It Sparks Joy For Me, Ma.

You bit nervously at your nails, watching all the others gear up as though they were going to play laser tag and not be exposed to real bloodthirsty curses. You hadn't thought this far when you signed up for the Special Force Against Curses. All you knew was your old neighbour who had retired from SFAC now stayed at home all day eating snacks and yelling at his television. That was all you wanted from life.

The brutal 9-5 for decades would wear you out too fast. You couldn't spend the majority of your life waiting desperately for the weekend. It would be easier to enlist, tough it out until you found a way to be discharged with pension.

You hadn't really considered all the danger you'd be exposed to. Suddenly that fat pension made sense. They could afford to dangle it over your heads knowing most of you would not make it to the finish line.

The others began retreating from the weaponry breaking you out of your thoughts and making you wonder if you had taken too long dallying. Now only the stuff no one wanted would be left but then you saw the tall figure make their way through the parted crowd. Not only taller than all the other men but that shock of white hair made him stand out all the more. The one everyone called the mad dog. Though to you he looked more like an extraterrestrial being with those freakish blue eyes of his.

You had heard the rumours. He was as strong as ten men, so fast he could take out a whole gang of curses before they even realized they were under attack. Thought of strategy and planned attacks out in ways others couldn't even perceive of. It sounded like the winning recipe for a soldier but apparently, and according to the more envious men, he was barking mad. You thought it was just jealousy of his skill.

You weren't the jealous type. No, you were the type to recognize that there were others in this world who had advantages and skills you didn't possess but just because you didn't have them, didn't mean you couldn't make use of them. The mad dog, or Gojo Satoru as you would respectfully address him, was exactly the kind of friend you needed to make it out of here alive and get to use the pension you had signed up for.

That day as you cowered behind a wall while the others attacked, you kept an eye out for that shock of white hair. Watching as the man disappeared from your line of sight and reappeared at intervals almost always brutally finishing off a curse and it became quite clear as you watched why he was called the mad dog. He had a smile on his face more frightening than the creatures as he disemboweled them, those freakish eyes of his glowing in the darkness like that of a predator.

That was a man you could hide behind and one clearly capable of protecting you from any and all threats. That evening at dinner when you had gotten your tray of food you marched it over right to Gojo Satoru’s table.

"Can I sit?" You asked before you could think better of it.

Those blue eyes gazing out the window slowly trailed over to you. Not even the slightest shift in his expression as he stared at you as blankly as he had been looking at the scenery out the window beside the table he always sat at, alone.

"No." He said, making your stomach drop. You had been planning how to approach him but you hadn't really considered the possibility he might turn you down.

"I'll give you my dessert." You bartered, his eyes flicked down to your tray.

"Blech, I don't like raspberry pudding." He said making you glance down to your tray too.

"I asked for chocolate." You exclaimed.

You had asked for the chocolate pudding but clearly the blind bat serving had given you the raspberry instead.

"That blind bat." You muttered lowly under your breath, glaring back over your shoulder at the old lady serving. Nearly jumping out of your skin in fright when a bark like laugh erupted from the man sitting before you. Eyes now sparkling when just before he had been looking at you like he wouldn't bat an eye if you dropped dead.

"That's my great aunt." He said, making your heart drop. You had really ruined all chances of friendship.

"She lost her eye sight in one eye while serving and then majority of her sight in the other in a curse attack." He continued. Not only had you ruined chances of friendship you'd gone and made an enemy of the strongest man in the troop, not to mention that he was your superior.

"I'm so-" You started but were cutoff by him speaking again.

"She's got a nose like a hound though so she definitely gave you the raspberry on purpose. Nasty old bat." Gojo said and you nearly went boneless in relief.

"I knew it couldn't always be a mistake." You said swinging one leg over the bench but a tutting sound made you freeze.

"I didn't say you could sit." Gojo said and you blinked at him like a deer in headlights before awkwardly pulling your leg back.

"Find another table, this one's mine." He said, glancing away from you in clear dismissal.

You joined one of the many other tables where the soldiers, clearly still sour that you had hid during the attack, gave you dirty looks which you ignored. Too busy trying to figure out what had happened because there had been a moment when you thought you'd found your in with Gojo Satoru.

You retreated that day but that didn't mean you stopped trying. From then on where Gojo Satoru went, you followed. If he was heading to meals then you were right behind him, tray in hand and getting the exact same foods he chose. You woke when he did and retired to sleep when he did. At first it was just to align your routine but the madman was an early riser so soon you needed to go to bed early if you were going to survive waking at dawn like him.

The only time you weren't dutifully following him around was when you all ran laps. He outpaced you several times and would eventually make it back into your blurred line of sight as you gasped and panted for air while being heckled by your commander for being a disgrace.

He mostly acted like you didn't exist. He would respond when spoken to but still made it abundantly clear you weren't welcome in his space. He had yet to allow you to sit at his table. The only time he had any sort of positive reaction to you was when he would hear something you muttered to yourself and would let out that bark-like laughter that nearly pierced your eardrums.

It was one of those mornings where you were dragging yourself to the training room. Knowing Gojo was already there and cursing him for being such an early riser when you finally saw what made the others avoid the man and speak of him as though he were the legend of a spooky ghost story and not their fellow comrade in arms.

You opened the door to the gym, still a bit bleary eyed but the fog of exhaustion disappeared the moment you took in the scene in front of you. Gojo Satoru was straddling a man on the ground beneath him, pummeling fist after fist into his face. The man's face, now a swollen, bloody mess, was completely unrecognizable even though you had been spending every waking moment surrounded by your fellow soldiers.

You couldn't help the gasp that escaped you when the next punch resulted in a spray of blood splattering up from the man's nose that had been reduced to a mangled mess of bloodied cartilage. Drops of crimson spraying out onto Gojo's pristine, marble-like pale skin. The sight made more unsettling by how other than that splatter of blood across his jaw and neck, there was not even so much as a scratch on him. Not even his hair was mussed.

At the sound, Gojo glanced up making you freeze in place. Those manic blue eyes now on you, glowing just the way they did when he was hunting curses.

"Good morning." Gojo huffed, sitting back on the man as though it were not the body of a person he'd beaten into unconsciousness but a bench.

"Good morning." You breathed, whirling around when you heard footsteps coming down the hall. Your heart nearly fell through your stomach as you made eye contact with the beady pair of your commander.

Violence against fellow soldiers was strictly prohibited. If the commander saw Gojo now he would expel him and all your efforts in fraying him down would have been for naught. The others didn't particularly like you for being weak and hiding during attacks. You had spent all your time following around Gojo and the others had already formed their little cliques. There was no hope of finding another protector.

"Commander, sir, Lieutenant Hiroshi was looking for you in the weaponry. Something about needing help with a holster." You said, making the man pause. It was common knowledge the commander had the biggest crush on Hiroshi.

"A holster?"

"Yes sir, his thigh holster has come loose I believe." You said and the man didn't even bother responding. Turning right back around the way he had come.

"Lieutenant Hiroshi wasn't in the weaponry." A voice said from behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin. Whirling back around to see Gojo stood behind you with an amused glint in his eyes and more concerningly the blood still splattered across his face.

"I know that but I had to get the commander out of here. If he saw this you would have been discharged from the military and that too disgracefully. You know you don't get pension if you get discharged disgracefully right?" You asked, unthinkingly licking your thumb and swiping at the blood on his jaw.

He flinched back, catching your wrist but you wriggled your hand out. Pushing against his chest so he was forced back into the gym and out of anyone who may be passing's line of sight. You leaned out, scanning the hall before turning back to look at the man whose large chest muscles you only now noticed your hands were still on considering he was looking down at them like he didn't understand what they were.

"Okay, now listen, you head back to your room and if anyone asks you were feeling sick so you didn't come to work out today. If you weren't at the scene of the crime, then you couldn't have committed it. I'll say I found him here like this. Just help me drag him over to the showers so I can say I only saw him after my workout."

Gojo was still watching you in complete silence as though you were speaking another language he didn't speak.

"Come on, get moving. If anyone sees you we're done for." You said.

"We?" He asked, reassuring you that he had in fact not forgotten his mother tongue out of shock. Though he didn't look the least bit flustered or shocked, only slightly perplexed but not at the situation, at you.

"Yes, we. If I get caught covering for your ass then I'll also be discharged dishonorably, completely defeating the purpose of why I enlisted in the first place so you better start putting that brain and those muscles to use." You said, walking over to the man and grimacing at the mess Gojo Satoru had made of his face. You had been about to grab his shoulders but that was too close to the mangled face so instead you moved to grab his legs which were more in tact.

"Why would you cover for me?" Gojo asked suspiciously and you huffed at seeing he still wasn't making any effort to help you. While he'd been enthusiastic about causing the mess, he was quite reluctant to join in on the necessary clean up.

His question registered and you were glad that you had been stooped down to try to lift the unconscious man's legs so Gojo couldn't see the momentary panic on your face. It probably wouldn't do to tell him that it was because you wanted to be brought under his wing until you found a way to be discharged early.

"Because we're friends." You responded, sounding a little unsure even to yourself but a quick glance up at Gojo told you he hadn't quite noticed.

His otherwordly eyes had a far off look and you wondered if he had now gone into shock before he met your eye and you watched as his gaze narrowed in on you reminding you eerily of a hawk zeroing in on their prey, sending a shiver down your spine. You really should have paid more attention to that uneasy sense of foreboding.

Instead of responding, Gojo stooped down to lift the man up by the shoulders and carried the heft of him over to the showers without taking his eyes off you but you were a bit too busy struggling to carry the man's legs to notice.

After you had both dropped the man in the showers you again told Gojo to go back to his room. Catching his wrist just as he was about to leave. He glanced back, looking at your little hand on his wrist and then up to you. Brows creased in worry for him.

"Did anyone see you on your way here?" You asked and when he took a moment too long to answer rushed to clarify.

"Besides the unconscious man."

He shook his head in negative, something about that worried expression rendering him speechless when so many horrors and wonders he'd faced hadn't been able to.

"Good, go." You said releasing his wrist and turning to fret over the unconscious man again.

Gojo walked back to his room in a daze. You didn't know who he was. He had assumed you had been following him around like a shadow because you wanted to be affiliated with the Gojo heir. Set to inherit all the wealth, influence and glory of all the Gojo clan before him but your actions today made it clear you had no idea about his family background.

It wasn't often that people tried to get close to him. Not since what used to be rumours had become so undeniably backed by proof he had provided at nearly every turn in his life that even his parents couldn't refute them without risking looking like fools. And no member of the Gojo clan would ever risk being made a fool.

He had never had a friend. At first it was because his parents simply didn't think anyone worthy of standing beside him as an equal when he so clearly surpassed all the children his age in every conceivable way. That made him used to being alone and not at all used to sharing.

Gojo knew what the others called him - the mad dog for his territorial ways. Gojo didn't take kindly to anyone trying to take what was his. He didn't go around attacking people for no reason but when they tried to use or take his things that set him off. Admittedly he had a tendency to go a bit overboard when set off.

Like this morning when he'd gotten to the gym and seen one of the others using the weight machine he woke up so damn early to be able to use without others pawing all over it. He had asked politely for the man to find another machine because that one was his but the man hadn't listened and Gojo only asked politely once.

When he'd first enlisted these sort of misunderstandings happened fairly often. People mistook living in a shared space to mean Gojo would be sharing what was his. After that misunderstanding had been clarified with some of his fellow comrades in arms, word spread and they learned to stay away from Gojo's things.

He had broken limbs and beat people to unconsciousness in front of their commander and no one had ever dared to so much as write him up. It was real cute though to see you fretting and scheming for him. No one had ever worried over him like this. People had worried because of him. Worried over the damage he could do to them, their reputations in his parent's case or other such nonsensical things.

He found he quite liked your worrying. If this was what being your friend meant then he was quite ready to have you as his first and only friend.

After that morning incident it was like a flip had switched. Suddenly you didn't need to follow Gojo around anymore because he always managed to find you first.

In the morning he was at your door, knocking to be let in and dragging you along to the gym barely awake. If you got to meals later than he did then he'd have a tray of food waiting for you identical to his and if you went together then there was no question you'd be sitting right next to him.

Somehow no one had bothered to question what you had said about finding the man Gojo had beaten into an actual coma on the shower floors. You had been terrified a full investigation would be done and in your nerves suggested that maybe he had just tripped in the showers when your commander had been questioning you about the incident.

At the time he had made it seem like he would be digging into the matter and you were going to be in a lot of trouble if caught lying but then he'd never brought it up again. Perhaps you were a better liar than you thought.

What you couldn't deceive anyone about though was your lack of physical prowess and were currently feeling the full weight of your commander's disdain as everyone running laps circled you for a fourth time while you struggled to complete your second. Gojo had ran past you six times already. Giving you an encouraging thump on the back the first time that nearly laid you out on the ground had he not caught you, and then with an encouraging cheer and laugh as though he were having the time of his life every time since.

"Having to watch you run is the only time I regret enlisting." Your commander was saying when you felt someone run up next to you. You glanced over, seeing double from exhaustion before your sight settled somewhat and you realized it was just one very pissed off Gojo glaring at the commander.

"Would you like me to give you a couple other reasons?" He asked and the commander seemed to turn as green as you probably were with how nauseous you were feeling.

"I-uh have to go check on the others." The commander said, breaking out into a full sprint across the field. Apparently not even the commander was above being intimidated by Gojo.

To not have to hear the commander's disparaging while you endured having to do the activity you hated more than anything felt like a blessing and out of happiness you flung yourself at Gojo. Clinging to your saviour with all your might.

Had it been anyone else you both would have gone sprawling onto the field with the way you practically tackled him into a hug but Gojo had just gone very still, staring down at you in shock. He couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him.

You were so soft and warm against him. So much smaller than him you barely reached his chest. Burying your face into him like he was your only hope.

Before he could think of how to react you were glancing up at him beaming. Your face pink from the exertion, the afternoon sun making it glow and bringing out the flecks of gold in your eyes. He hadn't so much as broken a sweat while running those laps but now all he could hear was the blood rushing through his ears and his heart thudding against his ribcage.

Never before had he so desired for something to be his. And you were his, weren't you? It had been your idea all along to become his friend. You were the one to force yourself into his orbit and now that you had he had no intention of ever letting you out.

He allowed his arms to wrap around you, chest clenching at how right that felt. This was where you belonged, within his grasp.

You released him as abruptly as you had embraced him leaving him feeling cold and bereft. But there was still the lingering warmth of your touch and the heat that bloomed within his chest as you smiled at him in that way. Challenging him to a race you both knew there was no way you would win.

The effort however of trying to out run the Gojo Satoru had you so belligerent with thirst you couldn't be bothered to try to find your own water bottle amongst the many at the finish line. Swiping his from his hand and holding it up above your mouth so you could gulp it down.

A hush fell over the others, silence so pronounced that it made it through your haze of exhaustion. Every one of the others was looking at you, or actually upon closer inspection, not at you but behind you at Gojo.

Gojo waited for the familiar rage to rise up within his chest as he watched you gulp down his water from his water bottle. That feeling of wrongness and outrage but there was nothing. No rage, just that weird tightness he'd gotten in his chest earlier while looking at you.

It had been amusing to see you trying to beat him with your much shorter legs and how incredibly out of shape you were compared to him. He probably could have run that lap faster if he were carrying you than you had managed to on your own.

He had always liked running. It cleared his head and let out some of that pent up energy always buzzing in his veins but running with you panting next to him, gasping for air and asking if he was even human was the first time he had found running fun.

You made everything fun, life had been so dull before you. He couldn't imagine going back to that. He found everything you did entertaining. Your little habit of muttering to yourself. It was always rude or bitter comments said under your breath but he found them hilarious.

The way you made no attempt to hide that you had no interest in defending people by eradicating curses but were just here for the pension. Hiding away every time you were all sent out on a mission. Your honesty was a breath of fresh air amongst all the false bravado and nobility he had grown up surrounded by.

He threw an arm around your shoulders, feeling a strange urge to have you close that he'd never felt for anyone before.

"Let's get you out of the sun. You look like a tomato." He said and you scoffed through your panting.

"Sorry we're not all godly beings that can run laps in the sun and still look like we're filming an athletic wear commercial. Did you even sweat, you freak?" You asked, hearing a gasp from amongst the others but not paying any attention as you got up on the very tips of your toes to try to prove your point.

