Bully Satoru Gojo

Satoru Gojo was the kind of boy everyone in school knew, loud, tall, beautiful in a way that made people stare, and terrifying in a way that made them look away just as fast. He was the school’s untouchable bully, the one who ruled the hallways like they were his personal kingdom. His name carried weight, whispered in fear and annoyance. For most kids, he was a nightmare in the flesh.

He didn’t pick fights, he created them. He shoved smaller kids into lockers just to watch them stumble. He’d snatch homework, tear it apart in front of its owner, and laugh as they scrambled to gather the pieces. His teasing was relentless, name-calling sharpened like knives meant to humiliate. Rumors spread on his tongue like wildfire, cruel little stories that ruined reputations overnight. And if someone really got under his skin, he wouldn’t hesitate to escalate. A kick to the shin, a punch to the shoulder, a shove so hard it left bruises. Gojo’s reign wasn’t built on empty threats.

With the nerdy kids, the “easy targets,” he was brutal. He mocked their voices, their clothes, their stutters. He’d swipe glasses from their faces, dangle them high above their reach, and sometimes snap them in two. Books were tossed in puddles, backpacks kicked down the hallway, lunches overturned. Every insult, every cruel laugh, fed his reputation. Teachers tried to stop him, but Gojo was slippery, always out of reach, always one step ahead, always smirking when caught. He was the storm no one could control.

But with you? It was different.

From the very beginning, you barely noticed him. He was just another loud presence in the background of your life, an irritation you didn’t bother giving attention to. But to Gojo, you were the only thing that mattered. He fell hard, obsessively, relentlessly. While everyone else saw the cruel, smirking bully, around you he was something else entirely. His gaze softened when it landed on you, his chest tightened when you walked past. The way you didn’t look at him drove him insane.

He wanted your attention. Needed it.

Every shove, every cruel laugh in the hallway was punctuated by quick glances toward you, did you see? Did you notice him? Did he exist to you yet? He craved your acknowledgment like oxygen. And when you continued to ignore him, he only grew more obsessed.

No one dared to approach you, though you never understood why. You thought people kept their distance because of your own aloofness, but the truth was far darker. Gojo had made sure of it. Any boy who so much as lingered too close to you, who tried to strike up a conversation or offer you a smile, found himself cornered by Gojo. The threats were low and dangerous, his smirk cruel. He’d shove them against lockers, whisper promises of pain in their ears. If that didn’t work, he followed through, bruises, missing notebooks, humiliations staged so publicly no one dared repeat the mistake.

Your solitude wasn’t by choice. It was by design.

Behind the scenes, Gojo was your self-appointed guardian, keeping the world at bay through sheer force and fear. His obsession painted invisible boundaries around you that no one dared cross. You never knew why men avoided your orbit, why conversations fell silent when you entered, why rumors about you never stuck. It was Gojo, always watching, always protecting in his twisted way, always making sure no one touched what he considered his.

His cruelty to others was, in his mind, proof of his devotion to you. He wanted to be seen, to be noticed by the only person who mattered. Every shove, every rumor, every brutal display of dominance, all of it was meant to carve his existence into your world. He thought if he burned bright enough, you couldn’t ignore him.

To everyone else, Satoru Gojo was the devil in the school halls, a storm of fists and laughter that left bruises in its wake. But when it came to you, he was something else entirely: obsessed, desperate, hopelessly in love. His cruelty was his language. His obsession, his devotion. And whether you wanted it or not, he had already decided, no one would ever take you from him.

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It had been six long months of him clawing for your attention, six months of endless persistence that should have broken off weeks ago but never did. Every time you turned him down, thinking he’d finally lose interest, he came back louder, bolder, more determined. Satoru Gojo wasn’t the type to accept defeat, especially not when it came to you.

You rejected him again and again, sometimes with sharp words, sometimes with cold indifference, but it never mattered. He’d brush it off with that infuriating grin, like your “no” was just another game he had to win. He made sure you could never escape his orbit. If he wasn’t hovering in your peripheral vision, he was sending his friends your way, asking questions, pestering you, wanting to know everything: what you liked, who you were talking to, what your plans were after school. A billion little invasions, relentless, exhausting.

