloppy and uncoordinated. “d-do you love me?” he randomly blabbered. “don’t want.. y-you to— ah! — ever go away, come closer..! please!” he whined, knowing you were too lost in pleasure to care about what he was rambling about. he wanted to cum deep inside you, because he hates to pull out. that will mean he can’t be closer to you!

if he could’ve, he would live inside of your skin, daily.

made by msbratzdoll

[slvttyplums]

soft dom choso ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶꒱ა

nothing is ever wrong when it comes to you; if anything, choso worships the ground you walk on and rarely punishes you. ignoring your bratty behavior and choosing to praise you anyway. 

“you’re beautiful. can you keep kneeling for five more minutes?” 

cupping your jaw and stroking your cheek lovingly, never taking his eyes off yours. the bulge in his pants was growing bigger, and the mark on his face was changing to a darker black because of the blood rushing throughout his body.

you’re the only one who can get him like that, make his whole body hot with want. 

every word that comes out of his mouth is praise, making sure that you know how good and special you are to him, how you never fail to make him feel better. 

putting you in front of a mirror while he stands behind you, one hand on your hip and the other holding your jaw in place, making sure you stand still looking right at yourself. 

“look at you, so beautiful and smart.”

his words were low, almost quiet.

all he’s known his entire life is to provide, to be that provider for people, and for as long as he’s lived, the only time his body has ever felt good from being that is with his brother and you. 

it’s not always sexual, but he still feels the same way whether he's washing you down in the bathtub after fucking you nonstop for an hour or he's washing you off after a long hard day and all you want is his comfort. 

his body still feels the same, buzzing with the same pleasure he would’ve gotten if he were balls deep inside of you. 

choso loves the feeling of having to take care of you; it makes him feel good and gives him a purpose. if he can make you feel good, relaxed, or buzzy, then he succeeded. 

even when you’re the one on your knees swirling your tongue on the head of his dick making him cum, he’s not worried about himself; he’s worried about you and if that made you feel good, praising you heavily. 

when he sees that sparkle in your eye, then that’s when he soaks in the pleasure, more cum leaking out, his body heating up fast from you alone and you being so good.

pampering you even harder after. washing you down with your favorite body wash, drying you off, putting on his favorite lotion he likes for you to wear, and then feeding you until you get sleepy. 

this is his purpose, and he has no problem with that; as long as he has you, he's happy.

[ryzy7]

Accidentally Discovering Your Boyfriend’s Weakness

──────────────────────

Pairing: Bf!Sukuna x F!reader

Warnings: Hair Pulling, Teasing, Dirty Talk, Possessive Behavior, Jealous Reader, Heavy Make-Outs, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Established Relationship, Dom/Sub Undertones, Denial, Smug Sukuna, Flirting, Praise Kink Undertones, Hair Pulling Kink, Sukuna Being Weak for Reader, Suggestive Content, Explicit Sexual Content, Short.

Synopsis: Sukuna loves having his hair pulled. He would rather die than admit it. Unfortunately, you already know.

──────────────────────

Sukuna loves it when you pull his hair.

Has he ever told you that?

No.

Would he ever admit it out loud?

Absolutely fucking not.

It’s something you started noticing slowly over time, through reactions he probably didn’t even realize he was giving away himself.

And the funniest part?

The first times you pulled his hair weren’t even in a sexual way.

They were out of jealousy.

Sometimes Sukuna could be painfully oblivious whenever women flirted with him. Or maybe he wasn’t oblivious at all and just genuinely didn’t care enough to notice. Either way, it irritates the hell out of you.

Your boyfriend usually acts like speaking to people physically pains him. Half the time he looks one inconvenience away from telling someone to fuck off.

So when he suddenly answers another woman calmly instead of ignoring her like usual?

Yeah. It annoys you more than it should.

Especially because even with that permanently irritated expression and dry attitude, his voice still sounds unfairly sexy.

Fucking idiot.

So whenever those situations happened in public, you’d stand beside him smiling sweetly while resting your hand against his back innocently.

Just small touches at first.

Little pats.

Your fingers slowly sliding higher toward his shoulders before eventually reaching the back of his neck, slipping into soft pink strands.

Then you’d spread your fingers slightly, getting a better grip before suddenly tightening your hand and tugging his hair hard to make his head tilt back.

Not hard enough to hurt him.

But enough to force his head back slightly.

Just enough to make him feel it.

“What the fuck was that?” you’d whisper against his ear with a smile that was anything but sweet.

And every single time, Sukuna reacted the same way.

That slow, dangerous grin.

Tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

Like the jealous tone in your voice entertained him way more than it should’ve.

Then there were moments on the couch.

Messy kissing sessions that always got out of hand way too quickly.

You on top of him, holding his face while his hands stayed locked on your hips, guiding your movements against him with shameless insistence until your breathing turned uneven between kisses.

And whenever your lips drifted toward his neck, your hand always found his hair eventually.

Like muscle memory.

One hand against his throat.

The other tangled into soft pink strands before pulling his head back to expose more of his neck to you.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Sukuna would let out the hottest fucking moan.