Gojo froze as he felt you nose into his neck and take a quick inhale. Feeling the blood rushing down south as your body pressed against his side, letting him feel the shape of you and the heat emanating off your skin. Your warm breath against his throat and the scent of you, clean sweat and soap filling his senses and making his head spin.

Suddenly he was the one that was breathless.

"How do you still smell good?" You muttered against his neck.

He couldn't help himself and pushed you away, only remembering at the last minute to not use his full force but still sending you stumbling back a couple steps.

"Oh can you not sweat? Are you like those animals that don't have sweat glands?"

You took his silence for affirmation and grimaced sympathetically.

"My bad, that's probably a touchy topic for you. It must be tough being unable to control your temperature and just overheating like a reptile in the desert. I won't bring it up again." You said, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as you passed him.

Letting you think he was missing sweat glands was better than trying to explain that he was actually sporting a raging boner because you had sniffed him. He let you walk away with his water bottle still held in your hand, turning to watch the commander a moment. That sight had his hard-on dying down fast enough and he scooped up your water bottle and chased after you just as you made it to the doors leading inside.

"Should we hit the showers?" He asked as he made it to your side.

It was strange that after a training session like that you and Gojo somehow had the showers all to yourselves. Usually this place was packed to the brim after a brutal training session with sweaty men all wanting to quickly shower so they could get to the dining hall as fast as possible.

"Can I borrow your shampoo? I'm all out." Gojo said and you quickly squirted some into your hand before turning to pass the bottle to him but froze at the sight that awaited you.

It wasn't unexpected. At that height and stature and with hands that were more like giant paws you couldn't have expected anything else, but this was nearly inhuman. It twitched as you continued to stare and you couldn't help the startled scream that escaped you at the sight of a monstrosity like that having any life in it.

You flung the shampoo at the man next to you and quickly turned to face forward again, hearing him chuckle.

"What, are you really acting like you've never seen a naked man before?"

"I've seen naked men but I haven't seen a weapon of mass destruction swinging between their legs before." You muttered furiously, chancing a glance at the man when you didn't get a response to see his face had gone completely blank.

"Which man have you seen naked? Was it one of those bastards?" He asked advancing on you completely ignoring the rules of the communal shower. You had assumed everyone knew that in the showers you always kept your eyes focused straight on the tiles in front of you and you never got too close to anyone else while your privates were swinging about.

"Woah, woah you stay over there and keep that thing away from me." You said, holding your hands out ahead of you in defense.

"Tell. Me. Who." He demanded.

"I've been sharing a shower with all those duds for months, of course I've seen them naked though none of them have been as shameless as you." You said, finishing up your shower and hurriedly wrapping your towel around yourself.

He grabbed your arm as you made your way past him.

"I've got clean clothes in my bag, wear those. Don't go out there like that." He ordered, eyes roaming down your body.

"Do you have a problem with the way I wrap my towel?" You asked.

Back when you were in school the other kids had given you shit for that though you never quite understood what you were doing so differently than the others.

"No, I have a problem with how small it is and how little it covers."

"It's the standard size they give everyone. Are you body shaming me right now? I'm sorry I don't have a six pack like you." You huffed.

"8." He said, a smirk twisting up his lips making you furrow your brows in confusion.

"Here, see -" He said having grabbed your hand, forcing your fingers to trail down what really was an 8 pack and counting out each row.

As he got to the bottom row and your palm brushed against the trail of hair that led to the image you were afraid was seared into your brain forever, you couldn't help but let out a yelp and snatch back your hand. Instinctively slapping him before your brain could catch up with what you had done.

Your eyes went wide as you saw his head turn. The pale skin of his cheek sporting a faintly pink handprint that perfectly aligned with the hand you would probably be losing in just a moment.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Gojo, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to. I don't know why I did-"

He turned his head back to look at you making your mouth clamp shut. He took a step forward and you mirrored it by taking a step back. He took another and you did the same, both of you playing this game until your back hit the shower wall.

He placed his palm next to your head making you jump as he leaned in. Bringing his face level to yours as you cringed back into the wall, feeling like your heart was caught in your throat. All the rumours you had heard about his temper returning to you now.

"Kiss it better." He muttered.

"W-what?" You asked hesitantly, almost entirely sure you had misheard him. Perhaps he had said something about his intentions to kill and you had heard kiss.

"Kiss it better." He repeated, turning his pinkened cheek towards you and tapping his finger against it pointedly.

"Oh, uh okay." You said, you didn't quite want to kiss your naked comrade in arms on the cheek but it was better than being disemboweled in the communal showers so you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

He grinned as though you had done something particularly pleasing and his nickname began to make more sense than ever. The man really was barking mad.

"Now grab something from my bag to wear. I'll rip out the eyes of anyone who sees you like this." Gojo said, turning to saunter back to his shower.

You watched him go, wondering what sort of lunatic you had gotten yourself acquainted with. In the coming days you'd have that thought more often than anticipated.

Gojo Satoru wasn't just a powerful man, but an odd one too and for some reason everyone else just made allowances for it. Now that you were under his wing, that meant they made the same allowances for you.

The taunting by the others and dirty looks they had given you since your first mission when you hid instead of fighting had stopped. So had the very vocal disapproval of your superiors for your lack of strength and endurance.

Hanging out with Gojo also meant getting the gym to yourself, which was a great place to take a nap while the lunatic spent hours on various weight machines building muscles in places you didn't know people had them. It also meant never having to share the showers with anyone but Gojo though you didn't know if that was an upgrade considering he seemed to have no idea how to act in communal showers.

He was always chatting away and staring right at you as he did. The others may have hogged the hot water and been more unsightly in their nude form but at least they didn't stare. That was a small price to pay for all the perks though.

Being his friend wasn't hard. When you had first approached him you'd expected to be something of a lackey, imagining fetching his meal trays and egging him on when he got into a fight with someone. Truth was he did more for you than you did for him.

He got your meals for you because his great aunt actually gave him what he asked for and he would refill your water and even buy you snacks. It was unfortunate he didn't use his power to excuse you from training entirely but you tried not to get too greedy.

Eccentric as he was, beneath the aristocratic features and muscled physique that would imply an empty mind, he was actually quite smart. Seemed to be well-educated too so why he was so intrigued by you was genuinely a bit confusing. You didn't know what it was about you that made him seem to hang onto every word.

Those intense eyes of his bore into you while you spoke, though you were starting to get used to the other-worldly blue of them. He would burst into laughter at the oddest of times, particularly when you weren't intending to be funny. Though he'd always crack at least a smile at even your bad jokes. Grabbing you by the scruff and hauling you in when you truly made him laugh, resting his forehead against yours in a gesture you'd normally think too affectionate for friends but perhaps that's how comrades were.

The sound of the pulldown machine he was currently using was faintly registering as your mind began to wake but you refused to let yourself fully rouse to consciousness. When the sound of the machine struggling against the maniac who had had dragged you here this early finally seized, you had just begun to sink back into sleep when you heard the murmur of your name.

You groaned, turning over and clenching your eyes shut. Trying to escape into dreamland so you wouldn't have to face another day of arduous training and the resulting cloud of body odor that lingered in every room of the building because of it.

"Come on, wake up." Gojo said, poking your cheek but you batted at his hand.

“You’ve been napping for two hours. Do you not sleep at night?” He asked, which were long sentences and if you were understanding them then that meant the fall back asleep ship had sailed without you on board.

“No Gojo, I don’t sleep at night.” You sighed, sitting up and rubbing at your eyes.

“Why?” He asked, passing you his water bottle and smoothing your mussed hair as you took a long drink from it. Making you choke on the water as you dodged his hand irritably.

“Because the rats I’m roomed with stay up till ungodly hours playing games and drinking.” You said, once you’d finally managed to clear the water in your airways, helped by Gojo’s thumping of your back.

“Do they make you play with them?” He asked, returning to his patting of your hair.

“No, as if I’d ever do something so childish.” You scoffed, batting at his hand.

Truth was they didn’t let you play nor did they share their booze. Apparently rewards were for “soldiers not cowards” according to those jerks.

“Then why can’t you sleep?”

“Because they’re loud and stop touching my hair or I swear to god.” You growled, slapping at his hand.

“Swear to god to what?” He asked, though his gaze was a bit far away. Staring at the wall across from you both as though lost in thought about something. Probably trying to mentally tally the reps he had done, the meathead.

“I’ll - I’ll bite you.” You said, floundering for a threat when the man was double your size.

He smirked, amused. Holding up his giant claw of a hand before you like an offering.

“Well, as long as you’ve learned your lesson I'll let it pass this time.” You said, going to get up but that offending appendage forced you down by your shoulder. One of his claws keeping you seated and the other mussing up your hair until you really were livid enough to risk it all.

You caught his hand, bringing it to your mouth not paying any attention to how deceptively easy that was to do. Sinking your teeth into the soft flesh between his pointer finger and thumb like a feral pest.

Missing entirely the way those blue eyes darkened as he watched you, pupils blown wide. The hand forcing you down now cupping your shoulder and guiding you closer.

You pulled away, worried if you continued you might actually draw blood.

“My turn.” He said and you only had enough time to feel your stomach drop as he leaned in and then his teeth were sinking down into the conjecture between your neck and shoulder and you were screaming.

Pain wasn't familiar to you and to feel the teeth of a brute sinking into your sensitive flesh wasn’t something you could withstand with the grace of a soldier.

You slapped and batted at him but your hands were caught in his and easily restrained. Finally after what felt like an eternity of agony, he pulled back. Staring down at the mark he’d left in your soft flesh with a satisfied gleam in those freakish eyes of his.

He leant back in making you scream again but it broke off into an exclamation of “ew what the fuck man” as you felt something warm and wet drag over the bite mark.

You pushed vindictively at his chest when he pulled back and released your hands. Running over to the closest mirror to inspect the wound.

“You’re a fucking freak.” You called over your shoulder as you looked at the clear indents of his goddamn molars in your flesh.

“Be glad I didn’t break skin.” He said, making you yelp as he seemed to materialize right behind you like some sort of fucking ghost. Staring at your reflection with his mark on your soft skin with so much satisfaction and intrigue it turned your stomach.

You moved back intending to stomp his foot but froze as you felt something hard and large poking into your lower back.

“Please tell me that’s your water bottle in your pants.” You muttered.

“Nope.” He whispered back, popping the p in a way that had you jumping away.

“You’re a real freak. You better stay at least 6 feet away from me from now on.” You warmed.

He grabbed your wrist, hauling you in to his chest. You screamed again as the monstrosity in his gym shorts pressed into your stomach. Pushing against his chest but he kept you pinned with an arm around your waist.

“Nothing can make me stay away from you. You’re mine, I do what I want with you.” He said as easily as one tells the time and you scoffed.

“Like hell you do. Bit me like I’m a goddamn prime cut steak and then popped a boner. What a- oh my god are you a cannibal?” You asked, eyes wide in terror as you looked up at him. Mind jumping to the only conclusion you could think of in which a fellow soldier would be turned on by biting you.

“I wasn’t before but I might just become one because of you.” He muttered lowly, leaning down towards your neck as he spoke and snapping his teeth at you making you yelp again.

“6 feet, you rat.” You warned, somehow getting lucky and managing to shove him off as you accidentally brushed the beast pressing against your stomach in a way that had him going a little weak in the knees.

You watched him warily, a hand held out before you which you pulled back to your chest when his gaze dropped to it. He took a step forward and you took one back to maintain the distance.

“I-I’m warning you.” You said shakily which he ignored completely. Stalking forward until you were pressed up against the mirror with him hovering over you. That offending snake between his legs pressing against your stomach again.

“Warning me of what? Are you gonna bite me again?” He asked, tone light with amusement but those freaky blues still darkened in a devious way that didn’t sit well with you.

“I might if you force my hand.” You said, sounding uncertain even to your own ears.

The last bite had resulted in you nearly getting a chunk torn out of your neck and then getting harassed by a thing that should only exist in those bad romance novels you sometimes liked to read. You weren't really itching to repeat that episode.

“Do it here, please.” He breathed, and just for a second you could see why all the other soldiers complained he had it all.

So mesmerizingly pretty as he titled his head up, exposing the long column of his strong neck to you. Long lashes that nearly touched the apples of his cheeks when he blinked, pointed little nose and lush pink lips but then the words they uttered registered and the trance was broken.

“You’re completely fucking nuts” You mumbled, almost to yourself but he heard anyway.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me.” He said, backing off and finally you could breathe without the oppressive hulk of him looming over you. The monstrosity between his legs and the fangs in his mouth a safe distance away from you.

“We’ll see about that.” You mumbled, missing the way his eyes narrowed at your comment. No longer amused or playful.

You had known Gojo was weird but not threatening cannibalism or popping boners at his fellow comrades weird. It was making you reevaluate your chosen survival strategy.

Unfortunately while you were pondering whether it would be in your best interest to distance yourself from him, he was thinking the exact opposite. Planning how to get you more securely into his clutches.

He hated the thought of others around you. Not to mention others sharing a room with you. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about it sooner. People other than him around you while you were at your most vulnerable, asleep or changing.

That had to change immediately.

He wiped at your mouth with his thumb, swiping off the bit of sauce on the edge of your mouth. Bringing it to his own and licking it off. You hadn’t reacted to him wiping your face since he did it so often but your eyes went wide as saucers as you saw him lick the sauce off his thumb.

“You really have got to stop doing shit like that.” You said when you got your bearings back after staring at him blankly for another minute.

“Here you can have my karaage too.” He said, pushing his tray forward which was enough to distract you.

“Your roommates really bother you, don’t they?” He asked, watching you stuff your face with the karaage from his tray.

“Yeah, they’re complete assholes. Childish too, did I tell you they play games all night? Like talk about lack of maturity.”

“You should change rooms.”

“I tried, not allowed. Apparently we need to man up and learn to deal with each other’s shit.” You said, quoting the Commander.

“You can if there’s a vacancy in one of the other rooms.”

“Is there? Oh yeah the guy you put in the- I mean the guy who took a bad fall’s bed is probably empty but he’s roommates with that guy who smells like blue cheese. I’d rather not.” You said.

“My room has a vacancy.” He said.

“I thought lieutenants got their own rooms.” You said suspiciously.

“Yeah exactly, there’s an empty spot for you to take.”

You blinked at him, trying to mentally calculate if lack of sleep or risking being eaten by the snake swinging potential-cannibal was worse.

“The Commander doesn’t do his morning wake-up calls in the lieutenant’s rooms.” He said and you were sold. To not be forcefully woken to the unfortunate sight of your Commander screaming in your face that you were a waste of space and would regret not waking up sounded like a dream.

“Rooming together would be cool.” You said, already fantasizing about getting to sleep-in.

“Great, finish eating. Then we’ll go pack your stuff.” Gojo said, only then picking up his own chopsticks and beginning to eat his food.

Packing was quick when you had superhuman strength on your side. Your roommates cleared out in a matter of seconds when they saw Gojo follow you in, not that they would have tried to stop you either way.

You walked alongside Gojo who was carrying both your bags in one hand swung over his shoulder, following him to the lieutenants’ quarters where his room was.

You waited behind as he unlocked his door and then stepped in after him. Scanning the room that was surprisingly neat. You’d only ever gotten glimpses over his shoulder as he locked the door after himself.

The detail that stood out to you most though was the count of beds in the room which stood at a steady and alarming one.

“Where’s the empty bed?” You asked. Watching as Gojo set down your stuff and then sat down on the bed.

“I said empty spot, and here it is.” He said, to your utter horror patting the spot next to him on the solitary bed in the room.

“Oh no. That's not gonna work. Thanks but hard pass.” You said stepping forward and grabbing your bags. The larger one of which you were quite unsuccessful in lifting and resolved to drag towards the door instead.

Before you could even make it more than a step away while dragging the bag that probably weighed more than you considering you were never a light packer, Gojo was in front of the door. Blocking the only exit.

“The change is processed. You can’t go back now.” He said.

“Processed where?” You cried. You had this discussion less than an hour ago and certainly hadn’t put in any requests.

“In the system. Your bed’s being given to the new arrival and you’re rooming with me.”

“I didn’t submit anything, how’s that possible?”

“I did it for you.”

“The office closes at 4.”

“I processed it this morning.” He said making your jaw drop at the sheer audacity of the extraterrestrial being before you.

“What do you mean you did it this morning? I didn’t even know this was happening till an hour ago.”

“I knew you’d agree.” He shrugged.

“Well I don’t, so kindly please go tell them they can’t give away my bed and help me carry this back. I know it's mine but I don't understand what I put in here to make it weigh a ton.”

