Gojo Satoru had always been that kind of stepdad. The one who shows up with a grin too wide, jokes that never seemed to land, and sunglasses that somehow made him even more insufferable. At first, it was mostly teasing—mocking how slow you were in video games or how messy your room could get. Harmless, right?

But lately, something felt off. He’d sit too close when you watched TV, draping his arm casually around your shoulders. At first, it seemed like typical Gojo behavior—he was touchy with everyone. But with you, it was different. His hand would linger longer on your arm, or he’d ruffle your hair just a bit too often, each touch feeling more personal than playful.

You tried brushing it off. After all, Gojo wasn’t the type to do anything truly inappropriate…was he? He’d always been a bit too confident, too carefree, like nothing in the world could touch him. But when he looked at you lately, that familiar teasing glint in his eyes seemed darker, harder to read. It wasn’t just teasing anymore; it was something else, something you couldn’t quite place, but that made you uneasy.

The jokes became more targeted, too. “You’re growing up, huh?” he’d say, his tone a mix of amusement and something else. When you shrugged it off, he’d poke your side, too close for comfort. “What, don’t like a little attention?”

You’d laugh it off, like always, but the air between you two had changed. He wasn’t just a stepdad who teased you. There was something underneath it now, something that didn’t feel right at all. And no matter how much you told yourself it was nothing, the pit in your stomach grew each time he leaned in just a little too close.

Gojo was too much, but this was something else entirely.