Low. Rough. Completely unplanned.

The kind of sound that made heat rush straight between your thighs instantly.

And to be honest, the more you heard it, the more obsessed you became with making him do it again.

But the moment you truly realized just how much he loved it happened one night in bed.

Sukuna was between your legs, completely devouring you like a man starving to death.

Your skirt was pushed up around your waist, panties shoved aside carelessly while your fingers stayed twisted tightly in the sheets beneath you.

Meanwhile, Sukuna looked almost fucking drunk on you.

One hand hooked beneath your thigh to keep your legs spread open while the other pulled you closer every time you squirmed too much from the overwhelming pleasure.

You could barely think straight.

Barely breathe.

And then suddenly, without lifting his head for even a second, Sukuna grabbed your wrist.

At first you thought he was trying to pin your hand down.

Instead, he guided it upward.

Straight into his hair.

The realization hit you immediately.

Oh.

You tangled your fingers into the pink strands before giving them an experimental tug, pulling him closer against you.

And Sukuna fucking moaned.

The sound vibrated directly against you, making your entire body twitch.

Not annoyance.

Not surprise.

Need.

And after that?

He completely lost whatever restraint he had left.

More tongue.

More desperation.

More filthy sounds muffled against your skin every single time you pulled his hair again.

That was the moment your little theory became a fact.

Your terrifying, intimidating boyfriend had a thing for getting his hair pulled.

A bad one.

After that, you started doing it constantly.

When you kissed him.

When you were angry at him.

When you cuddled.

Even when you were making love.

Just to watch those subtle little reactions he tried so hard to hide.

And eventually, you decided to finally call him out on it.

“Did you know you have a fetish for getting your hair pulled Ryo?” you asked casually one evening during dinner.

Sukuna nearly stopped mid-bite.

The reaction was tiny, almost unnoticeable, but you caught it instantly.

His brows furrowed slightly while he stared at you with that familiar irritated look.

“You say a lot of stupid shit,” he muttered before finally bringing the food to his mouth.

Your smile widened immediately.

There it was.

Denial.

“You moan more when I pull it,” you continued casually, resting your chin against your palm. “It’s actually so fucking hot—”

“You’re imagining things.”

He still refused to look directly at you.

But unfortunately for him, you noticed the way the tips of his ears slowly started turning red.

Oh, you fucking caught him.

Beneath the table, you slowly slipped your foot out of your slipper, dragging it teasingly higher along his inner thigh before finally rubbing against his semi-hard cock through his pants.

Sukuna finally looked up at you then.

Sharp red eyes immediately locking onto yours.

And judging by the way his jaw tightened—

you already knew you were right.

Your smile turned downright evil.

“So it’s not just the pulling itself,” you tease softly, rubbing your foot against him through his pants. “Even talking about it gets you hard, huh?”

Silence.

“Wanna test my theory?” you ask sweetly.

Sukuna lets out a low half-laugh, leaning further back into his chair while his gaze slowly drifts downward to where your foot keeps moving against him so cruelly beneath the table.

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek.

Then he looks back up at you again.

And fuck, that look alone almost makes heat rush straight between your thighs. “You’re fucking evil,” he mutters, though the amused grin on his face completely ruins the insult.

“Come here,” he says finally, patting one of his thighs with that small, dangerous smile.

He pats his thigh once.

And you obey so fast it almost makes him laugh.

Very obediently.

After that, Sukuna stopped denying it. Mostly because every time you pulled his hair, his body betrayed him before he could even open his mouth.

It became your favorite way to ruin him.

──────────────────────Reblogs and likes are super appreciated 💗 thank you for reading!

[sadmocha]

Fat chud

[noriette]

ᢉ𐭩 fem!reader, nerdjo gets upset when you try to call someone else to help you with your homework when he claims he’s busy

“toru, can you help me with my chem homework? i’m not quite understanding this one question,” you call out as you lie on his bed, kicking your feet and tapping the pencil against your cheek.

he’s hunched over his desk as he declines, not even glancing at you, “can you wait? i’m doing my own homework right now, i need to focus.”

he sounds a bit agitated. his hand is tangled in his hair, and his leg bounces up and down.

so you hum quietly and nod to yourself, pulling out your phone and changing your mind, “alright, i’ll ask nanami to help me with it.”

satoru’s writing abruptly stops. his head whips around with a disgusted face as he screams, “huh?! wha— nanami? why him?”

before you can explain yourself, he’s already standing up and rushing over to you, pouncing on the bed as he explains, “no, come on, i’ll help you! i’m smarter, i have a better personality, i look way better, and i’m your best friend!!”

he scoots close to you, and your shoulders touch as he peers at the paper in front of you. he pouts, “come on, show me the question you’re struggling with!”

you tilt your head, and he wants to squeeze your cute cheeks together! you have an adorable, cheeky grin on your face like you were just messing with him.

you softly say, “toru, if it’s serious, you can go back to your homework. i can really just ask nanami, it’s not a big deal-“

“no!” he interrupts, “nanami doesn’t know what he’s talking about..”

part of it lies with his insecurity and jealousy. satoru doesn’t want anyone helping you besides himself, so the next time you ask for help with homework or with anything for that matter, he rushes to your side like it’s a life-or-death situation.

and he loves how you rely on him whenever you struggle with something. he loves how you immediately call him if you need something, and he especially loves how you praise and thank him when he’s helping you.

but the part he loves most is the little kiss you place on his cheek once he’s done, and how he thinks about it all night, wondering about what you’ll need him for next.

yes this may be corny and yes idgaf!! reqs r open for jjk only, sorry this came out late

[kaiserresque]

Molecular romance

One awkward smile, two 'study mates', and a love story that’s chemically inevitable.