“Not happening, darling. I told you you’re stuck with me, so you might as well settle in. Feel free to shower first.” He said and it was all too much for your brain to process but one particular detail stuck out.

“Wait, you’re telling me you have a shower in your room?

“Yeah, convenient isn’t it?”

“So why the fuck have you been using the communal showers?” You asked.

“Because that’s where you shower.” He answered as though that was a completely reasonable thing to say.

“Yeah like I said, hard pass on this whole situation. I’ll drag that newbie out by his toe hair if I have to. That bed’s mine.” You said, starting for the door, intending to somehow push past him while you dragged your overly large bag.

Perhaps you could somehow use the weight of it to your advantage. You remembered them teaching you all something about throwing off your opponent using their weight so this had to be similar. Not that you ever mastered that maneuver either.

"Darling, you have two options. Be good and listen to me, start unpacking your stuff, take a shower and then come to bed or I tie you to the bed. I unpack your stuff and then shower you myself. Either way you're staying in this room." He said making you pause in your very unsuccessful dragging of the bag sent from hell.

You stared at him, trying to discern if he was quite serious and would really follow through on his threat. Nothing about those blue eyes of his was giving you any confidence that he had a single rational or normal bone in his oversized body and so you gave up.

"I'm building a pillow wall between us." You huffed.

Your pillow wall lasted about 0.3 seconds before being quite unceremoniously, and unnecessarily violently, tossed to the floor. Then you were pulled back into the chest of the lunatic who had tricked you into his den and were used like a teddy bear.

There was no dignity in any of this. That pension could not begin to cover the damages that you had incurred here in this hellhole.

It was warm though, and his bed was softer and blankets fuzzier than your own. The weight of his long limbs on you was making you drowsy even through the haze of anger that nearly blinded you.

"You're a bad man." Was all you could manage before sleep overcame you.

Gojo didn't sleep though. He couldn't believe how good it felt to have you in his arms. So soft, so warm against him. If he wanted, and god how he wanted, he could completely envelope you in his arms so none of you was left exposed to the rest of the world. Take all of you for himself.

You moaned in your sleep, arching up slightly and he loosened his hold just enough to let you turn once he realized that was what you wanted and then on top of being sleepless, he was also rendered breathless. You turned, resting your head on his shoulder easily as though even in your sleep you could tell you two fit like puzzle pieces.

His heart clenched as he stared down at you. Watched your parted lips, still not knowing what they tasted like. Gojo wasn't ignorant to the effect he had on people and yet somehow the only one he had ever wanted was entirely immune.

He pulled you in closer, lowering his head to press his lips to your forehead. Feeling a warmth bloom in the core of his being that he had never felt before. This had to be what others called being at peace. So fulfilled, like there was nothing else he wanted, nowhere else he would rather be. This was addicting.

You woke enveloped in warmth, arching up and stretching in the little space you had between the awfully heavy covers pinning you to the bed. Finally opening your eyes and then screaming in horror when you were met with two blue lightbulb like objects floating in a blurry pale shape mere inches from your face.

"What is it?" The shape asked and as your vision focused you rest your hand over your racing heart. Trying to catch your breath from the insane jolt of adrenaline seeing something so unnatural that early had caused you.

"Don't do that. Why are you staring at me with your 500 megawatt bulbs at - god 7 in the morning." You said, turning to check the clock by his bedside.

"Wait isn't this actually late for you?" You asked, remembering he normally rose at 5.

"I didn't want to risk waking sleeping beauty." He said with a smirk.

"You could be doing laps around the bed with a lawn mower and I wouldn't wake up once I'm asleep. I just can't fall asleep in noise." You clarified.

"Lucky I'm quiet as a mouse at night." He said.

"It takes a big man to admit he's a rat." You said, going to scooch off the bed but Gojo tightened his arm around you.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"To get changed for training, we're already late." You answered.

"They would understand if we skipped a day." He said.

"No, I want to see the thief that stole my bed."

You could never have anticipated that in that thief you would find a kindred spirit. A soldier who flinched when anyone came near them in combat practice or looked out at the field with utter dread painted on their face. Perhaps that bed was simply fated only to have rational heads rest on it, or cowards as the rest of the troop would put it.

It was inevitable that you two would begin to get close when you were always the last ones to finish a lap, dragging your feet and cursing having ever laid eyes on this place. Standing with your backs against the wall as the others went hand to hand as though fighting for their lives when it was just practice.

Of course there was someone who highly disproved of this camaraderie. Gojo hated the new guy. Would glare daggers into him whenever he saw you both together and was the only reason you weren't braiding each other's eyebrow hair and exchanging pension fantasies.

"Oh man if that weight had fallen on my foot I'd be lined up at admin with my direct deposit form in hand faster than Commander could call me an idiot." The new guy - Kaido said making you guffaw and nod in agreement.

"What a fucking dumbass, telling the Commander he's just fine. That was a golden ticket to pension land." You agreed.

"You're too young to be thinking about pension." A voice said from right behind you making you yelp and turn to see Gojo looming above you and Kaido.

"I think you just shaved ten years off my life. We really need to put a bell on you." You said, taking the offered water bottle from Gojo and letting him pull you back so you were stood by his side.

"Lieutenant Gojo, sir." Kaido greeted awkwardly making you laugh and elbow Gojo, glancing up expecting him to laugh too but rather seeing him looking down his nose at Kaido as though he were dirt on his shoe.

The Commander called you all in before you could say anything but it stayed on your mind the rest of the morning anyway.

"Do you not like Kaido?" You asked as you sat on the bed that day while Gojo was folding both your laundry making him pause.

"No, I don't." He said, looking up at you, taking you by surprise. You had at least expected him to deny it.

"Why?"

"Because he sticks too close to you."

"No, you stick too close to me. Kaido understands the concept of personal space." You said.

"He better. I don't like seeing you with him, stay away from him." He said making you frown.

"I like Kaido, Kaido's my friend." You defended, not noticing the way the way Gojo froze at your words.

"He's your friend?" He asked, voice deceptively level and calm.

"Yeah, unlike the rest of you try-hards he understands the appeal of the easy life. We get each other." You answered not even getting a moment to try to back away before Gojo had tossed aside the towel he was holding and was rounding the bed.

Grabbing you by the jaw, he pushed you down flat onto the bed. Knocking the wind out of you with the unexpectedness of the movement. He sat down straddling your hips, keeping you pinned in place.

"Tell me again who’s your friend." He said.

"What the fuck dude? What's wrong with y-" You asked, being cut off by your own gasp of pain as he tightened his hold around your jaw to the point where the bones creaked in protest.

"Who is your friend?" He asked again.

"K-Kaido." You answered, not quite understanding what his problem was.

His eyes darkened and grip got even tighter making you grab at his hand, afraid he really might break your jaw.

"G-Gojo please it hurts." You mumbled, words barely intelligible with the way he was holding your face.

"I'm your only friend. You don't need anyone else. Just me." He said, leaning down closer so your noses nearly brushed against each other. Enouncing each word clearly and calmly as though he weren't actively trying to crush your face between his hand.

"Fine, fine just you. Please let go, it hurts." You pleaded. Willing to say anything to make him release you in that moment.

He let go of your face, seemingly satisfied but didn't get off of you. Watching in silence as you rubbed at the clear imprints of his fingers on your face. The bruises darkening into your soft skin.

He felt a pang in his chest, he hadn't meant to hurt you. He had just lost his mind a little hearing you so casually give someone else the place he held in your life.

"Let me see." He said, reaching for your face but you slapped at his hands. Pushing him away and when he saw the way your eyes were watering with pain he backed off readily, heart sinking as he realized he had hurt you to the point of inducing tears.

"I'll get you some ice." He said.

"No need." You scoffed, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. Scooching off the bed and heading for the door.

He let you go, knowing you needed some time to cool off. He'd always gone too far when it came to protecting his things and keeping the paws of others off of them. He'd never meant to hurt you though.

You slammed the door behind you. Immediately headed to the admin office. In the past few weeks you had often wondered if choosing to befriend Gojo had been a mistake but today had proven it. He was a far bigger lunatic than you had initially known. Volatile in his unpredictability. You were better off without someone like him by your side, either he'd get you in trouble or he'd end up hurting you seriously in one of his fits.

"I'd like to change rooms." You said as soon as you made it to the admin office, approaching the man sitting behind the desk who you'd never bothered learning the name of.

"Why?" The man asked, looking like he'd rather be doing anything but his job.

"I'm rooming with Lieutenant Gojo right now-" You paused as you saw the man's eyes widen and him sit up straighter.

"But there's only one bed so I'd like to request to be switched into any room with a vacant bed." You continued, wondering why he looked so alarmed.

"There's no vacant beds." The man said making you scoff.

"I know there has to be at least one considering Tomoya is still in a coma and will probably be in no condition to continue in the force when he wakes." You said.

"His bed was sent to headquarters." The man answered and you stared at him blankly, making his ears turn red at how stupid of a lie he had just uttered.

"Okay, well I don't have a bed so can you request headquarters to send it back so I have a place to sleep?" You asked.

"I'll put in the request." The man said.

"And how long is that going to take?" You asked.

"I don't know but I'll let you know when it's processed." He said making your eye twitch.

"Fine, thanks." You relented, getting the feeling there was no reasoning with this soulless slave to bureaucracy.

You would check Tomoya's dorm yourself. If you found the empty bed then you'd come here and demand this lying rat to process the transfer right then.

You lurked in the corridor outside Tomoya's room, icing your bruised jaw until one of his roommates finally emerged. The door opened and the pungent smell of blue cheese wafted out, singing your nose hair but you still forced yourself forward to take a peek. Letting out a triumphant "ha" which had your future roommate flinching out of surprise.

"I knew that man was a liar." You said to the soldier currently staring at you like you had two heads before marching back to the admin office. Swearing out loud when you saw the door was now closed. It probably wasn't even 4 yet.

You would be back first thing tomorrow morning. Waiting outside before the office opened to force that stinking liar to process your transfer request. That meant you just needed to figure something out for tonight. Tomorrow by this time you would have roommates who weren't actively a threat to everyone around them.

You didn’t want to see Gojo but the clinic doctor saw right through your lies about being sick and wouldn't let you into the infirmary. Upon arriving to the base you had feigned being sick quite often to get out of missions and more arduous training sessions so by now the doctor was more likely to believe Pinocchio with an actively elongating nose than you.

You couldn't avoid seeing Gojo but that didn't mean you couldn't ignore him. You walked right past him at shooting practice. Joining Lieutenant Hiroshi's group instead and avoided his gaze at dinner, choosing to sit next to Kaido instead. Feeling the full force of those otherworldly blues on you all throughout the rest of the day but refusing to look back at him.

Kaido however was having more trouble ignoring Gojo than you.

"He looks like he wants to kill us. Wait - actually he was only looking at me like that. He looks like he wants to kill me and looks like he's going to eat you as usual." Kaido said.

"Ignore him." You responded, angrily shoving another piece of broccoli in your mouth.

"Easy for you to say, he doesn't look like he wants to kill you. What happened between the two of you anyway?"

"Nothing." You barked, the word muffled and unintelligible due to the very undercooked broccoli still filling your mouth.

"Muppet?" Kaido asked in confusion making you huff in annoyance.

"I said nothing and I'm sleeping in your dorm tonight." You said after forcefully swallowing the unchewable broccoli down.

"What, why? There's no space in our dorm." Kaido whined.

"Because you stole my bed."

"I didn't steal shit, you transferred to Lieutenant Gojo's room so they gave me yours."

"I didn't transfer. That rat filled out the paperwork himself. You know what - it doesn't matter. Here, I'll give you my chocolate pudding if you let me stay." You said, pushing your tray towards Kaido.

"I don't like choc- oh it's blueberry. Fine, you can stay." Kaido said and you swore out loud when you looked down at the pudding. Being a pain in the ass clearly ran in the family.

You heard a bang across the dining hall and glanced up only to see a fuming Gojo up on his feet. His tray of food now spread all over the ground next to his table. He glared at you and Kaido as he made his way across the dining hall. Grabbing your tray from in front of Kaido and throwing it to the floor with a loud clattering sound that made you flinch.

"Stop testing my patience unless you want to see what happens when it runs out." Gojo warned, but you were too stunned by the commotion to think of anything to say. He turned to stalk out of the dining hall when you didn't respond.

"What a fucking nutter." You muttered under your breath once you were quite sure Gojo was out of earshot, glancing over at Kaido to see he was still frozen.

"Hey, you okay?" You asked, nudging him with your elbow.

"I don't know if that's spilt juice or if I pissed my pants." Kaido said making you grimace in disgust as you looked down at his pants to see that they were indeed soaked.

"Looks a little orange so unless you're very sick it's got to be the juice." You said, hoping you were right.

After clearing up the tray and giving Kaido the chance to shower and change out of the juice/sickly urine-soaked pants you two made your way back to your old dorm to retire for the night.

"What are you doing back here?" One of your old roommates asked the moment you walked in.

"I'm sleeping here tonight."

"Did Gojo get sick of his little lapdog?"

"Should we go ask him that together?" You asked, making the smirk fall right off the ugly mug of your most obnoxious old roommate.

"Whatever." He responded, going back to the stupid card game he had been playing with the others.

You and Kaido stood staring at the twin bed that looked even smaller than you remembered it. It really wasn't built for two adults to share.

"We can just lay in opposite directions." You suggested.

"Gross, I'm not laying with your feet in my face." Kaido said.

"Okay then orange-piss boy, what do you suggest?" You asked, earning yourself a dirty look from Kaido and confused glances from the others.

"Why don't you just take the floor?"

"Because the floor is hard and cold and there's creepy crawlies everywhere."

"Fine, we'll just share the bed. It's really no different than standing side by side." Kaido said.

It was very different. The bed was so cramped you couldn't even build a pillow wall without compromising the little space you had and of course Kaido had the pointiest elbows known to mankind. He wouldn't stop shuffling around to get comfortable and one of his elbows from hell would dig into your vulnerable midsection.

After the fourth time you elbowed him back which started a war you were bound to lose with your regular human elbows. You both eventually fell asleep bruised and cramped.

You were woken far too soon for it to be morning by a hand desperately slapping at you and then gripping into your pajama shirt as though about to tear it off. You slapped at the hand, trying to get back to sleep but were forced awake when you heard an odd, muffled gurgling sound followed by the voice of the last person you expected to hear.

"Keep your fucking hands to yourself." You heard Gojo say making your eyes fly open, struggling to adjust in the dark room only to see him forcing Kaido's hand backwards until you heard a sharp snapping sound as his wrist broke.

Your scrambled upwards on the bed, struggling to make sense of what you were seeing. Gojo sat straddling Kaido's chest, chocking him with one hand. The other still holding the wrist he had broken. Kaido let out a muffled scream, turning to look at you and reaching out towards you with his other hand making you flinch back but Gojo caught that hand before it could reach you.

"What did I just fucking say? Why can't people just listen while I'm asking nicely. Everyone's always trying to get their paws on what's mine." Gojo said, tossing Kaido's hand back down to his side. Increasing the force with which he was choking Kaido, pushing his head further down into the bed.

"G-Gojo what the fuck?" You asked, shakily reaching for the hand that was choking Kaido but seeing that manic blue gaze turn on you in the darkness had your blood freezing in your veins.

The predatory look he had while hunting curses back on his face but this time there was no joy accompanying it. Just a single-minded determination to take out what he saw as a rival for his chosen prey.

"Oh darling, did we wake you? I'm sorry, I was just teaching this fucker what happens when he puts his hands on what's mine. Why don't you go sleep in our room? I'll be there in a minute."

Kaido let out a muffled whimper, his flailing growing weak as he began turning purple with the blood rushing to his head. His teary eyes met yours, forcing you into action. As much as you wanted it to be, this wasn't a nightmare. Gojo had really somehow found you here and was about to kill Kaido if you didn't do something.

"Get off of him Gojo." You cried, shoving at his chest with all your might but it wasn't enough to move him.

You glanced back, about to yell to wake the others. Only to see them already awake, sitting up in their beds. Watching the scene with wide, horrified eyes.

"Fucking help me." You yelled at them, pushing and clawing at Gojo who didn't even bother to swat at you. Instead wrapping his free arm around your waist and pinning you to his side.

You thrashed against him, pulling and scratching at his arm as Kaido's eyes bulged.

"You're gonna kill him." You screamed, near feral now in your attempts to get Gojo off but it was like trying to move a rock.

