#erixyaps

Isn’t that their goal? Their endgame? To wear you out until they’re bored of you, then they can finally toss you away and find another defenseless girl to torture? Repeat that cycle again and again because they don’t think they can actually face any consequences for whatever they do to anyone? Because they’re the strongest sorcerers of their time, and no one else is better than those two at what they do, and no one else can even understand what they do because sorcery is kept from the public for obvious reasons. 

One day you just… stop struggling.

One day you stop fighting back. You stop talking back. You stop kicking and screaming and biting at their fingers when they get too close.

You just stop.

And their response is not what you expect from them at all. You expect them to be bored with you, to toss you back to the streets where they probably thought you belonged anyway since they turned you into their perfect cockslut. You think they’re going to dispose of you, because they can just find someone else. You’re not special and you know it, and they know that too.

Or you think they did.

“Princess?” Gojo murmurs, emerging from between your legs with concern shining in those striking blue eyes of his, crawling over you and poking your cheek. No response, no reaction. “You broken, or something?”

“Satoru,” Suguru chides with a sigh, as he pulls you close, your breathing slowed and labored. Warning sirens are playing in his head. “That’s no way to address worry for someone.”

Glossy eyes shift between Gojo and Geto as they argue over your state of being, but their voices sound distant. Like you’re not even in the room anymore. And you may as well not be, you’re not even sure you’re in reality anymore. 

You’re just so, so tired and you don’t know why you deserve this, why you deserve to suffer, why they chose you to torture out of the sea of people they could have chosen instead. Because they can do whatever they want, can’t they? And they can get away with it without any damage.

“She’s been like this for the last month now,” Gojo pouts, “She’s not making her pretty sounds or anything… is she mad at us, or bored of us, or…?”

“I’m sure that isn’t the case,” Suguru remarks, patting your head. “Talk to us, my dear. What’s wrong?”

No response.

“Is she sad?”

“Of course she is.”

“Why?” Gojo retaliates with a shout. “All we do is love her endlessly!”

You don’t even flinch at that, knowing how false that is, and Geto takes note of it. If even something like that isn’t enough to gauge a reaction out of you, then there truly is something wrong. The last thing he wants is an emotionless ragdoll–that takes away everything about you and he doesn’t want that–and this isn’t good. This isn’t going to do at all and he isn’t sure how to snap you out of this. He’s not Shoko, he can’t fix you, and he’s never thought you needed to be fixed because you’re just perfect for the two of them.

And you still are. Just… why aren't you reacting to them anymore? Is Satoru right? Are you upset with them? Worse, bored of them? 

How can that be? 

“Baby?” Suguru calls again, voice softer, softer than you’ve ever heard out of a man who doesn’t know what it means to be sorry for anything, what it means to be guilty. To experience guilt. He cradles your face, stroking your cheeks as your glossy eyes gaze elsewhere in the room. Away from his face. As long as it’s away from his face.

A tear escapes your left eye and he wipes it away.

“Baby, please talk to us.”

“Anything,” Satoru presses, kissing the crown of your head. “Pleaes? Did we do something wrong? What did we do wrong?”

Please, just kill me, you say in your mind but you don’t let your words escape your lips. But they’re threatening to, hanging on the tip of your tongue. You know as well as they do they’re just going to find a way to pin the blame on you, it’s your fault they took it that far and you couldn’t take it. It’s your fault. It’s all your fault.

You’re so tired of it all being your fault that you’re here, in the arms of two men who don’t know how to handle you with care. Suguru may be more calculated but that doesn’t mean he’s any less reckless than Satoru. 

And you know better than to fall for these tricks. Because the moment you give them what they want–to hear your voice, to feel you kick and scream, they’re going to go right back to their typical ways. You have learned your lesson with them and it’s time they learn theirs, if that’s even possible.

“But babyyyyy,” Gojo whines, peppering slobbery kisses down your spine. You still don’t react or even flinch, and that’s saying something because this is too much already for you. “Please, what can we do to make it better?”

“That’s enough,” Suguru chides him again, as he slips out from the bed with you in his arms, trekking toward the in-suite restroom. “Clearly we took it too far this time. Why don’t you help me clean her up and get her fed?”

“Fine,” Gojo pouts, “But I just want to hear my baby’s voice again.”