Synopsis: You only stopped at his science fair booth out of pity—but the tall, nervous guy with crooked glasses and a galaxy model has other plans.

Satoru Gojo is brilliant, awkward, and talking a mile a minute about black holes like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. You weren’t looking for a tutor. Or a crush. But he’s got stars in his eyes—and maybe, now, so do you.

Pairing: Nerd!Gojo Satoru x reader

Genre: MDNI, College AU, Fluff, Slow-burn-ish, friends to lovers.

Warnings: Angry makeout (rawr), frustrated confession, sexual tension is off the charts oh and, everything is wet as fuck (not a pun, seriously.)

Masterlist

The pool is almost empty by the time Gojo arrives, the faint smell of chlorine lingering in the cool air as if trying to mask the memory of noise that lived here earlier in the day.

The echo in the space makes even the smallest movements feel louder than they should be, the scrape of the bench legs, the soft thud of his shoes as he sits, the quiet exhale he doesn’t realize he’s been holding since the moment he left his dorm.

9:02

Suguru had said he'd be here by nine.

Gojo leans his head back against the cool tile wall behind the bench, staring up at the ceiling where pale light fractures into uneven shapes across the beams.

“I should've known better than to trust him out of all people...” he mutters to himself, the words dissolving softly into the hollow acoustics.

His phone feels heavier than usual in his hand when he pulls it out, thumb hovering over the screen for half a second too long before muscle memory takes over, navigating through folders he absolutely should not be revisiting right now.

He knows he shouldn’t open it, knows exactly how this ends. Knows he will only feel worse.

He opens it anyway.

The folder is embarrassingly obvious, labeled with nothing but a small heart that he had told himself was ironic when he made it, because of course it was ironic, it would be deeply pathetic otherwise.

Your face fills the screen in the first photo, slightly blurred because you had turned your head too fast when you realized he was taking it, caught mid-laugh beside a street cat you were trying (failing) to pet.

The picture is imperfect, a little crooked, your hand half raised like you were about to protest the photo entirely, but your smile makes the corner of his mouths turn up too.

He swipes.

Another one— the corner of your shoulder and the side of your cheek lit faintly by the dim glow of his desk lamp, the night you had both pretended you weren’t half-asleep while one earbud rested in his ear and the other in yours, Frank ocean playing quietly between you both.

He remembers the exact moment your breathing had slowed until it matched the rhythm of the music, remembers staring at your fluttering, sleep-filled eyes and wondering when exactly silence with you had started feeling so full instead of empty.

His thumb stills against the screen.

He exhales through his nose, something tight pulling faintly in his chest before he locks the phone and lets it fall loosely into his lap.

He needs to get a grip.

Whatever this is, whatever he has built in his head over the past few months, it clearly does not exist in the same way for you, and that is fine. It is normal. It is healthy, even, to let things go when they are not reciprocated.

He just needs to figure out how to convince his nervous system of that. Because currently, it seems to think of you as a life-threatening condition.

Gojo scrubs a hand down his face, pushing himself up from the bench, the quiet sound of undisturbed water in the pool responding to the shift in air as he moves.

He had dressed up yesterday, hoping you'd finally notice him in the way he'd like you to.

He had tried.

Even when you had set him up on a Tinder date like he was a defective appliance being returned to the manufacturer.

Which is fine.

It was also fine when you kissed him and he felt like he had reached Nirvana, losing his mind some more when you straddled—

The sound of the door opening cuts cleanly through his thoughts, the faint metallic click echoing across the tiled space.

“Nice of you to finally show up–”

The rest of the sentence dies somewhere between his throat and the air when he looks up.

You.

For a moment, his brain provides absolutely no additional processing power beyond that single, deeply unhelpful observation.

You are standing just inside the doorway, the dim hallway light behind you outlining your shape before the door swings shut with a quiet thud.

The soft blue reflection of the pool climbs slowly over bare skin, catching along the curve of your legs and the exposed strip of your midriff where your crop top ends.

The shorts are familiar.

Just short enough that he remembers very clearly the exact angle his eyes had carefully avoided the last time you had sat on his bed wearing them, entirely too focused on explaining something that he had not absorbed a single word of because he had been busy trying not to think about the way your knee had brushed his thigh every time you shifted.

The pool light flickers faintly as the water shifts, blue reflections trembling across your skin, turning something already distracting an act of provocation by the universe itself.