"This is what happens when you befriend someone else. Look closely darling." Gojo mumbled, resting his forehead against your head. Completely relaxed as though he weren't actively choking the life out of someone.

"You fucking cowards." You screamed at the others, looking around desperately for something to help you get Gojo off. Your gaze landed on Kaido's alarm clock and you grasped at it desperately, turning in Gojo's hold and slamming it down into his temple with all your strength.

He reared back, finally releasing Kaido and you shoved him back off of him. Watching, with your hands hovering helplessly as Kaido coughed weakly, tears still streaming down his eyes and broken wrist held against his chest as tremors shook through him.

You heard that bark-like laughter and turned to see Gojo clutching his bleeding head. Streaks of blood running down the left side of his face, over his eye making the mania of his unnaturally blue gaze all the more terrifying to witness. Blood seeping through the hand he held to his head yet he was laughing.

"Only you, darling, would dare to do such a thing. Only you could get away with it." He said, pulling you in by the wrist back towards him.

"Let go, you fucking psycho." You yelled, hitting your fists against his chest but he swept both your wrists up in his hand. Palm sticky with blood that rubbed off onto your skin as he brought your conjoined hands up to his mouth to press a kiss to them.

"Never, I'm never going to let you go." He muttered, lips still against your hands. Darting his head back with a laugh as you tried to swipe at his face.

"You're not going to have a choice. When everyone finds out what you've done you're going to end up rotting in prison."

"Whose gonna put me there?" He asked, smiling indulgently as though speaking to a child.

"Me, I'm going to report you for what you've done to Kaido and I'll tell them about Tomoya too." You threatened.

"But you covered for me, you're my little accomplice. Won't that get you in trouble too?" Gojo asked, voice still light and teasing but his words made you blanche.

He let out another one of his bark-like laughs at the look on your face, darting forward and pressing a kiss to your cheek as though unable to help himself. You flinched back in disgust.

"Oh darling, I'm just teasing. I'd never let you get in any trouble and neither will I. You don't have to worry your pretty little head over things like that when you're with me. I take care of what's mine."

"There's four witnesses to you attacking Kaido. There's no way you'll get away with this." You said.

"What witnesses? Did you guys see me here tonight?" Gojo asked the others without even bothering to take his eyes off of you. He always thought you looked so cute while angry, turning as red as a tomato and glaring as though you could ever hope to intimidate anyone.

"No, sir." Came three responses making your eyes widen and you turned to look at your old roommates.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You all called me a coward but really you're the cowards." You spat, and not one of them could meet your gaze.

"It doesn't matter. I witnessed it, I'll help Kaido report you." You said, turning back to Gojo.

"My poor darling, you really don't know who I am, do you? I could kill Kaido at breakfast and no one would even dare complain about the mess."

"What do you mean? Who cares if you're a lieutenant, you can't go attacking soldiers."

"Poor, sweet thing, you don't even know who you decided to befriend. You don't even know who it is you belong to." Gojo tsked as though truly sympathetic at your naivety.

"I'm Gojo Satoru, darling. This place is only running because my family wants it to, because I want it to. I can do whatever I want here, but lucky for you, so can you. So long as you have my approval of course. Sleepovers with other soldiers are not allowed." Gojo said and suddenly everything he got away with doing began to make sense.

How he had gotten away with nearly killing a fellow soldier with as poor an alibi as yourself. Why he had a room nicer than the Commander and wasn't questioned for any of his insane antics. Where he got all that audacity from.

"I get you were upset with me so I'll let this one slide, but if you ever do something like this again, I'll have no choice but to punish you. You're mine, don't ever let anyone else get so close, let alone touch you." Gojo said, reaching for your face. Face dropping and eyes growing cold as you flinched back from his touch.

"Enough. I told you not to test my patience. Don't push me so far that I have to get strict with you. Now come on, let's go to our room." Gojo said, getting up off the bed and holding his hand out to you.

"You're fucking insane if you think I'm going anywhere with you." You said, turning back to Kaido and ignoring his hand but it was a mistake to turn your back to Gojo.

You were yanked back around by your arm making you cry out, Gojo ducking down and tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing before turning to stalk out of the room.

"I warned you." He said, swatting at your ass with one of those giant hands making you yelp.

"Put me down." You demanded, squirming and flailing to try to get out of his hold. A kick to his stomach only earned you another smack on your ass.

Your yelling must have attracted attention for you heard a door opening down the hall and the Commander's voice demanding which moron was up causing a commotion this early before he came into view wearing a sleep robe tied over pajamas.

"Help me." You called out, reaching out towards the Commander when he stood there staring as though frozen in shock. Heart sinking as Gojo got closer and the man merely stepped out of his way.

"Excuse us from training for the rest of the week, we've got a couple things to work through." Gojo said as he passed the Commander.

"Yes, of course. Let me know if you need to leave the base, I'll have a car arranged."

"That won't be necessary." Gojo responded, turning the corner so you could no longer see the man who you had expected to help you but had only stood with his head bowed down to the monster carrying you off.

Gojo didn't so much as slow down until he had made it back to his room. Opening the door with you still hanging over his shoulder with ease and dropping you down onto the bed. You immediately got to your feet, eyeing him warily where he stood before you.

He raised his hand and you flinched back making him frown as he brought his hand to the still-bleeding wound on his head.

"Fuck, you got me good." He winced, prodding at the wound tenderly and going over to the mirror hung up on the wall to get a better look.

"I didn't think you were capable of that but it's good to see you're not completely defenseless. Though, next time, maybe try hitting someone else and not your friend." He said, wiping at the blood with his t-shirt gingerly.

"You're not my friend." You said, seeing him pause in the reflection of the mirror. Eyes flashing before he closed them and took a deep breath as though trying to restrain himself.

"You're angry." He sighed, turning back to face you.

"No, I'm not angry. I'm disgusted. I can't believe I ever called you a friend." You spat.

His jaw clenched but he shook his head as though the movement would help him shake off what you had said.

"I lost control and I hurt you. I get that you're mad and I'm sorry for hurting you, I really am, but don't go saying things you don't mean." He said.

"Oh I mean it. You mean nothing to me, I don't ever want to see your face again. In fact, I'm leaving. Fuck this whole force. That pension isn't worth this shit." You said, moving towards the closet intending to pack but before you could even round the bed Gojo had crossed the room and was turning you to face him by the arm.

Your protests died on your lips as you caught sight of his face. Blue eyes alight with rage, the veins running up his neck and into his jaw standing out grotesquely from how tightly he was clenching his teeth. He looked inhuman, like something animalistic and feral. For the first time you felt truly afraid of Gojo.

"Didn't I say not to push me too far?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"Didn't I?" He demanded loudly, gripping you by your upper arms and giving you a sound shake.

"Y-you did." You responded, arching up in his hold to try to get out of the painful grip he had on your arms.

"Who are you leaving?" He asked, bringing you in closer by the hold he had on you.

"Who said you could fucking leave me? Who even allowed you to think it?" He barked, giving you another shake.

"You're mine, you don't ever get to walk away from me. You're the one who barged into my life, you think you can just up and leave whenever you want?" He demanded, his grip growing steadily tighter on your arms.

"Gojo, please, you're hurting me." You said, eyes watering from the pain but you didn't dare try to pull away.

"And what about how much you're hurting me?" He asked.

"Does my pain mean fucking nothing to you? Saying shit like I mean nothing to you, that I'm not your friend. You know what, you're right. I'm not your friend. I'm so much fucking more than that. Friend doesn't begin to cover what we are to each other."

"W-what?" You asked. You knew he was weirdly possessive of you but you hadn't anticipated that he thought of you in that way.

"I'm your fucking everything. Your friend, your lover, your husband. It's all me, there is no space for anyone else. I won't let there be anyone else. I'll make you mine in every conceivable way. Put a ring on your finger, brand my name over your fucking heart and mark your pretty little neck with my teeth every damn day." He growled, and before you had a chance to react was leaning down and sinking his teeth into your neck making you scream as he tore through the flesh.

You flailed in his grasp, pushing and shoving at his chest but it was like trying to move stone. After what seemed like an eternity of agony he finally pulled away, teeth lined with your blood and lips crimson with it.

"All fucking mine." He declared, licking over his lips making your breath catch as the reality of your situation dawned on you.

You had walked right into the den of a monster, awakening the beast and now you were trapped in its grasp. You should never have befriended Gojo Satoru. Not when there was all those rumours about him. Shouldn't have thought yourself more clever than the rest, able to tame the infamous mad dog.

"Gojo I don't think of you that way." You said shakily, hoping you could at least get him to go back to wanting to be your friend, not whatever the hell this was.

"That's okay, you'll start. It's my fault, I should have been more clear. I know how oblivious you can be so I wanted to take things slow but clearly that was a mistake on my part."

"Y-you can't force someone to be with you. I don't want to be with you and I won't." You said, trying to sound firm.

"I know you're a little slow and normally I find that to be fucking adorable but I need you to get it through your head that you are mine. You belong to me." He repeated slowly as though trying to drill the words into you.

"You're the one who forced your way into my life so really this is all on you. I would have left you alone had you not started following me around and then tried to cover for me, getting all worried about me getting into trouble." He said, going from enraged to getting a far-off look in his eye as though reminiscing. He was fucking insane, his moods changed faster than you could keep up with.

"I only approached you because I needed someone who'd have my back during missions. I didn't mean for any of this to go so far." You said.

"I'll always protect you, I'll always have your back. There's no curse, institution or person that can get to you while I'm around." He cooed, not seeming mad at all to find out about your ulterior motive for approaching him.

"I don't need that from you. I'm leaving the force, I never should have joined." You mumbled, filled with regret over your greed that had brought you into the predicament.

"You're not going anywhere. I'll tie you to the bed if that's what it takes. You'll stay where I am. If you don't want to be part of missions, good, I'd rather you not be but you're staying here."

"You can't watch over me every second of every day. I'd find a way to get away so why don't you just make this easy for both of us and let me go?" You asked, making his eyes darken and that bravado that had overcome your senses drained just as fast leaving only a hollow, cold sense of fear behind.

"I told you I'm never letting you go. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you with me. I don't want to tie you up but I'll do it if you make me and if you somehow manage to get out then I'll hunt you down and I'll break your fucking legs so you can't run." He growled making you flinch back.

"Now what's it going to be? Are you going to choose the easy route where you stay with me in our room and get to move about as you please or should I tie you up?" He asked.

"Better yet should I move right to breaking your legs so you don't get any funny ideas about running away? They'll even discharge you with pension if I break your legs, you'll still stay with me of course but it is what you always wanted." He said, grabbing your jaw in his hand and forcing you to look up at him.

His eyes softening when he saw the tears in yours.

"Fuck, I didn't mean to make you cry. Come here." He sighed, pulling you in to his chest and wrapping his arms around you.

Terrified as you were of him you couldn't help but sob into his chest. The dread of the horrible predicament you had gotten yourself into making you seek comfort from anywhere you could get it, even if it was the source of your misery. He hushed you, rubbing a hand up and down your back soothingly. Pressing apologetic kisses into your head.

"I told you not to push me. I fucking lose it when I even so much as think of you not being with me. Just promise me you'll stay with me. That you won't ever leave and we can forget all of this."

"I-I won't." You hiccuped, finally giving in to what had been inevitable since the moment you first approached Gojo.

But for a reason that truly baffled everyone, you seemed to detest him. Cursing and turning your back on his kind of flirt whenever he tried to talk to you. Again and again, every single day, only to be met with a bucket of cold water you poured on him from your window or a dirty sponge you shot at him through the door of your classroom.

The kids giggled, seeing their beautiful teacher utterly furious at the handsome poet, who seemed bewitched by the gentle wrinkle that bent her forehead. But the way her eyes rolled and shot daggers as he waited and waited under her classroom, trying to take a single glance at the softness that bent her lips.

"He's just a silly poet. How could I ever take him seriously?" you muttered once during a conversation with your mother.

She glanced out the window of your cottage, seeing his dark locks glisten beneath the sizzling burns of the afternoon sun.

"But his heart seems kind." Her eyes turned back to look at your sweet yet tired face. "You deserve kindness."

"Kindness won't feed us," you muttered quietly, as you raised your gaze for a second.

Only to steal a glimpse of a man who didn't wish to leave you alone. Of his lavender eyes staring somewhere above the rolling hills of your village, fingers idling with a tall glass, bowing beneath the gentle, warm wind. His long hair, tied in a small bun at the top, shining like silk, as if threaded from the richest fabrics you've only read of in tales.

He's been haunting you for weeks now.

From the moment your paths crossed in the village next door, where you walked through the stalls and he sat leisurely in the local tavern, with papers and inks filling his bag. With lavender eyes that somehow caught your gaze, soft, with laughter from the past still twinkling behind your irises, before you quickly turned away.

He'd never packed up quicker, stuffing his bag without a care for his rather expensive things, before leaving the tavern in a hurry. To catch the last glimpse of an angel whose eyes had kissed his cheeks, before she would disappear forever.

He followed you all the way back to your village, eyeing the little footprints your feet left on the sand, the flowery scent clinging to your body and swirling in the air. As if showing him the way to the woman who seemed to bewitch his mind, body and soul with nothing but a single look into the poet's eyes.

And as he arrived beneath your cottage, a muffled, rather angry scoff escaped your lips. Seeing a strange man who seemed to walk behind you, in silence and holding his breath, all this time.

"What are you doing here?" Your brows furrowed, wild hair sticking softly to the warm cheeks. "How dare you follow me like a madman?"

But Suguru… Suguru couldn't even catch his breath.

Oh, how damned he already was, upon sensing his heart fall into the agonising clutches of a feeling so wicked!

"I–" The words could barely slip past his tightened throat. Almond-shaped eyes, oogling your face, twisted in wrath yet still looking utterly lovely. "I just thought you were beautiful."

You scoffed again, forcing another squeeze of his heart. "Leave. We're done here."

His fists clenched as he saw your body already turning towards the cottage. "Wait! Can you… do you wish to go out with me?"

Looking over your shoulder, you eyed his figure. Fingers painted black, a white shirt clinging neatly to his well-built back. Black trousers, rather simple, threaded here and there as if he had seen thread and needle too many times.

A poet.

A man of heavy words yet light pouch.

Someone you shouldn't even look at, even if you were an outcast yourself.

A witch, a weird lady who spent too much time in the woods, talking to trees, grasses, and animals, while teaching apothecary to local children.

Someone whom normal men avoided crossing paths with, as if in fear of even associating with a woman of your sort.

Utterly beautiful, yet of a wicked cheek.

"No," wasn't enough to force him away.

As it seemed, Suguru Geto was foolish enough to even beg and wait for a single glimpse of the softness that beamed from your eyes in the early mornings, just before your gaze caught his figure lingering beneath your windows.

He visited you every day, following you from sunrise until moonlight spilt its kisses on your lovely face. He sat beneath the window of your little classroom, a small house built on a hill, and scribbled his own poems. With a little ink he had brought from home, his forehead beading with sweat as he listened to your classes.

To the lovely voice that carried through the lush plains of the rolling hills, seeping into the creeks that ran past the scattered huts. The peaceful, almost idyllic view stretched before his eyes each day, yet he still seemed utterly lost in the softness of your hands on his skin.

After long weeks of tiresome begging, you've finally agreed.

Catching him once again asleep in the tall grasses by your classroom, a golden spill of sunshine casting a peaceful look on his handsome face.

And so, carried by an unknown, wicked feeling, you squatted next to him, with the edges of your dress brushing his body and your fingers reaching to push away a single raven lock stuck to his forehead.

Lavender eyes slowly opened, as if doubting whether the petal touch was real or just a projection of his lovestruck mind.

"I agree," you said, a soft sigh pushed past your lips. "One meeting."

He nodded, quickly, eagerly, already rising to his feet. "Just one."

"And if I still dislike you, that shall be it."

He didn't nod this time, and so you pinched his cheek gently. "Say it."

He chuckled, nuzzling into your softness. "And if you do not like me, I shall leave you alone."

Yet, as it soon would turn out – hating him was rather impossible.

After a year, you already gave birth to your first child.

Oh well, a woman in love can be quite wicked, but a man? Dear heavens. As soon as you agreed to his pleading to become his wife, Suguru Geto didn't hesitate to ensnare you with his deceitful feelings.

And you, utterly captivated by a foolish poet who sang of his beloved's sweetest smiles, couldn't deny the burning fire deep within you. The sensation of his skin against yours in the most intimate manner stirred your desire. To cherish him and be cherished in whispers, touches, and moans that escaped your lips as you hid atop your cottage roof while your parents were absent.

