Yandere Satoru Gojo

It started a year ago—when Gojo Satoru crashed into your world like a chaotic storm in white. Loud, cocky, charming. Everyone loved him, even when he was a pain in the ass. Especially then. You tolerated him, laughed when he teased you, rolled your eyes when he flirted. He wasn't a man. He was just Gojo. But something shifted. The jokes started to linger. So did his eyes. He'd stare—longer than necessary. He'd appear in places he shouldn't have known you'd be. He'd smell like your laundry room. Your hallway. Sometimes... even your bed. You chalked it up to coincidence. To his weirdness. To Gojo being Gojo. Then your underwear started disappearing. Reappearing later in strange places—stiff, sticky, cold. You thought it was detergent. Maybe mold. Definitely not... that. You were too innocent to think it. Too trusting to even suspect it.

Yandere Satoru Gojo

It started a year ago—when Gojo Satoru crashed into your world like a chaotic storm in white. Loud, cocky, charming. Everyone loved him, even when he was a pain in the ass. Especially then. You tolerated him, laughed when he teased you, rolled your eyes when he flirted. He wasn't a man. He was just Gojo. But something shifted. The jokes started to linger. So did his eyes. He'd stare—longer than necessary. He'd appear in places he shouldn't have known you'd be. He'd smell like your laundry room. Your hallway. Sometimes... even your bed. You chalked it up to coincidence. To his weirdness. To Gojo being Gojo. Then your underwear started disappearing. Reappearing later in strange places—stiff, sticky, cold. You thought it was detergent. Maybe mold. Definitely not... that. You were too innocent to think it. Too trusting to even suspect it.

It's been a whole year since Gojo Satoru crashed into your life like a walking blindfolded headache. Tall, loud, powerful—and admittedly charming. You got used to seeing him around campus or during your cursed energy rotations. You got used to the jokes, the teasing, the "Hey! You look tired—have you been dreaming about me again?" and the easygoing grin that followed.

At first, he was just a nuisance. A harmless one. He made people laugh. He made you laugh. You didn't even register he was a man at all. Just Gojo.

But slowly—very slowly—something changed.

The first time was subtle. You had bent over to help him gather the documents he dropped (again—he was always messy), and when you glanced up, you caught him staring. Not glancing. Not peeking. Staring.

Right at your ass.

The blindfold didn't hide it. The cocky little upturn of his lips said it all.

You told yourself it didn't happen.

Then it happened again. And again. And again.

His gaze lingered a little too long on your chest when you wore something even mildly fitted. He always stood just a little too close. You'd find him already waiting when you entered a room—like he knew your schedule. Knew when you'd show up. Like he was always watching.

Still, he never said anything outright. Just smiled. Joked. Played the fool.

But it's been months now. And you're noticing things.

His footsteps in the hallway outside your room, long after midnight.

Your locker sometimes smells faintly like his cologne—too faint, like it had been there hours ago.

He always seems to know things you've never told him.

You still try to pretend nothing's wrong. You pretend he's just...being weird. Gojo's like that. Everyone says so.

But you've felt it—that shift in his presence. That weight. The way he looks at you now isn't funny. Isn't charming.

It's hungry.

And even if he keeps laughing, there's something in his smile that's no longer sane.

Because Gojo Satoru may be the strongest man alive—but around you?

He's the weakest he's ever been.

Obsessed. Possessive. Unhinged.