You look surreal. And hallucinations are known to occur under prolonged emotional stress.

He is experiencing prolonged emotional stress.

Therefore—

You shift your weight slightly as your gaze flicks briefly in his direction before sliding away again.

“Uh,” you say, voice quieter than usual, the sound of it tugging sharply somewhere under his sternum. “Suguru said he wanted this?”

Gojo blinks.

His eyebrows pull together slowly as the words slowly make sense.

“…he said what?”

You gesture toward the empty space, clearly just as confused as he feels. “He told me to meet him here. I don’t know, he was being weird.”

A pause stretches thin between you, understanding dawning in stages.

“That—” Gojo presses his lips together briefly, something halfway between a laugh and a groan threatening to escape. “That is incredibly suspicious.”

"Right?" You let out a small exhale that almost sounds like reluctant amusement. “I thought so too, but he kept insisting it was important.”

“Yeah,” Gojo mutters, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to hide the obvious relief. “He also told me to meet him here. Which, in retrospect, should have been my first red flag.”

Your mouth presses into a line that might be suppressing a smile.

“He told me not question too much.”

“He told me to get a life,” Gojo says flatly.

Silence again, softer this time. You shift your weight once more, glancing briefly toward the door like the exit might provide a socially acceptable solution to whatever this is.

“Well,” you murmur, adjusting the strap on your shoulder slightly. “Since he’s apparently not here, I should probably just....”

You turn, reaching for the handle.

Gojo’s heart lurches instantly, words already climbing up his throat in a messy rush, something desperate and poorly structured forming faster than he can properly filter it.

Wait.

Please don’t go.

I’ll take anything.

Friend, convenient pass-time, background character in your life. I genuinely do not care as long as you keep existing within my general radius.

He takes half a step forward—

—and then the sound of the lock clicking into place cuts abruptly through the quiet.

Both of you freeze.

The handle doesn’t budge. You try to open it, frowning slightly, the faint rattle of metal echoing louder than it should in the empty space.

“…that’s weird.”

Gojo walks over, testing the handle himself, pulling a little harder just to confirm what is already very obvious.

Alas, it rattles uselessly beneath his grip before he lets it fall back into place with a soft metallic click, exhaling through his nose as he leans his forehead briefly against the cool surface. The overhead lights dim another fraction as the automatic night cycle kicks in.

Closed until morning.

He laughs once under his breath, the sound soft and disbelieving.

“I’m going to kill him,” he mutters softly to himself. “...After I thank him.”

Because now you are standing far too close in a space far too personal, and morning is still several hours away.

Behind him, he hears the faint shuffle of movement and the sound of fabric shifting. When he turns, he catches the moment you give up too, shoulders dipping slightly in quiet resignation as you step back from the door.

For a second, neither of you say anything.

Then you slip off your shoes. The quiet tap of them against the tile echoes lightly as you walk toward the the pool and sit down on the edge like this is the most normal situation in the world.

Like being locked in a building overnight with someone you are absolutely not avoiding eye contact with is just another minor inconvenience.

You dip your toes into the water first, testing, the surface breaking into small ripples, inhaling softly as the chill first hits the tip of your toes.

You slide your feet in fully, the water shifting lazily around your ankles as you lean back on your hands, absentmindedly flicking your foot beneath the surface, sending another small series of creases across the pool.

Gojo stands awkwardly a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets, feeling strangely overdressed for someone who is currently locked in a university facility overnight.

You still aren’t looking at him.

And it should not matter. But it does.

It matters in the deeply uncomfortable way most things involving you seem to matter lately. He wants to ask if he did something wrong, wants to ask if yesterday changed anything.

Wants, very strongly, to drop whatever dignity he has left and get on his knees right in front of you to just make you look at him properly again.

Instead, he swallows all of that down, as you glance briefly on your shoulder.

“It feels nice,” you say quietly, nudging the water once with your heel. “You could try it too.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, as if the fact that you talked to him requires a brief moment of processing itself.

“Me? oh,” he says, clearing his throat as though the single syllable got stuck somewhere on the way out. “Right. Sure.”

Gojo removes his shoes carefully, placing them beside yours with an unnecessary amount of precision before lowering himself onto the tile a short distance away, leaving space between you that feels both respectful and deeply unfortunate.

The water is colder than he expects. He tries not to react visibly as it curls around his ankles.

You brush your hair back from your face, fingers slipping briefly along the side of your neck, exposing the gentle slope of your collarbone.

Gojo looks away so fast it almost gives him whiplash. He watches instead as his feet disappear beneath the surface, the distortion of the water making everything look dreamy.

The silence stretches.

His lips part slightly before closing again, as if whatever he meant to say had abandoned him.

“...Do you think fish ever get tired of swimming?”

The question leaves his mouth before his brain has time to intercept it. He mentally slaps himself.

Excellent work, Satoru. Truly groundbreaking conversational skills.

He watches your feet still faintly beneath the water, the small ripples settling slowly into stillness again.

A small laugh escapes you before you have time to stop it. "I hope they don't."

