Chapter Text
Calypso’s voice filled his thoughts, the poisoned sweetness in her words and the underlying roughness in her touch overwhelming his peaceful state.
He remembered the first time the goddess laid with him in bed, ‘innocently’ cuddling him against his will— but honestly, everything was against his will when it came to his time in Ogygia.
She had been exploring his chest and his chest alone, knowing full well that Odysseus was zoning out and looking at the ceiling.
She dared to move her hand lower, snaking it under his chiton to touch the part that joined his thigh and his hip.
She moved further, and further… until she reached his cock. It was soft, which was the only state it was in throughout all the years he had been there.
She was… disappointed, to say the least. She had expected that he would be at least a little hard after taking her sweet time with touching him.
But Odysseus snapped out of his thoughts as he felt the touch on his cock, his eyes widening as he struck the closest thing to him, that being Calypso’s face.
It wasnt a hard strike—he didnt have the strength for those anymore—but it did surprise Odysseus slightly. Calypso, on the other hand…
She didnt cry out, barely even flinched.
She was used to Odysseus’ ‘outbursts’—as she liked to call them. It was something normal for her by now. Though, she was starting to get tired of it.
Odysseus could only remember calypso tying him down with her vines—those filthy, gods-damned vines...
His brain had blocked out the rest, trying to protect itself from nonexistent damage.
But he felt arms around him the same way calypso would touch him, and his first instinct was to strike again— attack, panic, freeze, anything—
“Agh-!”
He only realized what happened when his wife, Penelope, was sitting on the ground, rubbing her cheek which had a growing red mark on it.
Odysseus’ eyes widened, almost immediately regaining his senses and rushing to his wife’s side. His knees hit the ground with a heavy thud, but he ignored the stinging pain to focus on her— his dear, beloved wife… oh gods, he was a monster…
“Penelope! Darling, I—I’m so, sosososo sorry… I dont know what happened, just— I…” he panicked, putting a careful hand on his wife’s shoulder and removing her hand from her face to examine the red mark.
He winced, running his other hand over the mark as gently as he could. He regretted this so much, his wife was never gonna forgive him for this, he was sure of it.
He stammered out apologies, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and threatening to fall. He leaned down, holding Penelope’s hands in his own shaking ones and resting his forehead against her lap as he apologized over and over again.
He looked almost pathetic, honestly. The king of ithaca—a man who had outsmarted gods and monsters just to get back home to his family— curled up against his wife’s lap and trembling profusely.
Penelope didnt pull away, but didnt exactly lean in, either. She just let the bright sting on her cheek dull out into a faded throb as she watched her husband break down.
Her breath was hitched in the back of her throat, her eyes never leaving his barely visible face.
“Odysseus.” She called out softly, her voice calm and surprisingly steady. Though, her tone lacked the usual warmth it held.
“Look at me.”
Odysseus flinched, trembling harder against her as he spit out apologies like he was gonna die if he didnt.
Well, he had been in similar situations before—countless times, actually.
He managed to look up slightly, noticing a hand approaching him and immediately burying his face back into her lap in fear.
It had reminded him of Calypso’s vines, the ones that always aided her when he was being extra ‘rowdy’ or ‘tough to handle’.
He fucking hated them, but he was still deathly afraid.
though, the hand wasnt grabbing at him to hold him in place or pin him down; it just threaded its fingers through his hair gently and rested its palm on his scalp.
Hm, that was new.
“You are in Ithaca, my love. You are home.” she reminded, feeling like her husband needed to hear those words.
He shuddered, a sob wracking his light frame as he tried to listen to his wife’s words.
Penelope’s heart was still racing—whether it was from the shock or the sudden hit. It didnt matter. She simply waited again, letting him work it through his mind that he wasnt in danger on his own.
His breathing evened out on its own, his heart slowing down to a natural pace and syncing with his wife’s breathing.
He was still shaking, afraid to even look up again. Though, nothing was grabbing at him, and he most definitely didnt feel any sort of movement.
He slowly pulled his face out of her robes, noticing how he had stained them with his tears and snot.
Gods, He just couldnt do anything right, could he? He felt like a stray dog being brought into the palace—bringing nothing but dirt and violence with him—even if it was his own.
He dared to look up, his eyes meeting the dull red mark on his beloved wife’s pale skin.
He looked guilty, staring at her with the hollow, haunted eyes of a man that couldnt possibly be more pathetic.
It honestly made him feel worse than any scar he had ever gotten during his 20 years away. It made him want to crawl out of his own skin.
The silence in the room was stretched longer than necessary, but it wasnt the uncomfortable, suffocating silence of the nights he spent with Calypso in Ogygia, no.
it was just… quiet. It actually felt nice, somehow.
