Toji x Gojo

Stockholm Syndrome

By : elthedane
Source : AO3

Chapter 1: Break Me

Satoru likes to kill. There's no other way to say it.

He likes the terror in their eyes as they realize he - this pretty, unassuming teen - will be the last person they ever see. The looks fade too fast, sag to death-blankness, and the itch comes back.

It's always easy to draw them in. Too easy, perhaps. They're all-too eager at the sight of thin pale legs and bright blue eyes. He gives them the usual spiel, lies injected with enough truth to make them believable.

It goes like this: he ran away from home, doesn't have a penny to his name, and is just trying to get out west. He turns on the charm, cracks jokes that rarely land. Harmless.

They think with their dicks, think they'll get a quick suck or a quick fuck. Instead, they get a blade through the throat and arterial spray painting the walls.

Satoru's new mark drives a beat-up Toyota with duct tape on the bumper. He's out for a smoke by the wall of the gas station - a husk of a building advertising 2 dollars a litre.

"S-sorry to bother you." Satoru is already crying as he delivers his speech, watering eyes staring unblinking at the torn-up pavement so the tears keep flowing.

The man's wearing worn-out blue coveralls. His name tag says: Toji , but his face says: fuck off . Smoke billows languidly from his scarred lips as Satoru speaks.

Toji doesn't seem to care about his sad sad story, looks at him like one would look at a perfectly cooked steak. Predatory. Animal. If he keeps looking at him like that this'll be easier than Satoru thought.

Satoru can already see it, both of them naked on a motel bed, the older man slumped into the pillows, post-orgasm sluggishness seeping into his muscles.

That's when he'll do it.

"Let's go someplace quieter," Toji says and just like that Satoru's got him. Hook, line, and sinker.

"I know a place," Satoru says, wiping his tears on his sleeve. No need for those anymore.

There's a motel by the highway, only a block away. That's where Satoru will bring him. Toji's size will make it a challenge, but once he's good and fucked-out, it'll be simple muscle memory. Knife through the jugular, tear until-

The stench of chloroform is sudden and unexpected. Satoru feels strong hands grip him as his vision blackens at the edges.

"Easy, easy," Toji coaxes as he takes Satoru's weight.

And the world goes dark.

Satoru wakes up to the smell of mildew and bleach. It's dark wherever he is, and his vision adjusts poorly. He sits up and there's the soft clink of metal on metal.

What the fuck?

The darkness slowly makes way to vague shadows. He's on a mattress, grimy and gritty beneath his fingers. His wrists chafe from restraints and there's a figure in the corner, coming closer and closer.

Toji straddles a chair. Metal. Unforgiving. He's flipping through Satoru's wallet, humming softly to himself.

" Gojo Satoru," he reads. "Gojo... I know that name." His grin is shark-like, teeth like knives, jaws that could split Satoru in half.

"My parents will pay ransom," Satoru lies. "They have money! Lots of it!" He pulls at the chains binding his wrists, his eyes following the metal links all the way to the radiator.