“And we will,” he declares, “But it might take some time now. I don’t want you messing with her until she feels okay again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Suguru,” Gojo sighs as he follows him into the restroom, setting up the shower. He leans against the shower door as the steam already begins to fog up the glass, but his eyes are fixed on you. Hard to escape eyes like his. They find you even when you’re asleep, trying to escape from this absurd reality of yours. You wish this isn’t so, but you are damned to a life with the two most heinous men you have ever encountered in your lifetime.

“So what are we supposed to do now, baby? If you’re not going to give us the beautiful gift of hearing you,” Gojo mutters as he helps Suguru to get you into the shower with them. Suguru shuts the door behind him and supports you against his chest, the hard pressure of the water beating down on your bare bodies. You let the two of them wash you from head to toe before they tend to themselves, allowing you to sit on the elevated area where the other supplies are displayed. Your respective items are actually your own preferences, and that’s about as much autonomy as they offer you a lot of the time. They tend to your preferences when it comes to your food, your clothes, your makeup or whatever else. But they don’t allow you the illusion of having a real personality outside of them. Because you live for them now, don’t you? They’re going to be all you ever need, and in turn they make sure you’re at least somewhat satisfied with your new role (that you never asked for from the start, but what do they care?)

They help you back into a fresh silk robe. Your favorite color, even. In spite of wanting to play with you, they still want you to be you, to a certain degree. Just because they’re not above punishing you for voicing your protests or refusing their advances doesn’t mean they don’t want you to be you. They are in love with you and that’s why they chose you.

You wish they didn’t. It’s not the compliment they seem to believe it is. Attention from men, no matter their status and no matter their power, is never a compliment. Men are attracted to anything with or without a pulse. It’s not a special treatment and you are never going to see it as such. But all the world ever does is cater to men, and their desires, and their wants, and their interests, and their needs. Women are always cast away or seen as objects, an appendage for men while they’re off fulfilling their dreams.

Gojo and Geto cage you between them as they help you to bed. Gojo nuzzles his chin into your neck, peppering gentle kisses into the crook and along your shoulder. Geto seems at a loss of words for once in his life, the kind of man who never seems to have a shortage for how much he can say without stopping to take a breath for once can’t say anything to you that will make a difference. His purple eyes scan your face, for any sign of vitality in you, any sign of your typical spark. But there’s nothing and he can feel it.

He loathes that he can feel it and you can tell by the way something bobs in his throat. Speechless.

He’s actually really speechless, but you know something is hanging on his tongue. You don’t know what that is though. Maybe he wants to spill a string of accusations: you’re the one who doesn’t seem to get enough satisfaction, you’re the one being ungrateful because they’re the ones giving you endless amounts of attention, bordering on smothering you with attention.

But no, that doesn’t seem to be so right now.

For once Geto and Gojo are absolutely gobsmacked and under typical circumstances you might have rejoiced in this small victory.

But maybe you have just underestimated your own importance in their lives.

All you believe you were to them was something to help them take the edge of after trying missions. They haven’t shied away from telling you how exhausting being special grade sorcerers was. Just their favorite little toy, their stress reliever. Nothing more and nothing less. If they can’t get what they want out of you, then they can toss you away, dispose of you and finally kill you, while they go off in search of another to fulfill their barbaric needs.

You hear Suguru swat Satoru’s shoulder. 

“Hey!” the older man grumbles, and Suguru frowns in clear disapproval.

“She needs some space right now, it looks like.”

“And you’re giving that to her?”

“Do you want her to give you the silent treatment forever?”

“...No,” he answers flatly.

“Then fucking respect her space.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually the one insisting upon it, instead of going down the usual road.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“I mean, we could get her to squeal again.”

“But that seems to be how we’ve got her in this position, so how is that going to be useful?”

“Alright, fine. You have a point,” Gojo huffs, but still, he keeps you huddled close between the two of them like the smothering, clingy lovers they are. The aroma of their woody colognes fill your nostrils and you’re impressed you don’t even gag from the overwhelming scents. “I’m just not sure this is going to change anything, either, though.”

“It’s worth a try,” Geto murmurs, as his eyes flit to meet yours, still glossy, still gone, void. And he’s done that to you. He doesn’t mean to… but does it matter? The tip of his finger traces along your face, and he actually chokes, or almost does. Something close to a sob. 

If you don’t know any better, you may have even caught onto some glimmer of guilt in those hard purple eyes of his, yet he shields it from your view as quickly as you catch it.

You guess being a big shot sorcerer means you can’t show any hint of weakness, and you just realized that for these two, it really is you, who is that weakness.