It should have driven you mad, and maybe it did, but one day, you gave in. You were tired of fighting, maybe you were curious what it would be like, or maybe… his persistence finally wore down the walls you’d built. Whatever the reason, you agreed. A single chance. That was all it took. And the moment you said yes, Gojo lit up like he’d just been handed the world.

For him, it wasn’t just a victory. It was everything. Six months of obsession had finally crystallized into reality, you were his now.

But even as he basked in that triumph, there was something restless beneath the surface. He knew he could be overwhelming, his possessiveness, his intensity, the way he hovered too close and stared too long. Part of him was terrified of scaring you off, of losing you after finally winning you. So he tried, tried to dial it back, tried to play the role of a normal boyfriend. Smiling, joking, holding your hand lightly instead of gripping it like he was afraid you’d vanish.

Tried.

Because even when he was careful, the truth was always there, lurking. He still followed you home after school, steps quiet, watching from a distance to make sure no one came too close.He still checked your phone screen when you weren’t looking, still slipped questions into conversations with friends, still made sure that anyone who even thought about approaching you thought twice.

You never realized it, but his obsession hadn’t lessened, it had only gone underground. The stalking became quieter, more discreet. The protectiveness was veiled in sweetness. To you, he was trying. To him, he was simply being patient.

After all, he finally had what he wanted, you.And Satoru Gojo wasn’t about to risk losing that, no matter what it took.

---

It started subtly, almost innocuously. At first, dating Satoru Gojo felt like winning a secret prize. His teasing had softened around you, his smirk less sharp when he looked at you, the relentless persistence finally channeled into something…almost tender. You liked that part, the private side, the way he laughed at your stupid jokes or tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. But it didn’t take long for the cracks to show.

You began noticing it, the way he treated everyone else. With his friends, it was easy to excuse as banter. They all shared the same humor, the same sharp edges that cut deep if you weren’t careful. But the more you observed, the more you realized just how cruel they all were. And Satoru, Satoru was the worst of them.

It hit you one afternoon when you were walking past a hallway he thought you weren’t watching. You froze in place, heart sinking, as you saw him corner a boy by the lockers. The kid’s backpack was shoved to the ground, books spilling like confetti as Satoru’s hands pushed him roughly against the cold metal. His laugh rang out, sharp and empty, as he delivered a series of jabs, both verbal and physical, mocking the boy’s every stumble, his every flinch.

Your stomach twisted. That look, the way the boy tried to shrink away, the way he whispered “please”…it was a mirror of the things Satoru had done to other kids before. And suddenly, your private world with him, the one where he smiled just for you, collided with the truth.

He hadn’t noticed you, but the sight burned into your chest. It was new,’this awareness, this weight of realization. Satoru Gojo, your boyfriend, the boy who had obsessed over you for months, the one whose attention you had finally allowed, he was undeniably, unrepentantly cruel. A bully. A manipulator. A storm that left others bruised and humiliated in his wake.

The moment Satoru noticed you standing there, frozen in the hallway, his expression changed in an instant. That cruel, untouchable smirk vanished, replaced by a mask of innocence so practiced it almost made your stomach twist.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, voice light and casual, as if nothing had happened.

The boy on the floor blinked in confusion, too shocked to answer. Satoru didn’t wait for him; with an almost effortless grip, he scooped the kid up like a sack of potatoes, hoisting him into his arms as though lifting him required no effort at all. His posture was relaxed, his grin charming and disarming. “See? Totally fine. Nothing to worry about,” he said, tilting his head toward you as if to wink, silently saying, I’m harmless. Nothing to see here.

Satoru held him for a beat longer than necessary, letting the boy get his bearings, making it seem like a gentle rescue instead of what it really was. Then, with a light laugh, he set him down, patting the kid’s shoulder almost fatherly. “There you go. All good now.”