When he promised you forever, during the wedding vows, you knew he meant it.

Suguru Geto's life began only after meeting you. Everything that happened during the past twenty-five years of his life seemed to be nothing but a bleak, barren nothingness that filled his wretched soul.

Soon after the wedding, you moved to another cottage. Small and lovely, where your first child was born. A girl with the sweetest cheeks and rich, lavender eyes that mirrored the kindness your husband had shown.

His precious little daughter.

"And my precious, beautiful wife," he always added, while kissing both of your foreheads. "The lights of my life."

You would giggle before wrapping your arms around his back and drawing him into a longer kiss. You stood in the middle of your little, simple cottage, with candles scattered across the shelves and his ink-stained fingers smudged on your cheeks.

"Aren't you a flirt?" A sweet laugh spilt from his throat as he stole another kiss.

And another, another, another, which forced you to tumble onto the soft bed. The fog clung to the windows; the candles' warmth cast shadows over his handsome cheeks, hair spilling over his shoulders.

Your breath hitched as his lips wrapped around the sensitive point beneath your neck.

"You play a dangerous game," fell quietly, and he chuckled.

"And why is that, my dearest wife?"

His lavender eyes met yours. Love and fondness merged as he brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen over your forehead.

"Because I may ask you for another baby."

He raised his eyebrows before curving them into a soft scowl. "You don't have to ask me twice for anything, my love. And especially for this particular thing."

And so, oh well.

Another year had passed, and you gave birth once again.

This time, to the sweetest boy, with the cheekiness of yours bubbling in his eyes and a big heart always yearning for his mother.

The life you had was almost idyllic, as if brought straight from one of the tales you always read to your kids. A life of profound serenity, filled with overwhelming love that spilt past your husband's fingers.

He seemed to carry your whole family, and even though he soon started travelling a lot – for he wished to chase his playwright dreams – there was never a time when you felt anything but taken care of.

Suguru wished it stayed that way.

A picture of you, humming the loveliest melody to your two children, strolling through the long plains of wildflowers as the sun kissed your cheeks. The picture that seemed to be stuck in his mind, the one he repeated over and over again as he went off to the big cities to earn a few more pennies.

Whenever the horse took longer than it should, or the carriage rolled over the bumps and mounds, he thought of you. Of the view that would welcome him home.

Of his children growing up healthy and his wife staying the wicked witch she always had been. Filling their kitchen with herbs of sorts unknown to him, yet carrying a special healing might. He would think of the lavender fragrance filling the kitchen and the mint bubbling on the stove. Of the cinnamon, ginger and cloves that, during the winter, carried all four of you through the freezing bites.

Your hands had healing power, your mind stayed sharp and kind, always aware of what to do in case of a sudden crisis, be it your daughter's sudden cold or your son's scratched knee.

Sometimes it was Suguru himself, lying beneath the heavy pillows and blankets, as if already half on the other side. At times like this, he would, in a rather melodramatic way, recite poems about the approaching end and stretch his hand towards you, as if mimicking death.

The children would always laugh sweetly, seeing their father utterly lost in his need to catch a glimpse of their mother's attention. Because they knew, oh, of course they knew, that love was hidden in their mother's purest smile and in the way their father seemed to live solely to hear her sweet laughter.

They saw the way their father looked into their mother's kind eyes. With affection difficult to describe, they only began to understand its true heaviness after they reached the age of six.

They knew that no one loved their mother as much as he did. No matter how often Suguru kissed their plump cheeks, it was with only half the devotion he showed their mother. He loved them, of course he did! For it was simply impossible for any other child to be loved by their father as much as Suguru loved his.

And yet, both of them knew that whatever it was between their parents felt most sacred.

Thus, when their mother fell heavily sick, it seeped through every soul living beneath their warm roof.

It happened one day, as you collapsed in the garden. Suddenly, falling straight into your slowly growing herbs, before the panicked children called for their father with tears swirling in their eyes.

He brought you back home with trembling hands, quickly lying you down on your bed by the fireplace. To let the flame give a bit of warmth to your cheeks, as he saw the life slowly slipping away, with sweat beading on your forehead.

The doctors said it's a simple cold. Nothing serious.

But the days were passing, and it seemed you were getting worse. Barely able to eat even the lightest food, turning from side to side beneath the heavy covers.

The fever clung to your forehead no matter how many times Suguru tried to fight it. He placed cold compresses on your forehead and kissed your temple. As if it could heal whatever sickness was plaguing your poor body.

He saw you grow weaker day by day. Sometimes, the strength would return to your body, only to leave it completely before you could walk to the front door.

Sometimes you laughed with your children, only to start coughing blood a minute later.

Suguru was slowly losing his mind, spiralling into madness, as he called for every doctor available in the village. Yet no one knew what sickness was holding onto his wife's dearest life.

He would lie by your side every single night, just to listen to your whistling breath. Watch the way your lips fell open and your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He would stay all night, just to make sure it wouldn't be the last.

Hand plastered to your cheek, though you could barely register his touch. His voice, soft, almost teary, sounded muffled within your sickness-spiked mind.

He prayed. Long and as never before, clinging to your body, just to feel the warmth of your breath on your skin.

He prayed for death to take him instead, to leave his dearest wife alone, as he was ready to bear all the pain she needed to endure.

He prayed in a pitiful voice that sliced his children's hearts as they saw their father in such a wretched state. And so they gave him time to grieve, alone, watching their mother's soul slowly wither away.

But then… then another night came.

Much worse than any other. As Suguru could barely feel your puffs on his fingers. A shallow, almost invisible breath slipped past your lips, and the smell of death swirled in the room. Fogging the windows, seeping with sickness and stealth, as Suguru felt the grim reaper's clutches slowly wrap around your body.

He could see it in the dim corner of the bedroom, staring at your sweat-beaded forehead.

"No," he mumbled, covering you both with a heavy blanket. "I won't let it take you away."

And so he did something foolish.

Beneath the veil of darkness, with material tightly covering your bodies, he changed your positions. Slowly, so death could not notice your body moving to the other side.

A soft cough escaped your throat, and your eyes opened for a moment, seeing your husband's gentle smile.

"Suguru," you muttered. "I–"

"Shh," he whispered, brushing your cheek. "It's okay, darling. It won't hurt any more. It's okay."

And because your husband he was – you believed him. Falling back into the light dream, where the world spun around nothing but the gentle, caring voice of your dearest one.

"I give you my life," Suguru whispered, yet it seemed you were long gone. "I give you my life, darling. For I cannot live in a world without your warmth." His thumb brushed the softness of your skin. "For I love our children so much, and yet my wretched heart forbids me to live without you by my side. You are much kinder than I am, darling, and shall take care of them for both of us."

As if losing you would damn him and nothing but the embrace of death itself would ever heal his woeful soul.

It was too dark to see anything, yet beneath the heavy blanket, Suguru could feel a slight warmth returning to your fallen lips. He smiled, sensing a fogginess creeping into his mind. The clutches cold and dreary, seeping through the marrow.

"I give you my life," he repeated, the heaviness pressing on his eyelids. "Be brave. Be kind. And please, don't ever stop laughing. For I'll be watching over you all and make sure none of you joins my side any time soon. I will love you, always, and I shall exist only in a world with two of us."

"For we are of one soul and one heart, thus no hills nor seas and mountains shall ever keep us apart."

And his children, listening to their father's crying whispers, knew that a man in love is truly of a wicked kind.

He was the one who deceived death to grant you a new life.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Just a little something before I leave for a trip <3

The sun soaked palace is not how he remembered it all those years ago. The orientation of these stone walls are the same, it takes the same amount of steps to lead from the main hall to your guarded chambers. The lingering scent of the sea still drafts in through the cracks in the walls. The same chill that shocks his body when his knuckles brush the cool bronze plates lining his... crowded dining tables.

A spark of rage strikes his brow, forcing it to twitch at the very thought of those suitors clanging his challises loudly at dusk, feasting over his food, lusting over his wife in his absence. To think of how loyalty has soured with him gone, to think that men from across the Mediterranean have damned his glory, his respect, his very name for the chance to steal you away as their wife, to become king of his castle.

He will see to it that they will pay. They will all pay.

Satoru allows himself to peak upward when he hears the familiar rustle of your gowns as you rise, your sweet smell drifting through the intricate grating of your sliding walls soon following. His nose twitches, his heart lurches at the scent, the distant memory that springs to life in mere miliseconds.

The ivory haired warrior has conquered Troy, escaped the clutches of a wailing Cyclops, wrecked his ears and very soul with the screech of a siren's delicious song, watched his man love him, hate him, turn on him, and die just as Tyresius promised him before the gates of hell, where all of Satoru's mistakes stood before him in a crowd of soiled men hungry for vengeance, hungry for answers that death did not provide. Satoru has lived a thousand years within his mind, allowing the fruits of the earth to tear the memory of you, sweet you, from his head, along with the sting of a million miles separating you from him.

Satoru has looked into the very eyes of the gods' wrath, of death itself, and yet, his heart has never beat with such brutality the way it does now, when he allows himself a sliver of light to catch a glimpse of you as you stand before your barrier with your hands clasped polited before you. Satoru lets out a strained sigh, ducking his head once more, tearing his eyes away from your beauty, for he knows you too well. If he allows you even just a peak of his face, you'll know. You'd know your husband anywhere.

But even the slightest glance at you without being able to throw himself against your gates, ripping them open, and pulling you into his arms, smashing his lips against yours to make up for the two decades he spent away, he spent making you wait, chips away at Satoru's heart. He never thought himself to be much of a patient man before the gods forced him to know it up close, forced him to trust in fate rather than his own control.

You're encased in emerald that flutters around your ankles, gold necklaces stacked up the expanse of your lovely neck, flittering earrings shining in the firelight crackling behind you. You're a vision of grace, one that keeps these crumbling walls hardly intact. Raw beauty that spites the likes of Aphrodite, that lures men of ill intent to your doors like vermin.

But Satoru did not see your eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look into them, for he'd see the years of heartache he inspired, the grief that you have yet to accept, the life lost in your gaze.

He settles down to sit slowly, back pressing to the gate. He listens intently to every step you make. The way your sandled feet grace the floor, the way the flutter of your gown cuts through the air as you sit just inches away.

Satoru’s eyes flutter shut and his throat runs dry when you speak. “Hello, traveler,” you greet kindly despite the thick blanket of sorrow that lingers in your once airy tone.

Satoru gulps. His heart flips. Whispers of his name on your breath, that very same voice, flutter through his mind from a past long cherished, long abandoned, and he aches with anticipation. Fighting against his own will to remain disguised.

“Please, make yourself welcome. My maid will return to wash your feet so that you may rest in comfort.”

Satoru’s Adam’s apple bobs, and he presses his lips together to maintain strength. After twenty years, he’s finally made it home to you, but you still feel so far away. He attempts to evade the sting of your amiability, so distant and unfamiliar, driven by duty and generosity rather than love. Rather than knowledge.

He clears his throat. “You’re too kind, but that’s unnecessary. Please don’t waste your water on someone like me.” When he speaks, his voice is gravelly, worn, and hoarse with age and nerves and exhaustion and anger and desperation. All of which he keeps burrowed just at the surface, blanketed by the croak of exaggerated starvation.

He tenses slightly when you take a moment to respond, registering the sound of his weathered voice, toying with it in your mind. He prays you do not recognize him. He prays you’ve at least forgotten the sound of his weariness. “Someone like you?” you repeat slowly. “In Ithaca, we welcome all. We treat the needy and hungry as family. You would not impose. I insist.”

Still, so kind. So thoughtlessly, beautifully generous. It's that very generosity which pulled those men to your door, which allow them to trample over your grace.

At that moment, your elderly servant returns with a basin of water and cloth. Satoru recognizes her, sees the definition of wrinkles worn over her skin. He remembers her careful, maternal touch. How she always mended his split flesh after foolish accidents. If the ocean eyed warrior were less distracted by your warmth radiating just behind his back, he would have remembered the chunk of flesh that was torn away from his shin long ago during a hunting accident with a boar which she patched up herself. He would have been more cognizant of the way her cautious, trembling hands gently unwind the tassles of his sandles, removing the footwear from his person slowly.

"You are... too kind," he mumbles in response to you, as well as to the servant before him.

She moves to bring a soaked cloth to his scarred shin, but when her hand drags his leg forward by the back of his ankle, the strangely familiar callous of his heel brushing her palms, she jumps when her eyes land on the brutish, healed wound, the battered flesh she sewed all those years ago.

She jumps. The water topples over and splatters down the stairs. Satoru's son jolts at the sight, and Satoru's eyes jerk up in slow panic at the commotion.

His eyes go wide when they meet hers accidentally, and he watches as stun gradually morphs her expression, the light catching emotionally in her glistening gaze. Satoru acts quickly, his scarred hand shooting forward to knowingly graze her chin, an urgent fire in his crystal hues.

She shudders a breath of disbelief, awed smile catching her lips. Satoru shakes his head, the corners of his lips curving with nostalgia, and she blinks in her stupor before nodding slowly in understanding, scrambling to get more water.

"It is not kindness. Just humanity. Acknowledgement," you argue softly, and Satoru ducks his head once more as an amused, warm smile tugs at his lips, for you always deny your goodness even when it is presented before you. Satoru hums, allowing his cloak to shield his face once more, tugging the fabric forward. "What is your name?"

"...Senon," he lies.

"Senon," you try the name on your tongue warmly, scooching slightly forward. "Where are you from, Senon?"

"...I am a veteran of the Trojan war. I've... traveled very far."

He hears you pause, feels you tense behind him.

You bring yourself closer to the gate, eyes glittering with mourning as your brows pull together in a hopeful tug. You have been wearing your grief on your sleeve for twenty years now, the very mention of the war that stole your love away bringing a lump to your throat and making something hard and hot and unforgiving settle in your chest. Your breath hitches as you inhale, and he hears you swallow, feels the ghost of your breath.

Gods, he's missed you. He misses the breath warm against his lips. He misses your sighs against his heated, balmy skin.

He's so close, but still not quite home.

"A veteran...?" you whisper. "Then... you knew my - my husband?"

Your voice falters under the mere word, shattering into something momenterily fragile and week. Satoru clenches his jaw. He wants to assure you of his safety so badly. He wants to tell you that he is here. That you have to wait no longer, but he would be lying. The fight is not yet won, and his home - you, his son - are not yet saved.

He must wait. Play his cards correctly.

Satoru angles his head slightly to the left, into your direction. "I did," he says. "Very well."

You lick your lips, failing to hide your hope. Not even trying to. "And? What of him...? Do you... is there any word of..."

"He's alive."

You gasp out.

"And he will return. He swears it." He swears it.

"Then where is he?" you urge, abandoning your poise, voice dipping into something heated and desperate and drastic, yet achingly quiet, as though you are afraid to let your hope ring out too loudly for the fear that it will be crushed. "How is it that you were able to return before him? Do you know where he is?"

"He's close," he says.

"Close?" you almost laugh, eyes wide. "How close? It's been years. I've waited - how close?"

Oh, you are so sweet. You are still the same, after all those years. So fiercely loyal. So unapologetically in love. Satoru was truly blessed in this life to have been able to take you as his wife, to know that you have waited so long knowing, praying that he would one day fight his way back to you against all odds, against all unfavorable winds.

"I don't know," he elects to say. He feels you sink. "But I know that he will return."

"How," you shake. "How do you know? When was the last time you saw him, last spoke to him? How could you know that he is coming, that he is close, if he is still not here?" you ask.

He is here, he wants to say. He's here for you. He's come home to you. He will fight for you.

"The Satoru Gojo I know would have fought with all his life to make it back to me," you shudder out, and Satoru aches, for if only you knew. If only he could show you.

"He still is," Satoru says. "Fighting his way back."

"Then where. Is he," you ask once more.

Satoru sighs softly, looking down at his crooked, scarred hands, a reminder of the years away, of the war that waged within the walls of Troy and against his mind for years to come. “He’ll be here when you need him most,” he answers.

You scoff a sound that Satoru knows so well, your irritation bleeding through the devastation over word of your husband always being just out of reach. You attempt to fight the tears that have come so easily in his absence. You look away for a moment as your eyes sting, your nose scrunching and brows curling.

You catch sight of your son sitting afar in the corner, the eyes of his father shining brightly throughout the room, eying your interaction with this stranger. You assume that he was startled by the commotion of your maid fumbling the bowl of water, your mind too clouded by this stranger’s apparent closeness to your husband to see the knowing tension in your boy’s eyes.