He realized he was still holding his wife’s hands tight, letting go slowly. hesitantly.
His fingers twitched as if he expected them to be seized.
They weren’t
“im not going to hurt you, Odysseus.” Penelope said quietly, pulling her hand back and wiping the snot and tears from her robes patiently.
Odysseus knew she phrased it that way on purpose—not ‘you didnt hurt me’, but a promise that he was safe from her.
He finally managed to make eye contact, his eyes bloodshot and filled with a guilt so deep it almost looked like physical pain.
“I—I struck you…” he managed to choke out, his voice trembling with fear and shame. The words sorry didnt feel like enough, too small of a gesture for the kind of gruesome mark he left on her soft, delicate skin.
“Penelope… I—I didnt mean to—… I thought you were…”
Calypso.
He really thought his wife was calypso for a split second. He sighed,
“i’m a wretch. I—i’m a monster to return to you like this…”
Penelope didnt flinch at the word ‘monster’. She had seen monsters, pigs, degenerates in her halls for more than 3 years—men who ate her food and beat up her son. The man trembling at her feet, begging for forgiveness, wasnt one of them.
“Who did you think i was.” Penelope said. It wasnt a question.
Odysseus flinched at the mere mention of Calypso, the name itself feeling like a curse.
His mouth opened, but no words came out. The name was stuck in his throat like a jagged piece of ceramic. He dreaded the thought of saying it, of speaking her name.
It felt like inviting the goddess into his home, giving those wretched, filthy vines permission to hold him down (heh) again.
“Odysseus.” Penelope prompted.
She reached out slowly, her hand hovering near his shoulder. She was still wary, her heart racing against her chest. Though, her curiosity was getting the better of her.
“Who is she?”
…
He couldnt take it anymore.
He finally broke down, slumping forward and pressing his forehead to the crook of his wife’s knees again.
He sobbed uncontrollably—the deep, ugly, desperate, racking sounds of a man who had been holding on for too long.
He cried not only for Calypso, but for the men he lost, for the years stolen, and for the fact that he had brought the ghost of his captor into their bedroom.
Penelope didnt press any further, simply staying with her hand resting on his back.
He could feel the violent tremors in his chest, and it was almost worrying how hard he was crying—almost like something was breaking inside him, and his lungs burned in the process.
“C-Ca—lypso-o…” he finally managed to gasp out between sobs, sniffling deeply. “G-godde—ess…”
“I—i thought i wa-s back th-there… v-vines, I— they pulled m-me ba-ack… to h-her bed…”
Penelope’s hand paused, looking down at Odysseus with slightly wider eyes.
the name ‘Calypso’ meant jackshit to her—it was just the name of another trapped soul for messing with the gods.
But… the mention of a bed was what made her skin crawl.
She looked at her husband, realizing that while she had been fighting off the suitors, he had been fighting off a goddess he was trapped with for more than 7 years.
“A… goddess…?” she mumbled, her voice barely audible over her tortured husband’s labored breathing.
Odysseus nodded against her lap, his tears hot to the point where the desperation seemed to ooze off them through the fabric of her robes.
“She wo-wouldn’t… let m-me l-lea—ve… v-vines held m-me do-own…” he gasped out, shutting his eyes tight as he sobbed louder against her lap.
He was clinging onto the fabric of her robes so hard his hands were shaking and his knuckles were white.
“E-every da-ay… I—I sat o-on the sho—re… and a-at n-night…”
he didnt dare finish that sentence, the shame building up in his throat and causing him to let out a choked sob right before he could.
Penelope felt as if she was dropped to the bottom of Poseidon’s sea, her face dropping in a mix of horrified, concerned, and enraged.
She had spent all these years wondering, imagining his adventures about the war and his return—monsters, storms, battles— but she had never imagined… this.
She had never imagined him so small, held captive as—let’s be honest—a sex slave, by someone—no, something—beautiful yet so deadly.
She didnt dare pull away, even as his grip threatened to rip her robes apart. Instead, she simply leaned down, her forehead touching the crown of his head gently.
The words ‘god’ and ‘goddess’ had always sounded like blessings in the songs of bards within her childhood, given that she was part nymph growing up, but as she looked at her broken husband’s light, trembling frame under her, it sounded more like a curse.
Odysseus let out a final, shuddered sob, his strength finally failing him as he went limp against his wife’s lap.
The silence in the room returned, though it was different now. The secret was finally out—well, at least one of them. It sat between them uncomfortably—a dark, heavy weight—but at least he wasnt carrying it alone anymore.
“She is not here…” Penelope whispered, her voice tinged with sympathy, gentleness and aching concern.
“She cannot reach you, my love. I will never let her vines take you again.”