He exhales a quiet huff at your answer, somewhere between embarrassed and relieved.

“That was,” he mutters, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “not my strongest opener.”

You tilt your head slightly, the hint of a smile lingering at the corner of your mouth before it fades into something more neutral. “Did Emma teach you that amazing conversation starter?”

He frowns faintly at the unfamiliar name. “Emma?”

“The girl you sat with in lab yesterday,” you clarify, brows furrowed with both mild confusion and amusement. “You don’t even know her name?”

He stills.

Emma.

Whose existence he learned approximately twelve seconds before sitting down beside her because Suguru had insisted very confidently that “girls love a little jealousy, man, it’ll hit her like a truck.”

It did not hit you like a truck. It appears to have instead hit him directly in the face.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Yeah,” he admits, gaze fixed very firmly on the water. “I really didn’t.”

Gojo searches frantically for something better to say, which does not immediately make him sound like either an idiot or a terrible person.

But before he can settle on anything remotely coherent, he feels your eyes on him.

He looks up slowly, and there it is. That almost-smirk that you tease him with, subtle but unmistakable.

“It wasn’t very nice of you,” you say softly, tilting your head just slightly, “To replace me.”

“I didn’t—I mean—” he starts automatically, then stops, realizing mid-sentence that explaining the full context would require admitting to participating in what can only be described as a terrible social experiment.

He adjusts his glasses again, buying himself half a second.

“Sorry,” he mutters, the apology quiet but sincere. “That... wasn’t really the intention.”

You hum softly, like you are considering the answer.

“You know,” you say slowly, tapping your heel lightly against the side of the pool, sending a fracture outward, “I think the appropriate punishment for that little experiment of yours would be a nice dunk.”

Gojo turns his head toward you, eyebrows lifting, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

“You could try,” he says lightly. “You weigh like– what, a strong breeze?”

“I don't need strength,” you reply, completely serious. “Multiple studies support dunking as suitable punishment, and you should comply.”

“That sounds fabricated.”

“It’s in the appendix.”

“I would like to see the data.”

“You wouldn’t, trust me.”

A small laugh escapes Gojo as he shakes his head. It feels so unfairly good to talk this way with you again.

His dimples poke through his cheek, eyes softening behind the thin frame of his glasses. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You lean closer.

For a split second he thinks you might actually push him.

Gojo doesn’t even realise what you’re doing until your fingers brush lightly along the side of his face, grazing skin that already has a faint heat blooming beneath your touch.

“Hold still,” you murmur.

He does.

You slide the glasses from his face, the sudden absence of them making the world shift slightly out of focus, the edges of everything blurring faintly,

Everything except you.

You remain stubbornly clear, close enough that he can see the faint glint in your eyes as the light dances in them.

The reflections from the pool ripple across his irises, deepening the colour until the blue is even brighter and almost luminous in a way that makes it difficult to look anywhere else.

Long white lashes flutter, adjusting instinctively without the familiar weight resting on the bridge of his nose.

A small swallow tightens his throat, Adam's apple bobbing beneath your gaze.

For a long moment, you simply look at him. Openly enough that the faint pink beginning to spread across his cheeks deepens even more.

“They’re really pretty,” you say quietly, like the observation slipped out involuntarily. “Your eyes, I mean. It feels a little unfair that you hide them all the time.”

Gojo's brain, usually very capable under pressure, offers absolutely nothing useful.

“Oh,” he says intelligently.

“I— uh,” he clears his throat, gaze darting briefly to the pool then back to your face, entirely unsure. “They… help me see.”

The warmth in his cheeks refuses to fade, colour lingering stubbornly against pale skin, made more obvious by the cool glow reflecting upward.

You do not give him time to recover from his fluster. Your hand, still holding his glasses, drifts lightly from his shoulder to his back.

For half a second, he assumes you are steadying yourself.

Obviously, before he feels the push.

And just like that, six-foot-something Gojo disappears beneath the surface with a half-muffled yelp, as the water erupts outward in a dramatic wave that slaps loudly against the tiled edge.

Cold.

So cold.

He surfaces a moment later, sputtering. Pushes wet hair back from his face as droplets run down the slope of his jaw and neck, shirt already clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

“You—” he coughs, blinking water from his lashes, trying to look offended and failing spectacularly because you're giggling your wits off.

“That,” you struggle between chuckles. “was absolutely deserved. I should've recorded it.”

“I trusted you..” he says gravely, wringing water from the sleeve of his shirt.

“You asked if fish get tired of swimming.”

Gojo exhales as your laughter continues, looking up at you from where he floats near the edge.

“You don't know their lives.” he counters with something close to a pout, lifting one arm toward you expectantly. “Now are you just going to leave me here to perish, or help me up?”

You shake your head, still smiling as you lean forward, extending your hand.

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “Truce.”

His fingers close around yours firmly, the warmth of your hand against his damp hand sending an electric jolt through his body.

You brace slightly, expecting the upward pull of his weight shifting as he hoists himself out.

Instead,

You barely have time to register the sudden force before you're yanked forward with a surprised squeak, balance disappearing instantly as cold water rushes up to meet you.