Twenty years. Twenty years have dragged by with no word of your husband but a cloaked stranger’s distance promise. Twenty years since you’ve gazed into the sapphire ocean in Satoru’s eyes. Twenty years since you’ve felt those warm hands caress over your own, traveling teasingly up your arms and over your skin, bringing you close, his voice whispering declarations of passion in your ear. Twenty years since you’ve heard his laugh, since you’ve seen his pretty smile wrinkle his eyes and cheeks, since his humor has poured through the halls in thunderous echoes.

Twenty years without his prideful performances, without the familiar bend of a bow that only he can mold to his will, with his muscles tensing with focus and concentration as he strings his weapon, finishing with the triumphant pluck of a taut string for show.

Twenty years without his sound reign. His wisdom. His control. His heart.

Twenty years not knowing whether your husband is alive or dead. If he’ll ever come back to you.

“Promise me,” you recall him pleading with you in the intimacy of your bedroom all those years ago, before he left for the war.

His large hands had clutched your face, his eyes holding your gaze assertively as your chin wrinkles and your lip trembles. Ocean pools attempt to ease you as he looks into your (e/c) eyes, his thumb smoothing over the curve of your cheek.

“Promise me that if I don’t come back, you’ll remarry.”

The sentiment offended you then just as it offends you now. You frown, nose flaring as your hand instinctively raises to slap him. It’s a swift clap against his jaw that startles him, wide eyes blinking before something soft and tender melts over his gaze despite the subtle sting buzzing over his cheek. So stubborn.

“How dare you ask me to do that, Satoru?” you growl, eyes glistening over. Satoru smiles sadly, with all the world’s knowledge brewing behind his eyes. You shake your head, raising your own hands to hold his face in turn. Snowy lashes flutter, his pupils expanding as you bring yourself closer. “You promise me you will come back.”

Ever the ordinarily sure man, Satoru hesitates. He brings his forehead to yours, and you whimper out something broken, your nose brushing, your hands keeping one another connected. You’ve seen your husband overcome the impossible. You’ve seen his wonderful strength. You’ve seen his power.

But here, before you, with uncertainty lying ahead, he is just a man. Unsure.

“What if I can’t, baby?” he murmurs as though it pains him to say, but it is the reality. Many men die overseas at war. Even more die trying to get back home. “I’ll fight with everything I can to come back to you, but what if I can’t?”

“I won’t remarry,” you hiss. “I’ll never remarry.”

“This home will need a king of I’m gone too long.”

“It will already have one. You.”

“(Y/n)…”

“I won’t.”

He smiled again, full of love and despair. “You’re stubborn.”

“You’re worse,” you bite, and Satoru huffs a weak laugh, closing his eyes, feeling you close against him. “Toru, what if we just run away?”

His eyes peel open, meeting yours as he lifts his forehead from you slightly. A desperate craze holds your gaze as you speak.

“You wouldn’t have to fight in this silly war. We could take Telemachus and go. Get a ship. Take the loyal. Chase the escaping sun on the horizon.”

Satoru clenches his jaw, allowing himself to imagine your fantasy. He feels the imaginary salten wind toss through his white strands as he holds you to his chest, your head tucked under his chin as you watch the sun set behind the line of the sea.

“You know it’s not possible,” he tells you longingly. “I’d rather be killed in war, or trying to return to you than for mutiny. I won't soil my legacy or yours, or my son’s for a dream. I have to go, my love. It’s my responsibility.”

You, of course, know this is true. That does not prevent you from trembling with sadness as you stare into your husband’s eyes, knowing from just a glance that he will be gone for a very, very long time.

“I’d rather you not be killed at all,” you say in a hushed voice. He frowns.

"(Y/n), I'll do everything I can," he promises urgently. "We'll win the war, and I will rage against the gods to return to you."

"Gods do not want your rage, Satoru. Rage is what will anger them in turn. Trust them as you trust me," you say. You catch the hesitant look in Satoru's eye. You release him to fumble with your nightgown, unpinning the golden brooch that frequents your sleeve. He keeps his hands on you, touching, tracing, watching tenderly.

You bring the brooch to his eye level, holding it tight in your grip. He glances down at it: a brooch of the goddess Athena shimmering in the firelight.

“Take this with you. Keep it on your person. Wear it always. Athena will look after you as I long to. I’ll be with you throughout your journey, and so will she.”

Your words are whispered against the bow of his pink lips as his hands pull you back in closer, eyes lidded as your skin brushes. He nods slowly against you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

Your mind plays that night on repeat as you listen to this stranger's broken words. You replay the way Satory climbed over you in a haze of dizzy kisses, a long night of passion following that still could not account for how long he would be away.

You miss him terribly.

"I've needed him for twenty years," you tell the beggar who you do not know is your husband. "What is keeping him from me now, if you are here and not him?"

...What could Satoru tell you?

That on the night of Agamemnon's infiltration of Troy, he watched a city light ablaze at the hand of him and his men? That he watched women's knees drop to the dirt as his comrades held swords to their throats? Their pitched screams haunting him to this day, before the merciless slice of a blade cut their cries short?

What could he tell his grievihg wife, desperate for answers, that Satoru Gojo's conscience could not bear the weight of what he'd done to those people - so much so that he allowed the tides to pull himself and his men further away from you while he thought that he was bringing them back home by his own accord? Untethered to Agamemnon's curse of glory?

He feels the blister of fear hot against his skin. Sees the shadows of the dead marching in the back of his mind when he is ripped from his sleep. Remembers the face of that young girl as his men dragged her to the top of a temple's stairs, hands firmly outstretching her arms as she begged for her life at Satoru's feet. And he could do nothing but watch as her head was sliced from her body, and could do nothing but fear as the very same face came to him in the guise of Athena, haunting him, forcing him to remember the blood that stains his hands.

How could he have brought himself back to you, knowing that he had done to the Trojans what he would slaughter millions for if the very same had been done to Ithaca, to you?

Your breaths grow shaky as you listen to the stranger's weathered, intimate tale of your husband's perspective of the war, of all that he and his men did in the sake of Helen's name. Anger bubbles beneath you as you envision the tolls this violence has taken on your husband, who never shied away from battle, but always wore his heart on his sleeve like armor.

The tears come as easily as they have for the past twenty years. You pinch your lips together, fighting sobs as you listen, such familiarity in the beggar's voice that reminds you so much of him, so much of the fact that he is still not here with you.

And if he isn't now, he never will be.

You tear yourself away from the stranger with finality, bidding him a bitter good night as you retreat to wail. As you retreat to succumb to the reality that you know your husband wanted you to live, to the reality that Satoru has manipulated you into fulfilling.

You will seek a new husband.

And your husband will come. He will make sure of it.

"Just a little longer, baby," he murmurs to himself, to the space you just left. "I promise. I'm here."

ׂ╰┈➤

Suitors crowd the very room that Satoru occupied the previous night. He sits on a stump of stone stairs in the very back, cloak shading his figure as he eyes the monsters who seek to take you for their own. His brows angle, a potent rage simmering in the silent stun of your presentation.

There you are, at the front of the room, looking like a vision the very gods sculpted themselves. Your pain is raw on your expression as you stare resentfully out at the sea of suitors before you with your husband's bow gripped tight in your hands.

Before the suitors, in the middle of the room, lies a row of bound pairs of axes, one before the other, lined up in front of a wooden board. Those who were around to witness Satoru Gojo's old performances of strength and accuracy recognize this set up, for it is the very same party trick that the old king used to showcase during warm nights after filling dinners, when the wine has numbed his cares and the bashful look in his wife's eye encouraged him to parade his strength about.

Telemachus, his son, lingers in the corner beside an old, blind friend, his jaw set as he ruminates over the last twenty years. Satoru, having mistakenly unveiled his identity to his son when he approached his old, weak hunting dog, and the very animal relinquished life the moment his master returned to him with the touch of his warm hand against his fur, keeps his eyes elsewhere to preserve himself from others. Telemachus knew instantly then, recalling that his father's pet was waiting for his master to return home before giving into death.

Satoru had ordered for all the weapons to be stored away by entrusted servants, and for the room to be boarded shut when all the suitors gathered. He knew what was coming. He knew by the determination of his wife's depart from his conversation with her.

And he is ready. Finally ready to reclaim what is his, to return home rightfully.

"I will marry any one of you in this room," your voice booms out, ringing against the stone. "If you are able to complete my challenge."

You hold out your husband's bow, attempting not to break away at the feel of its weathered wood in your hands, the memory of the man you love before those who wish to wipe him away.

The room is still, hanging onto your every word, and Satoru’s eyes gleam at the sight of his prized possession in your dainty palms.

“Whoever can string this bow,” you begin. “And shoot an arrow through these six pairs of axes, hitting the wood behind them, is the man I will take as my husband… and the new king of Ithaca.”

Murmurs rise. Chuckles of the unknowing ring out confidently. The silence of those who are knowing is steady.

Satoru grins.

“Who’s first?” you ask.

The low rumble of voices eventually evens out into hesitant silence before the first suitor steps up arrogantly.

“I’ll go,” he grits. You nod, pressing your lips together, before handing the bow off to your son, who passes it to the eager man.

Tension fills the room as he props the bow upright, pinching the string between his fingers, and stretching it up, up, up.

He grunts, hand trembling, string hovering inches away from the tip of the bow. He remains struggling that way for a moment, bent on one knee, before giving in with a huff, the string snapping back to the floor.

A rumble of laughter erupts and you roll your eyes. “Not enough protein in the diet, huh?” some man shouts out, further encouraging guffaws and chuckles.

The suitor scoffs and turns away with the flick of a dismissive hand, pride wounded. Then comes the next suitor, believing he can show the previous up.

He takes the bow. Kneels down. Brings the string up, up, up. It stretches, he grits his teeth and trembles, cheeks flushing, before stumbling with the snap of the string back to the ground.

More laughter.

“It’s impossible!” he hisses. “No one could do it!”

“My husband could,” you cut in, and the room goes silent once more with resentment and a sudden urge to prove you wrong, to prove that any one of them could take Satoru Gojo’s place. "Who's next?" you raise your brows challengingly.

Satoru swoons. Oh, how he loves you. How he will make up for all the time spent away once he proves himself worthy again, once he rids his home of the plague that is these stupid men.

One by one, suitor after suitor lines up to try and fail miserably at stringing the bow that only Satoru is known to be capable of stringing. The laughter soon dips into gradual panic, and the realization that the task truly is impossible settles in, the challenge unbeatable for all those who are not the very owner of the weapon himself.

"My queen, we get it," one suitor speaks up bravely, wearing a mask of vulnerability and sympathy that Satoru assumes is meant to gain your good graces. The ivory haired warrior scowls and your eyes turn to the man talking.

Dark hair and eyes. A handsome smile. Something snaky behind his eyes that he attempts to soften for you. He steps forward.

"We know what this means. Nearly all of us have attempted to beat this challenge that none of us could ever overcome. We understand what you are trying to say, that we will never fill Satoru Gojo's shoes. But if I may offer myself up as a man who will try, knowing the great shadow that looms over me. Knowing that I will fail. I will do all that I can to please you, to mend this kingdom. I may not be able to win your challenge, but I am eager to win your heart."

No one says a word. Telemachus' eyes fly around the hardened faces of the suitors, discouraged by their own failure, and the mischief of the man who just spoke up. He swallows, and you merely look the man in the eye, doing all you can to remain polite. To stand tall. To give him a chance, when what you truly wish to do is lock the doors behind you and set the entire room ablaze.

Satoru has had enough.

Slowly, he rises, his cloak fluttering around his figure. He is cautious to keep his posture slightly slumped, his head bowd, and his voice low. As if unsure.

"I haven't tried yet."

All heads turn to the back of the room where the former king stands as a beggar. The silence is piercing before it is interrupted by an outburst of laughter, laughter that makes the suitors' inadequacy feel much lighter.

The suitor who had just spoken freely to you chortles particularly loud. "You? A beggar?!" he sputters. "What could possibly make you think that you would succeed if none of us could? You're nothing," he spits.

You watch the beggar slowly step past the man taunting him, his footsteps echoing throughout the space. Your brows knit with curiousity, and something you don't quite allow yourself to acknowledge gnaws at the back of your mind.

The dark haired suitor scoffs as the beggar stands before him, throwing his arm out in disdain. "Your majesty, you can't possibly-"

You raise your hand, and the man immediately cuts himself off. You keep your eyes on the cloaked face before you, the way this stranger approaches so humbly, so surprisingly willing to try after watching everyone fall short of what your husband was - is.

Something is... off here. You can't quite name it, but your heart knows.

The beggar stands still, presenting only himself before you. No titles. No land. No pride. Merely his own hands, a veteran's status, and a face you have yet to see.

You inhale slowly, something scratching at the back of your throat as you lower your hand. You nod toward Telemachus, who holds the bow toward his father.

"Please. By all means," you encourage him. "Good luck."

Satoru reaches his hand out and wraps his worn fingers around the wood soundly. He expels a long, gentle breath as he reunites with the weapon, taking it carefully out of his son's hands, who slowly backs away to stand at the far end of the room, knowing what is to come.

You notice. You notice every movement that occurs from this moment forward.

Sunkissed hands trace over the intricate detailing, following the curve of the bow as he sinks slowly down to his knee. Memories of hunts, of teaching children archery, of battle come to his mind as he methodically fiddles with the bow, then soon comes the memory of his performances in the banquet hall. The roar of triumph. The raise of his bow in the air. Your proud grin and flushed cheeks.

Satoru breathes in. Taking his time. You hang onto each second, brows coming together as you watch this stranger touch your husband's bow just as he would, pinching that string between all thick digits.

Suddenly, arms curve inward and biceps puff. Veins bulge in the strangers muscular forearms and hands as he clutches the top of the bow with one and the string with the other, arching his body inward as the weapon curves and stretches under his force.

Your heart drops.

The beggar gives way for a moment, releasing the string due to misuse, and takes a breath. A rumble of further laughter comes once more as the suitors prepare to throw more doubt at the man, but the room goes silent again when the beggar repeats the action.

He stretches the string. He curves the bow inward. His muscles flex, and his shoulders round. The bow folds, the room freezes, the string catches, and connects.

The bow is strung.

The breath leaves you as your knees suddenly go weak. Your mind spins, dizziness overcoming you, and before you can allow your emotions to get the best of your senses, he does it.

He grips the wooden arch in one hand and plucks the string with the other, a resounding single, daunting note ringing out into the space.

A predator warning its prey for what is to come.

And with the force of his pluck, you almost faint. For you know this motion. You know this presentation. You know those hands, those veins and the way that body curves to match his weapon's mold.

Your husband has returned.

You gasp out a shuddering sigh before retreating back to your chambers. You have no time to think, to process, for you know what is coming the second that bow is strung.

The room is heavy with shock as Satoru rises to his feet, taking the arrow, hooking it, and shooting it through the axes. The arrow flies with a sharp whistle and hits the target in one shot.

Telemachus, who has only heard stories of such demonstrations, lets a grin slip onto his face. The room remains eerily still in the man's victory, and his shoulders gradually ease back, his posture straightening to reveal his true height.

You make it to your doors, hand on either one as you watch from the top of the steps. Your world goes quiet. The beggar you spoke to the previous night stands suddenly tall, and his cloak slips away from his face with such stature.

Sapphire pools. The same ones that have haunted you every night for two decades meet your gaze.

Tears stray past your lashes, dribbling down your cheeks like shooting stars as you take in his face, your heartbeat and his steady breath the only things your ears can catch.

Skin tanned and aged by the merciless beat of the sun. Snowy hair bright and graceful, slipping down to his ears, swiping across his forehead in ivory tendrils. Sharp cheekbones, facial stucture matured, hardened, a beard that garaces his once clean shaven face, and his heart on his sleeve.

Your love incarnate. Disguised as a beggar. Nothing but a man before you, once more seeking your hand the only way he knows how.

He's come back to you.

"You're..." a suitor begins. "You're him. You're Satoru Gojo-"

An arrow pierces his neck before he can finish his sentence, and when everyone focuses, they see the stance for battle that Satoru has taken. Ocean eyes ablaze, arrows hidden under his cloak, teeth grinding.

One down. The rest to go.

A breathless grin breaks across your face, your teary eyes blurring your vision as you close the doors shut before you, granting your husband complete free reign. To kill every last one of them.