The splash is even louder this time.

For a second, everything is disorienting and shockingly cold before you break the surface with a sharp inhale, staring at him in disbelief.

Gojo is laughing.

Open and unrestrained in a way you don’t think you’ve seen a lot, water dripping from the ends of his hair as he steadies himself in the shallow end.

“You are unbelievable,” you gasp, slapping lightly at his arm. “That was not fair.”

“I think it was extremely fair,” he replies, barely containing his grin. “You are not the only one capable of retaliation.”

“I only nudged you.”

“You launched me.”

You scoop a handful of water and fling it at him before he can finish, the splash cracking against his shoulder, droplets scattering across his face.

“Okay, Ceasefire—!” he starts, throwing an arm up to shield himself.

You don’t listen.

A bigger splash this time, water sloshing loudly as it breaks against his chest. The arcs dampen his already soaked shirt further as he squints through the spray, laughter breaking freely now.

“Hey—” he protests, half-laughing as he blinks water from his lashes, pushing wet hair back only for it to fall right back into his eyes. "This is a disproportionate response.”

"Good."

You drag both hands through the water this time, gathering more, colder, heavier, and send it straight at him again.

"Ow! That hurt–!"

Just before you can form another massive wave, he reaches out to stop your wrist mid-throw.

Your footing shifts instantly on the slick tile beneath the water, balance tipping forward as instinct takes over, free hand bracing automatically against the nearest solid surface.

Which happens to be his chest.

Solid and warm beneath soaked fabric as your touch sinks through it.

Your noses nearly brush as water drips slowly from strands of hair clinging to your cheek, the faint sound of droplets breaking the surface behind you filling the silence.

For a second, neither of you move.

The laughter fades naturally, replaced by stark awareness settling slowly into the space between you like a big, material punctuation.

Your hand is splayed lightly against his chest, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palm.

The pool light fractures across the water, scattering pale reflections over the bridge of his nose and the faint color on his cheeks. A stray droplet traces slowly down the sharp line of his jaw before disappearing at the hollow of his throat.

Without the usual barrier of lenses his eyes really are unfairly pretty— and currently looking at you like he forgot how to blink.

His grip on your wrist loosens, but his other hand does not retreat.

Instead, almost cautiously, it lifts from the water.

Droplets slide down the length of his arm as his fingers hover for a second near your cheek, as though he is giving you enough time to pull away if you want to.

You don’t.

Gojo's knuckles brush lightly along your skin as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The pad of his thumb brushes your skin just enough to make your breath stutter.

Fuck. You're leaning in.

It is barely a shift, but the distance between you shrinks just enough that he feels the change instantly.

For one irrational second he considers stepping back. But he stays perfectly still.

His eyelids flutter closed before he can overthink it, long pale lashes clinging faintly together from the water, heart pounding so violently that it feels borderline humiliating.

He can feel the heat of your breath now, close enough that it skims across his lips when he inhales.

God.

He has kissed you before.

That stupid night that has been engraved in his head ever since.

The one you had brushed off so easily, laughing as you told him it was just practice, because that was what friends did, apparently. Practiced kissing each other like it meant absolutely nothing.

He had nodded like an idiot, pretended it didn’t matter, pretended the ghost of your lips that had lingered on his mouth for the rest of the night wasn’t slowly ruining his life.

But this…

This would be different.

There would be no excuse this time.

No casual justification he could hide behind later, no convenient label to make the moment smaller than it actually felt.

Which is probably why every rational part of his brain is screaming at him to open his eyes before he embarrasses himself beyond recovery.

Gojo is not one to listen to his brain when it comes to you, however. He licks his lips nervously, breath shallow, waiting.

One second stretches.

Then two.

Three–

The sound of your snort breaks the silence. Soft, quickly stifled, but unmistakable.

His brows knit faintly as confusion pushes through the haze of anticipation, eyes opening slowly. You are exactly where you were before. No lingering almost-kiss waiting to happen.

The tingling that had begun blooming in his chest collapses in on itself almost instantly. Pink creeps back on the tip of his ears, but this time it burns.

God.

He is so stupid.

Your lips twitch as you try, unsuccessfully, to suppress another laugh.

“I'm sorry,” you say, voice light with disbelief, “Did i misunderstand the situation?”

Each throwaway word of yours is like another dagger to his chest. For the first time since he has known you, your laughter doesn’t feel bright.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. You are still smiling, still teasing, still you.

“Relax,” you add, nudging lightly at the water between you as though diffusing the tension. “It's okay. It'll be our little secret.”

Secret.

The word echoes unpleasantly in his head, muffling everything else you say after it.

The sound of the water sloshing softly around him feels suddenly too loud.

He nods automatically, “Right.”

Because that is what he is supposed to do.

Because that is what keeps you around.

Gojo shifts back slightly, water moving sluggishly around him as he steps away, each movement feeling strangely heavy. He turns toward the edge of the pool without quite trusting himself to say anything else.

The ledge feels slippery beneath his palms as he pushes himself up and out of the water in one smooth motion, clothes clinging uneasily to his skin.