Satoru's focus is the sharpest it has every been as his arrows fly and strike through the flesh of one man after another. Chaos breaks out as suitors attempt to search for weapons that were hidden from them. Servants fly to the boarded doors, banging helplessly, pleading for escape as Satoru lays waste to every man he sees.

His hair flies about his face as he whips his head around, locating each incoming attack and stopping it before it could reach him. His pupils are shrunken, face straight and seemingly calm, eyes edged with a hint of insanity and anger.

These men think they can walk into his home? Make themselves cozy within his walls? Drink his wine? Kick his son and dog around? Pursue his wife, the very love of his life, the greatest thing to ever happen to him, and walk away without punishment? Without paying?

Satoru's teeth bear as he reaches forward to grab one pair of the bound axes from the challenge, swinging it around to thrust into an attacking suitors face, the blades chopping away at his flesh, knocking him dead and backward onto the ground. He uses the hilt of the axes to thrust backward, plowing into another suitor's gut blindly, sending him rocketing back into the stone walls.

Satoru huffs. Not a fucking chance.

Droplets of blood splatter as the suitor who spoke freely to you orders for someone to find and retrieve the weapons. One disloyal servant manages to thrust himself out of the wooden barred doors and run for the storage room, a tip having been provided by another servant. Telemachus pursues, engaging in a brawl with the bald headed man as punches are thrown. The servant manages to send Telemachus flying across the room and to the floor with a bloody nose as he thrusts a hole into the wooden floor below, leading into the room where Satoru's murder spree transpires.

He throws spears through the hole, equipping some suitors with weapons to corner the King of Itchaca. Satoru persists, rocketing arrows left and right, when he feels sharp blades pierce his shoulder blades from behind, the long weapons trapping him inside a small circle at a distance.

Telemachus, eager to assist his war hero father, scrambles to his feet and tackles the servant once more. He plunges his fist into his face, pinning him against the wall of weapons. The blue eyed boy stretches his arm to reach for another spear, which he hastily grabs and tosses through the hole for his father to catch. The servant finds an opening, reaching behind him for a dagger, and thrusting it into Telemachus' side. The boy hisses and stumbles back, and the war between the loyal and disloyal persists.

Satoru catches the spear tossed overhead to him and slices it through the air, knocking the other spears into a strayed direction, allowing him the freedom to use his bow once more before thrusting the spear into the hearts of other men.

Above, Telemachus scrambles beneath the weight of the servant pinning him down. His eyes shoot up to the table next to him, spotting a sword dangling off the edge of the wood. Just as the servant raises the dagger high above the boy's face, he narrowly dodges, mustering up all the strength he can find to flip himself over, rolling over to the side as the dagger comes down to split the wood. Telemachus jumps for the sword on the table as the servant rises to his feet, and in a flash, he pulls a swift move, sweeping the blade under the servant's neck stealthily, watching as blood sprays and the body falls limp at his feet.

Beneath him, broken spears impale Satoru's back, but he moves on, three weapons wielded in his hands, alternating between each like a monster as men continue to follow around him. A spear thrusts for your honor. An arrow flies for his son's safety. Two axes slice for his home.

And as blood trickles through the crevices and cracks of stone, heaps of bodies scatter the ground. Those who no longer wish to fight, who no longer desire to risk their lives for an unbeatable battle against and unbeatable foe, drop to their knees and the weapons they happened upon, ducking their heads in homage.

It is not over until Satoru finally corners the dark haired suitor who was mouthy enough to present himself to you in isolation, using the hilt of the axes to thrust against his chest and pin him down to the floor. He stares up in horror as blazing sapphire eyes glare down at him wide, disconnected, furious.

The king's chest rises and falls slowly, his cloth now half ripped from his exposed body. His skin is bare, pectorals swelling and falling with his heavy breaths, lines of blood trickling down his well defined abdominals from the wounds that pierce his flesh. His foot raises to press down into the suitor's shoulder, all of Ithaca's might and Troy's victory hovering over the man who thought he could stand a chance, who spoke far more than he could ever take action. A pitiful coward who Satoru recognizes from youth, who once wanted to follow his footsteps into battle at such a young age.

He grew into a pathetic excuse for a man.

Satoru bends over, leaning in close as the suitor watches with frightened, blown eyes. "My wife," he grits out huskily. "would sooner see you in Hades than by her side. And I'll be sure to fulfill her wishes."

With that, Satoru raises his spear gripped in his right hand and thrusts it down into the man's chest with a strained rumble in his throat.

With the leading suitor dead, all other contendors go mute and drop their weapons in defeat. The ivory haired man slowly lifts his foot from the corpse before him, lowering his arms at his sides to turn around. Before him, the sight of all those who attempted to kill him moments ago now kneeling in a crescent around the room greets him.

The hilts of spears thud into the ground, the rhythm of victory, the beat of recognition for the king's homecoming. Satoru stumbles slightly, muscles stinging under to pierce of spears. He looks around, and finally drops his weapons to the ground with a resounding clang.

He won. The King has finally come home.

But Satoru cares not for the men who kneel at his feet. He cares not for the walls he has reclaimed, for the title he has settled back into, for the fame that his name brings.

What he cares for now lies behind those deep, wooden doors just at the other side of the room.

He shuffles, slightly dazed from bloodlust and domination. The remainders of his cloak drop softly to the ground, revealing him in all of his six foot three mass, all of his rippling, sweat drenched, blood smeared muscles. The very sight of him speaks volumes, exudes power, and strength unbridled.

But he does not care for such things as he trudges toward your doors, limping in a trance. He can hardly feel the little blades sheathed into his skin as he walks, for his mind is fuzzy with adrenaline and the image of you that he can now savor, hold, treasure.

Telemachus rushes back through the busted doors in search of his father, finding that he has already won, and that he is already making his way toward his mother.

Satoru stops before the few steps leading up to your doors. They slide open cautiously, revealing you standing there, awe scribbled over your gorgeous features.

You're as beautiful as the day he left you behind.

You shiver, tears staining your (s/c) cheeks as you stare into your husband's eyes. You ask yourself if this is a trick of the gods, of the light, or of your mind, but as your eyes momentarily sweep over the damage he has done, taking into the kneeled stances of the surviving suitors, you finally breathe.

Your husband came back to you after all those years.

You tremble with soft cries as Satoru stares at you with all the love and relief the world has to afar. His eyes have softened, his pupils growing in your presence, and he carefully reaches back into his pants, lifting his hand to reveal the golden brooch that he promised he'd bring back to you after keeping it on his person at all times.

You blubber out a laugh, overjoyed, overwhelmed, and you rush to your husband. The moment your arms reach out to him longingly, he submits to the exhastion and collapses to his knees with a warm grin and creased eyes. You follow him instantly, dropping to your knees in turn and gathering his body, bringing him close to you. You lay him over your knee as you cry gently, droplets of your tears dotting onto his skin as he looks up at you like you've hung the moon and the stars. His hands grip your waist and upper arm as you prop him up to meet your gaze.

"Satoru," you whisper tenderly, his name no longer a hush that torments your dreams at night. Your shaky fingers trace over his skin as his always did yours, experimentally stroking over his white beard, tracing the lines beside his eyes, his sharp nose, his pink bowed lips. Your heart races, your skin flushed, your mind at ease.

"Hi, baby," he beams despite himself and his wounds, all sap and softness in your embrace, a stark contrast to the raging monster he was moments before. "I'm home."

You laugh, or sob - you aren't sure, disbelievingly. "My love. My Toru," you coo, stroking his lengthened hair. "You came back to me."

"Of course I did," he mumbles, reaching a bloody hand to your cheek. "I'm sorry I took so long."

You shake your head, uncaring of the time anymore. Your husband is here, after so very long, and that's all that matters. "I thought you were dead," you croak. "I thought you were never coming back."

"I know, pretty. I know," he soothes, brushing a piece of your hair from your face. "But I'm here now. It's been a long journey, but I'm here. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere ever again."

"You better not," you sniff. "I won't let you. Twenty years, Satoru. I spent twenty years without you."

"I know," his eyes crinkle with happiness, a weight surging from his chest now that he has made it back into your embrace. "I know. It was torture. I know I left you waiting so long. I'm so sorry," he apologizes again. "I carried you with me the whole time. I couldn't rest until I made it back to you. I'm yours. Here. Always."

You don't wait any longer. You've waited long enough.

Your heads both move in unison, your hands hold his face as your lips meet in a hungry, desperate lock. Your body slumps, and Satoru lifts himself higher to chase the taste of your salty lips, years of anguish slipping away at the very contact.

Satoru almost forgot your sweetness. The sugary taste that always lingers in your mouth as though you were made of pomegranate and sugar, as if his tongue was made to taste you. His fingers curl into your hair, eyes lashes fluttering blissfully against his cheek, brow arching as your lips glide together like the sway of a perfect wave.

You cry into the kiss, and Satoru presses in deeper.

Telemachus smiles warmly from afar, clutching his side, forgetting his wounds. The suitors turn their gazes away shamefully, and Satoru shamelessly marks his territory, kisses you as though it is the last time to make up for all the damage he's caused you. Your kiss so addicting, more addicting than the Lotus Calypso fed him and the insatiable song of the sirens, that he has no plans to part from you any time soon.

The two of you are nothing but heated breaths and smacks of lips, sniffles and gentle chuckles.

A string of saliva connects you when Satoru mistakenly parts, the curve of his shoulder shooting lightning up his back from the arrows still embedded there. He hisses with a wince, and you watch him with concerned eyes, looking over his state.

He catches the worry in your expression, and smiles warm again, only ecstatic to see your face before him and not in his tormented nightmares of failing to reach you. You frown as his thumb slides down your cheek and over your chin, light shimmering in his gaze.

"Do you like the rugged look or should I shave?"

You laugh loud, unrestrained, free, for you have longed to here such stupid jokes told at the most inappropriate times for as long as you can remember. You duck back down to kiss Satoru's lips as his head falls back against your knee.

"You're perfect," you whisper against him.

ׂ╰┈➤

You can't put words to the way Satoru looks at you as you finish cleaning the cut on his neck, the wounds on his back having been patched by the servant who washed his feet the previous night.

A thick film of heat occupies your once vacant bedroom, firelight crackling against the distant walls. Celebrations have long concluded, the night's recognition of the king's return and all his accomplishments cut short by your urgency to disinfect Satoru's wounds.

He lay with his back against the wall of your bed, eyes watching every movement you make as you dab cloth over his soothed gash, his face clean shaven and fresh thanks to your steady hand. You sit upon his lap, warm thighs straddling him, your night gown spilling over the exposed spaces of your skin, barefeet tickling the silk comforters.

Satoru feels as though stuck in a dream, watching your calmed face as you bring the cloth away from his skin, placing it back into the water on the side table beside you. You feel your husband's eyes following you, his warm palm soothing over the skin of your bare thigh, his gaze hazy, his body warm under yours.

He is still adjusting to his return, not fulling trusting that he is finally safe and sound within well earned royalty, and renewed by his lovely wife's touch. His son, once a baby, is now over twenty years old, and when he looked in his eyes earlier that day, he saw himself. Brave. Responsible. Noble.

His family has grown up without him.

The king can't quite name what he feels right now, but he knows that a good chunk of it is love as his eyes graze over the signals of beautiful age on your face. How you've managed to keep everything together in his absence continues to baffle him, but he shouldn't be surprised. After all, he's never met a woman quite like you.

Gods, he loves you. He loves the way your lashes curl and the way your teeth sink into your soft lips. He loves the way your hair falls and the way your skin melts in the orange hue of fire. He loves the way your thighs squeeze over him as if he never left, as he if he will never leave again, and he's sure that he won't. After twenty years away, Satoru plans to stay buried beneath your body for his long as he possibly can, unmoving. Sound.

"I'm sorry."

You look up at the sound of his gentle voice, his soft tone ringing out like a whisper in the dark. You tilt your head slightly, abandoning the cloth to turn your attention to your long awaited husband and king.

"Honey, you've apologized so many times," you sigh, smoothing a hand over his chest. You feel Satoru jolt beneath you, feel the way he still reacclimates to your touch, afraid that it isn't real. "It's not your fault that you were away so long. The gods were angry. So were you."

"It is my fault," he denies. "I made them angry. I let my pride get in the way. I let it ruin me. I let it kill my men, and steal away my life with you... with our son..."

"Satoru," you say his name tenderly, yet assertively. He looks you in the eye, brow curving pensively. "You can't take back all those years. What happened is in the past. I don't care about any of that anymore now that you're here."

"You should," he argues. "Look at what I left you to deal with."

"I never gave up hope," you counter. "I always knew you were coming back. Everyone told me you were dead. I didn't believe them."

You reach for his hand, pulling it from your thigh to press to your chest. His palm flattens over your heart, the precious thump pounding against his touch. You see the way he sinks into the feeling, jaw tight.

"I felt you in my heart. All these years."

His eyes flicker back up to you, darker now. "Baby, I'm so sorry I left you alone."

"Satoru, you have to stop apologizing. I'm not angry anymore. I'm happy. I'm relieved," you urge, holding his hand to you soundly. "My husband is back. That's all I care about now."

"You should care about more," he says solemnly.

You furrow your brows. "Did you find someone else out there while you were gone?"

Your husband's eyes go wide at the sentiment, disgust crossing his features momentarily. "What?"

"Well, did you?" you raise a brow.

"Baby," Satoru starts. "There's no one else across the oceans for me but you. I only ever thought of you when I allowed myself to remember. When I didn't block out the pain of being away. How could you even as me that?"

You know there's weight to the things Satoru says, but you don't press it any further. You'd rather not discuss all that happened to him when he wasn't with you. "Then why do you keep talking like I shouldn't forgive you?"

"...Because..."

"Because you haven't forgiven yourself for everything that happened."

He presses his lips together and shakes his head. You know him well.

"My love," you shift, bringing his hand from your chest to clutch between your palms as you look at him. "You've crossed the sea. You've watched your comrades fall. You've burdened the weight of thousands on your shoulders. You almost lost yourself and you found your way back. To your mind. To your home. To your son. To me," you speak passionately. Satoru watches you with great emotion, his nose flaring as you keep his gaze. "You must extend yourself grace. If you can't forgive yourself for everything, or believe that I could forgive you, then what of all that you've been through? What of me?"

Satoru's lips curve downward. "What of you?" he repeats.

You gulp. "I don't want to think about what we lost any more than we have, Toru. I don't want you to look at me and be sad... I want to start building our life again from where we've just picked up. What of me if you can't look past your own guilt to see that all I care about is having you with me again?"

Somehow, even as Satoru torments himself for his sins, you still look at him and see the man you love instead of all his mistakes. You don't blame him for what he took from you. You don't resent him for all his time spent so far away.

He does not understand how, except for the fact that he loves you so very dearly, and you love him in turn. He refuses to argue with you on his first night back, especially if you insist on leaving it all behind when the two of you are in each other's company the way you used to be.

Satoru's other hand slide up to your chin, caresses just beneath your bottom lip. Dark pupils observe you sweetly, his heart aching with want as he watches the way your plush lip drags beneath the pad of his thumb when he touches you. "What of you?" he says again. "You're everything, (Y/n). You're all that's been keeping me together. Just because I'm burrowed in self deprocation doesn't mean you're any less of the woman you have always been to me," he tells you earnestly.

You feel his hand shift in yours to clutch tightly in return, your other hand still holding over his.

"I love you," he says for the first time in twenty years. You fall apart. "You have been and always will be my perfect girl. My queen. Don't ever question where you stand in my mind. Our separation has tormented me for decades. I haven't been able to sleep. My soul ached to be away from you, baby. I love you. You're everything right about this world, about me. Don't forget that."

You breathe in sharp, thighs squeezing, heart lurching for more closeness, for your husband's praise, for his love. You are nothing but sap at his hands as his fingers graze your lips, trailing down to your neck slowly, past your clavicle, over your exposed collarbone. Satoru watches, mesmorized, as goosebumps sprout over your skin. And you feel that familiar tension, the way he hardens beneath you, the way his body presses firm and sound to yours, needing more. For just one touch isn't enough.

He's spent too long away from you. It's been too long since he has been able to savor you in the intimacy of your bed, in the privacy of your chambers, where no one exists but your intertwined souls as he makes love to you in a way that has you seeing stars and planets in orbit, that ruins you for any other man.

And how could you ever want any other man, when you have Satoru?