You call his name behind him, the playfulness fading slowly.

He barely hears anything.

Water drips steadily from his body as he pushes the wet strands of his hair back from his face, before tugging his shirt up and over his head, damp fabric peeling away slowly.

He exhales through his nose, jaw tightening slightly as he squeezes excess water from the hem of the discarded shirt.

Footsteps approach quickly behind him, small splashes echoing faintly as you step out of the pool to follow.

"Wow. Are you giving me a show or what?" You comment teasingly, fingers tapping against his shoulder to get his attention.

“Hey, what’s—”

The question dies halfway through as he turns.

His eyes are rimmed faintly red, whether from chlorine or something else is impossible to tell, lashes moist clumped slightly together. Without his glasses, there is nothing to dull the way emotion sits openly across his features.

He looks wrecked.

Like he had allowed himself, for one pathetic second, to want something he had absolutely no right to expect. Like he is already annoyed with himself for wanting it at all.

His lips part slightly, breath unsteady in a way that doesn’t match the composed posture he is attempting to maintain.

“Stop.”

This time the word leaves him stricter, stretched too tight across whatever control he is trying to maintain.

“What?” you ask, fingers lightly hooked onto his arm, unaware of the way even that small contact is doing more damage than you realize. “What’s wrong, I don’t understa—”

“Do you ever?”

The interruption cuts your sentence clean. His hand drags back through drenched hair before letting it fall over his face again.

“Do you ever actually understand anything,” he says, voice uncharacteristically bitter. “or do you just make things up as you go and expect everyone else to adjust accordingly?”

You blink, caught off guard by the bite in his tone.

“That was rude.” you say, more defensive than you intended to sound.

“Oh, I’m rude?” he repeats, turning toward you fully now.

The tension is visible in the set of his shoulders, in the way his fingers flex once at his sides as though resisting the urge to do something impulsive.

Water continues to trail from the ends of his pale hair, sliding slowly down the slope of his throat, catching briefly at the dip of his collarbone before continuing lower, following the defined lines of muscle at his abdomen. Now that his shirt is discarded somewhere behind him, it's hard not to look.

Your gaze betrays you, fixed at the sight. The slow path of a droplet disappearing down his v-line and beneath the waistband of his pants pulls your focus back.

“Sorry,” you say, uncertain, the word quieter than before. “I didn’t realize I— I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

Your own shirt clings stubbornly to your form, darker where the liquid has seeped through the fabric completely, thin material outlining the shape like it has no intention of hiding anything. The curve of your bra against your chest is visible if someone looks long enough.

Gojo looks.

He absolutely shouldn’t, but he does.

His jaw tightens immediately as his gaze jerks upward, breath pulling slightly deeper into his lungs. His hand lifts, pressing briefly against his eyelids before sliding down over his face.

For a moment he just stands there, head bowed slightly, fingers covering his eyes as if physically holding his thoughts in place.

When he finally looks at you again, the restraint is visible in the way his shoulders remain slightly too still.

“God,” he exhales quietly, looking away again almost immediately. “Just… leave it, okay?”

His voice is thinner, more weary.

“Please just stop talking for a second because every time you speak right now I feel like I’m going to say something I can’t unsay.”

Your fingers tighten instinctively where they hover near his arm.

“Like what?” you ask, softer but still persistent. “You can’t just say cryptic things and then expect me to not ask.”

Gojo lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, except there is nothing amused in it. He inches toward you slowly, close enough that you instinctively take a step back.

“I’m sorry that I’m not like you,”

Another step.

You step back again, breath catching slightly as the distance disappears like it was never there to begin with.

“I’m sorry that I can’t just—” his hand lifts vaguely at the shrinking space between you, clearly annoyed at the inadequacy of language, “kiss you and pretend it was a neutral social interaction.”

Your lips part slightly. Despite everything, the faintest crease appears between your brows.

He shakes his head once, more at himself than you.

“I tried...” he continues, inching closer until your back meets the wall, the cool surface grounding in a way nothing else is.

He doesn’t stop there, though.

He doesn’t touch you, but he’s close enough now that even your breathing feels shared. “I actually tried to just be normal about it.”

His gaze drops for a second, on the way there isn’t really space at all anymore, before lifting again. And the second it does, he regrets it.

Your shirt has only grown more transparent under the pool light.

He swallows, hard.

“I figured maybe you just needed time or maybe you just didn’t want to say it out loud,” he continues, voice rougher, words beginning to overlap slightly as frustration and embarrassment collide.

“But then you do things like this,” he gestures weakly toward the closeness that neither of you has fully stepped away from, “and I genuinely don’t know if I’m supposed to interpret that as encouragement or some twisted idea of fun.”

Your fingers curl at your side. You dare not interrupt him this time.

“I don’t know how you manage to get this close,” his gaze flicks to where your hand had pressed against his chest minutes ago, before snapping back up. “and then laugh like I hallucinated the entire moment.”

Gojo's hand lifts unconsciously, hovering briefly near your waist before he stops himself, fingers curling inward instead.

“I can’t do that,” he admits, almost reluctantly. “I can’t just switch it off. And yeah, maybe that makes me stupid–”

He mumbles, a small, embarrassed flush on his face at his own admission. “But I kept thinking maybe if I didn’t push, if I just waited, I'd eventually figure out whether I was imagining things or not.”

His gaze flicks downward once more despite obvious effort not to. The material of your shirt has molded completely to the shape of you now, the faint lace edge beneath visible when the light catches at the right angle.

Fuck it, he thinks.

He won't look away this time.

“Every time you pull something like this,” he continues, voice less defensive and more tired. “I feel like an idiot. I can’t keep pretending I don’t want more just because it’s easier for you if I don’t.”

He adds finally, forcing the sentence out more steadily than he feels. A faint, self-aware frustration flickers briefly across his expression.

“And I definitely can’t keep pretending I don’t think about kissing you every time you're this close,” he mutters, half-regretting his words, half-relieved to let it all out. "I'm not detached enough for that."

Your breath comes out uneven, and his eyes lift at the sound, catching it, half-wincing.

“I am not built for casual proximity with you,” he says, the admission almost sounding like an apology. “You are… profoundly distracting.”

His gaze flicks once more to your lips before returning to your eyes.

“I don’t need everything figured out... but I can’t keep being the joke you circle back to when you’re bored.”

Silence.

For a moment, you don’t say anything. You can't.

Gojo's gaze drops, like he’s trying to give you space and failing at it. His hands come up without thinking, bracing against the wall on either side of you, close enough that you feel boxed yet not touching.

“Yeah… that was—” he exhales, the sound uneven. “That was–uh–too far.”

A pause.

“I didn’t mean to just dump all of that on you,” he adds, words starting to trip over one another nervously. “I swear– it sounded worse than I—”

You don’t think about it. You just close the distance and kiss him.

For a second, he doesn’t move.

You feel it immediately. The stillness. The way his breath stutters against your mouth, stiff, like someone who's wanted a thing for too long and goes limp the moment it's there.

When you pull back, it's quick, startled by your own nerve, heat flooding your face before you've even fully separated.

"Oh—" Your voice comes out smaller than you'd like. "Sorry, I didn't— I should've asked, I just thought…"

Your fingers curl at your side. "I thought you wanted to."

He's still looking at you.

Pupils blown wide, lips parted, like the word wanted doesn't begin to cover it and he doesn't yet have the language for what actually does.

His hand lifts slowly, dazed, like his body is operating ahead of his brain, fingers brushing over his own mouth.

Checking. Making sure this is even real.

Then it drops.

And the other one comes up twice as fast.

His palm slides into your hair, fingers pressing gently at the base of your skull with a certainty that hadn't been there a moment ago. His other hand finds your waist, gathering the damp fabric of your shirt in his grip and yanking you close until there's no space left.

Not even enough for air.

This time he won't stop.

Gojo's mouth meets yours and it's nothing like the first kiss. That one had been hesitant, searching, his brain still running three steps behind his heart. This is him catching up all at once.

The sharp taste of chlorine lingers between you, and underneath it, something warmer. Familiar in a way you hadn't let yourself think about until now. His shampoo, the one you've borrowed from his bathroom shelf more times than you've counted, clean and faint and entirely too easy to recognize.

You lean into it before you can think better of it.

Your back presses harder against the wall, body giving in by inches. His hand at your waist slides to the small of your back, drawing you flush against him, your soaked top pressed between your bodies until you can feel the warmth of his skin through it like the fabric has stopped existing entirely.

Your lips part slightly.

He follows without hesitation. The kiss deepens, his breath mixing with yours, and there’s a faint sweetness when he tilts his head.

Strawberry tint.

Gojo remembers it immediately. The hand in your hair tilts your head back just enough, and you feel the way he groans against your mouth like he’s been holding it in for ages.

Your back arches slightly into the wall as you let out a soft exhale, the movement pulling you into him.

He doesn’t miss it.

His hand drifts lower, tracing the curve of your waist before kneading at your thigh. With a subtle kind of insistence, he lifts your leg, guiding it to rest against the side of his hip.

Everything feels warm and cold at the same time. The water still clinging to your skin, his, the way it transfers where you’re pressed together, soaking through what little space there was left.

When he pulls back, it’s barely an inch.

His lips drag against yours teasingly, before his teeth catch lightly on your lower lip, followed by a brief pull.

Just like you taught him.

“Don’t…”

Gojo stays close enough that you can hear the rapid pace of his heart. The hand that has your leg hooked against him still hasn't moved.

“Don’t apologize for that.”

His thumb shifts slightly against your scalp, absentmindedly soothing.

“If you’re going to kiss me,” he adds, nudging his nose against yours. “Don’t act like it was a mistake.”

Without his glasses, there's nowhere for any of it to hide. Not the color still high on his cheeks, not the way his eyes search your face like he's bracing for you to laugh again, to call it nothing, to fold it neatly into the category of things we don't talk about.

He wouldn't survive it a second time. You can see that clearly now.

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