His hair is messy in that well loved way, from your hands gripping into them during messy kisses, and the freshness of a bath. He looks so much older, much more mature, but still as breathtakingly handsome as ever with lines of stubble tracing his face, white lashes blinking slowly, and dark pupils shrinking the outter ring of blue orbs. His chest is exposed to you, shirtless, and your hands trickle down his heated skin, exploring every scar that you do not recognize, every bump and ridge that you've missed in time.

His exterior has somehow physically hardened, his shape having been beaten into perfection by the gods' brutality. You wince as the pads of your fingers follow every unsaid story of his faded wounds, and you hear his heavy breath grow more weighted under your feather light touch.

Satoru brings you in closer by your chin, lids low, eyes hungry and desperate to make you happy again. To feel you again. "Do you still love me, pretty?"

He knows the answer, and you know he knows as well, but you do not hesitate to give him what he wants. "Of course I do," you murmur, "I've wanted you to come back and kill every last one of those suitors the second they arrived. I have and only will ever love you."

"Yeah?" he hums. You nod, entranced. He smiles. "That's my girl. I'd do it all over for you again in a heartbeat. No one touches my wife."

"I missed you so much, Satoru," you exhale as your noses brush, your eyes falling closed as his scent invades you.

"I missed you too. So much. You don't even know," he says, wrecked.

"I missed your hands. Missed the way they touch me."

"Mhm?" his hand slips from yours to slide back up your thigh. Your lips part as his touch creeps higher and higher, sending vibrations shooting through your body. His fingers reach past the silk that adorns you, creeping between your legs lovingly as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "What else did you miss, my love? Tell me. Tell your king."

"Missed the way you talk to me," you moan softly. "Missed your voice."

"And I missed those pretty sounds you make," he groans, slipping his hand lower. His thick fingers brush your thinly clothed core, dragging lightly against the ball of nerves that swells knowingly, needily at his slightest presence. You gasp softly against him, leaning further into him, and he hums lovingly. "Just like that," he murmurs, kissing your cheek. "You always sound so beautiful when I touch you. Gods, it's a crime to have been pulled away from this."

"Toru," you whine, your hips grinding desperately down against him. Satoru's breath hitches, something low and unsteady rumbling out against you as you grip his shoulders. "Please don't make me wait any longer."

He wastes no time, hastily tugging your undergarments aside, but doing so with care. "Oh, baby, I won't. I won't torture you anymore. You've been so strong. So good. I'll give you whatever you want. I'll make up for everything. I'm here."

You let his hands grab your waist and carefully flip you over. Your head sinks into the silk sheets and your undergarments are completely discarded, a string of your arousal stretching along with their removal. Satoru hovers over you, soft, primal, and curves down to unite your lips.

You whimper softly, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him flush against you. His warm chest presses to yours, your gown hiking up over your hips, your bottom half bare to the man you love as his fingers slip down your stomach and curve over your swollen clit.

Your soft moans spill into Satoru's lips as his tongue slants past, plunging eagerly into your mouth. The muscle swirls around your own, your tongues tangling in a desperate, greedy dance, the smack of lips rising into the air as Satoru begins to work little circles over your clit.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'd never forget," he breaks away to grumble against your mouth as you whine, your thighs curving outward to grant him more access. He swoons, taking the opportunity to drag out his touch, slowing his circular motion with two, fat fingers, collecting your sweet juices over his fingertips. He ducks to kiss your jaw. "I'd never forget what makes you whine like that."

"Satoru."

You call his name out like a prayer, and the said man can not help but answer. He's longed for this. Starved for this.

"I'm here," he assures you again, his pace dizzying, his lips gliding down to the sensitive space of your neck. "I'm here. I promise. I'll take care of you."

The squelch of your fruit eases the tension of years when he inserts two of his fingers. Their sheer width stretch you out from years of lack of use, and you groan out something throaty, clinging tight to Satoru as he lavs warm kisses over your skin. His teeth graze your neck as he sucks hot kisses over it, feeling you squirm with delight and hold him tighter, mindful of his wounds.

"Fuck, still so wet for me," he marvels, burying his face in your neck as he sheathes his fingers slowly in and out of your slippery folds, his lashes fluttering with ecstacy. "Oh baby, you have no idea much I've thought of this."

Your thighs tremble around his hand, your body too weak for his dominance and touch. You know you won't last long, for the strength of his fingers ache so deliciously that you can't even think straight. All you can think of is your husband, and how such things were a far off fantasy merely two nights ago.

But now, he hugs you close, marking your skin, fingering your warm pussy like it was made for him, splitting you apart with just the power of his index and middle digits, undoing you in order to mend you both again. "Talk to me, (Y/n)," he huffs into you. "Tell me what else you missed. Please baby, I need to know."

"Mmmm, missed - missed your fingers so fucking much," you mewl, head tossing back as he peppers kissed across your chest.

"I know, honey, you have them now, don't you?" he teases slightly. "What else? What else can your husband do for you?"

You moan at his title, at what he is to you, at the way his fingers curl against that spongey spot inside and hit just a little bit deeper as they plunge into your walls, gliding in and out eagerly. You leak over his palm freely, soaked. The sound lands raw on your ears, and Satoru releases a muffled groand, addicted to the sensation he feared he would never experience again.

"Oh gods, Toru, missed your - hah - missed your mouth," you whine as his lips trail lower, his other hand curving around the hem of your gown to expose your breasts. They spill free, and Satoru lifts his head to gaze down at you. Your head slightly tossed back, your mouth agape, your eyes barely open, brows pinched with pleasure, and your chest bare before him.

"You're ethereal," he breathes, ducking back down to lick a long strip from your nipple to the bottom of your chin. You whine, hips bucking, walls squeezing. "Oh, honey, do that again. Please. Need to feel you. Squeeze me like you love it."

His pace goes faster, his fingers transitioning from a slow and steady rock to a fastened rocket into your core. You squelch loudly around him, moaning out, and Satoru moans in turn.

He ducks back down to you, taking your nipple between his lips and sucking softly. His tongue rolls around the bud as his cheeks hollow, slurping greedily at the plush fat, toying you gently between his teeth. Your back arches, and his free hand follows to hold the position, fingering you swiftly as he sucks at your pretty tits.

You're a piece of art. A masterpiece. Satoru thinks so when he looks up to watch the way your face pinches in that familiar pleasure, the way the breath floats from your chest, and your pussy clamps hard down on his fingers before you gush around them, spilling syrupy release over your bed and onto his palm. He moans freely, marking your breasts as you writhe and squirm beneath him, his hand keeping your back arched against him.

Is this the afterlife? Is the Elysium? Has he achieved immortal bliss?

He believes so as his wife's perfect pussy cums all over his hand for the first time in decades, and his length aches to cum after, unable to stand the pressure of your intimate reunion.

He breaks away from your tit to smash his lips against yours again, fumbling blindly with his pants, grinding his lower half against you as you prolong your high.

"What else did you miss?" he breathes raggedly against you as you see stars and cling to his neck.

There is not much for you to say when the night drags on, and his pants are discarded to free his massive length. You'd almost forgotten the sheer size of it, how it curves at just the right angle, how his tip shines an angry pink, glistening with pre cum as it twitches against your thigh, his lips leaving marks over every patch of skin they can find.

Satoru, ordinarily the talkative type in bed with you, can hardly find the words when his dick presses into you, past your slimy folds, and eases into your tight, hot cavern. You cry out with the sting of his long awaited intrusion, and he kisses away the pain, your lips slick with spit and your own cum from when your husband licked your cunt clean after fingering you over and over.

You're stuffed full when he finally, eventually bottoms out. Tears brim your eyes from both the penetration and the reality of your connection, for it's been so long since you've had sex with your husband. Since he's been home to ease your needs. Since he's filled you up, made you take him all with his starry eyes holding yours.

"I'm here," he says continuously, as though he needs the words to engrain themselves in your mind, so you don't have to worry about him disappearing anymore.

Tears trickle down your cheeks as he pushes in deeper, brushing your cervix, your walls snug around him. He kisses you again, repeatedly, gripping your hips tight, knocking his forehead against yours. You feel the expansion of his girth inside you. You feel every beloved ridge and curve. You feel him throbbing as you tighten, refusing to release him, holding on to the unimagineable pleasure of his intrusion.

You're already spilling around his length, wetting him down to his balls and upper thighs, and Satoru loves every second. Savors it. Treasures it.

"Satoru!" you bellow, throat raw as he pistons in and out of you, thrusting deep and heavy, keeping a slow, agonizing pace. He wants to feel every second, every drop of your release, every snug squeeze of your beautiful walls, every drag of his cock against your pillowy pussy, which went so long without his attention.

Well, no more. He's here to make it better. To love you. To hold you. To make you feel good. To rip that sadness away indefinitely.

"That's it, baby," he praises hot against your ear, voice thick with tension and pleasure. He groans, jaw slack, brows scrunched, eyes heavy as his nose tucks against your pulse. "That's it. Let me make you feel good. Missed this pussy so much, honey. Missed you so much. Let your husband take that pain away."

And he does.

The night drags on in a haze of sweat and fluid and pleasure. Your fingers graze his scars as he makes powerful love to you, acknowledging all that he's done to make it back, all that he's done to be the man that hovers over you, pieced together by your touch.

And as you lay wrapped up in his limbs as the sun peaks over the horizon, the thick scent of sex and Satoru lingering in the air, you thank Athena for bringing your husband back to you.

it would make sense, honestly. 

you started having these thoughts when you first had discovered rafayel’s scales. they were beautiful, shining under the moonlight. and they felt strangely cold under your tentative touches. you liked the way they seemed to glint with every movement your boyfriend made, and he couldn’t help but bask in your attention, enjoying how mesmerized you seemed to be by something so ordinary to him. 

the discovery of his tail had you gasping, watching as his lower body morphed into something straight out of a fairytale. it was bigger than you could have ever dreamed of, fins akin to flowy silk. you couldn’t pinpoint the color, nuances of blue and purple and hues of pink dancing under calm waves. your eyes darted towards his ears, the skin mirroring his tail’s colors as they stretched into their own appendages. you carefully traced the fins between his fingers, admiring the length of his nails and their intriguing color. rafayel found amusement in your amazement. 

above being an artist, your lovely boyfriend happened to be a singer as well. his voice was light whenever he’d sing you lullabies, deeper when he hummed while busying himself with various chores, alluring every time he sang with actual purpose. you loved listening to him, really, although the sound of his voice was sometimes dizzying. you weren’t sure if he was doing it on purpose, hypnotizing you with the beauty of each note spilling past his lips. and rafayel simply smiled to himself, satisfied with the effect he had on you. 

but those were such obvious signs that lemurians were probably closer to sirens than mermaids were (that is, if either of them existed). and they weren’t as bad, really. you truly enjoyed admiring your lover, despite feigning disdain at his smug expressions when you’d gasp in shock at a new discovery surrounding his identity. 

you often were reminded how sirens were not just deadly but seductive. how else would they lure anyone to the depths of the waters? how else would they feed themselves if they didn’t make use of their assets? 

and rafayel wasn’t shy to do so. 

you thought you were reading too much into it at first. 

it started with a yawn and a stretch. tired, rafayel would lean back into the couch, slowly lifting his arms above his head. his shirt rode up and he didn’t miss the way your eyes darted down to catch a glimpse of his stupidly defined v-line and the sneaky peek of his boxer briefs. your lashes fluttered and before you could even process or pretend not to have been ogling him, the sound of a satisfied sigh reached your ears, bordering on a straight-up moan. at your expression, rafayel had only chuckled, clearly proud of himself. 

his voice was pure vice. like liquid sin luring you closer and deeper. the way he toyed around with tones and studied your face to see which one left you the most speechless. going up and down in octaves, whispers slithering into your mind, drawling out letters and syllables in such a way it had your head spinning. it got even worse when he would steal kisses after kisses from you, murmuring sin after sin into your lips and coaxing you to drink them up. and you did, with no complaints, tilting your head even further back to let the scorching sweetness slide down your throat. 

the way he looked at you was even more unbearable. tilting his head to the side, a smirk slowly curling his soft lips up as the light in his eyes disappeared under his droopy eyelids. anyone would probably look ridiculous if they ever attempted that expression but you just felt like you let yourself drown deeper and deeper into the depths of his purple and reddish pools. he looked sultry like this, seductive in a way that felt more like a trap than an invitation. you couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t even utter a word, simply staring back at him with your mouth parted open and your cheeks burning with the shame of your dirty, dirty thoughts. 

the mental torture didn’t stop there and you didn’t know if you liked how far your boyfriend would go or if you’d rather get on your knees and beg him to stop – he might like it, now that you think about it, seeing you in such a compromising position. he’d get home and, under the guise of but cutie, i’m just gettin’ comfy here! would search for your gaze, let his hands slide down to his pants and unbuckle his belt. one step forward, two steps back. a boyish grin on his surreal features. he’d pull on the leather and you’d look away, stuttering something about you really need to stop stripping anywhere, raffie. to which he’d only offer you a windchime laugh, finding your embarrassment to be the sweetest thing ever. 

there were instances where he’d messily eat or drink the moment he knew your eyes were on him. letting water slide down his chin and licking off ice cream that had for some odd reason spilled all the way down his wrist. he’d dart his tongue out and tortuously drag it up his hand and wrap his lips around his fingers, sucking on the sticky substance. it was disgusting. gross. so repulsive you felt a strange twist in your gut and a searing heat pooling at the pit of your stomach. 

“are you trying to seduce me?” you ended up asking one day, unable to endure his behavior any longer.

rafayel stood before you in all his shirtless glory, slipping on a burgundy dress shirt in front of his mirror. he had barely buttoned it up, leaving a large portion of his deliciously sculpted chest all for you to see, when he turned around at the sound of your voice. 

“don’t play dumb,” you warned him as he attempted to look innocent, eyes wide and pleading at the mean tone you were using.

with a huff of laughter, he dropped his little act. 

“am i?” he asked back, a teasing lilt to his voice that made you purse your lips in irritation. 

he was doing this on purpose, there was no other rational explanation. 

“raffie,” you whined, glaring at him with nothing else but pure frustration in your voice. 

he thought it was cute. of course he did. the huffing and puffing he was met with made every single one of his – sometimes embarrassing – attempts at breaking your character worth it. with a deceivingly gentle smile gracing his visage, he walked up to you in a deliberately slow manner. 

he grabbed your hand tenderly, using the other to back you against the wall, chin between his fingers. 

“aw, what has gotten you so upset, honey?” he taunted, faux-sympathy making you hesitate between slapping him and furiously making out with him. 

“don’t play dumb,” you repeated like an idiot, weakly hitting his shoulder, looking down in defeat. 

rafayel’s eyes shone with something softer, choosing to go a little easier on you. he’s been cruel enough as it is. 

his hand slid up your arm, drawing goosebumps all over your skin. the touch was feather-like, barely there, but it felt like he had grasped your very soul with the only purpose to torture it. fingers brushed your hair away, tucking it behind your ear, his face inching closer until your noses brushed together. you barely were able to breathe, letting out a small noise when he pushed his forehead against yours, tilting your head up. 

“i love you,” rafayel murmured into your lips, and when he received no response he tilted his head. 

“hm?” he pushed a little, his insistence forcing you to look into his eyes.

“i love you,” rafayel repeated, expectant and you repeated right after him, a small whisper that he didn’t waste time to swallow as his lips pushed against yours. 

his hands curled around your hair, gripping your jaw, pushing you further into the wall, pulling you impossibly closer. he was everywhere, all-consuming, claiming, possessing you. and you let him, you let his mouth breathe in your soul and his hands snatch your heart away from your chest, knees buckling as you messily fell to the floor. 

he followed along, laughing breathlessly at the ridiculous predicament you found yourselves in and you smiled in such a timid way it had his chest squeezing. 

he was gonna eat you whole. 

“too much?” rafayel asked, his fingers caressing the slope of your nose and the curve of your lips. 

when you nodded, he pressed a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

an apology. 

“i’m assuming my attempts at seducing you worked,” he joked lightly and smiled brightly at your giggles, enamored by the beautiful sound.

you nodded your head, glee in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around your loving boyfriend and pulled him closer to you, kissing his lips so quickly he could have dreamt this moment. 

“don’t go?” you pleaded cutely, batting your lashes at him and rafayel didn’t have the strength to attend his art exhibition anymore, already thinking up an excuse to throw at thomas when he’d question him later tomorrow. 

“‘m not goin’,” he mumbled, his eyes darting to your lips, his own following suit, drowning you into the depths of the night. 

© mimi-sunny — all rights reserved. do not translate, plagiarize or feed into ai.