HELLO ODDY DEAREST!!I LOVE YOUR WORK SMM💖 i hope you've been well, mwamwaa! Your top fan, aina hereee 😝,, May I request a Jealous!Antinous x Tele's Sister!Reader smut please? :3
it could be likee,, reader and antinous are in a secret relationship after ody comes back home (bro miraculously survives), antinous learns that reader's been getting more suitorsss,, yk something like that 😭 THANK U BB !! 💖
Branded
A/N : Thank you, my love, for requesting this beautiful masterpiece. Also, if it’s not obvious enough, I have no idea how to make up a good title for my stories. If anyone could give advices, I would really appreciate it! Antinous art is from Duvetbox.
WARNING : Smut, slight angst if you squirt. Dom!Antinous.
Word Count : 2.1k
The great hall of Ithaca, once a den of boorish thieves, was a royal court once more. The scent of spilled wine and greasy smoke had been replaced by beeswax, polished wood, and the faint, salty air drifting in from the sea. Your father, Odysseus, sat upon his throne, his presence a heavy, grounding force that had finally brought order to the island. Your brother, Telemachus, stood at his side, no longer a boy but a prince who had earned his place. Your mother, Penelope, was a vision of serene grace, her weaving telling stories of triumph now, not sorrow.
Everything was perfect. A storybook ending.
Except for the ghost who haunted the palace. And the secret you held tight in your heart, a secret that would shatter this perfect picture into a thousand pieces.
Antinous.
He had survived. In a moment of political calculation your father called "mercy," the ringleader of the suitors had been spared the arrow. After a spectacle of begging, groveling, and swearing eternal fealty on the graves of his ancestors, he was allowed to live. But not to leave. He was a prisoner in all but name, confined to the palace grounds, his family's power and wealth holding him in a gilded cage to ensure the loyalty of the other nobles. He was a shadow, a whisper in the corridors, his once-blazing arrogance banked to a cold, watchful ember.
And he was yours.
Your love had been a secret, forbidden bloom even before your father's return, born from stolen glances and whispered words in moonlit gardens. You had seen past the swaggering pride to the fierce, passionate man beneath. In the tense, strange peace of your father's new reign, that love had become a desperate, secret solace. A lifeline.
Today, that lifeline was stretched to its breaking point.
You were seated on a cushioned stool near your mother, the picture of a dutiful princess. Before you stood Philoetius the Younger, a suitor from Zakynthos. He was handsome, obscenely wealthy, and praised for his skill with a chariot. He spoke of his lands, his herds, his devotion to the gods. He was, by all accounts, a perfect match for the daughter of the King of Ithaca. And as he smiled at you, his teeth white and even, you felt nothing but a rising tide of nausea.
Because across the hall, leaning against a marble column half-hidden in shadow, was Antinous.
He was dressed simply, the fine silks and gold he once favored replaced by the plain, dark tunic of a man with no status. But it couldn't hide the coiled power in his frame, the broad set of his shoulders, or the sheer, dangerous intensity of his presence. He wasn't looking at the suitor; he was looking at you. His dark eyes were chips of obsidian, and his handsome face, the face you traced in your dreams, was a mask of such cold, possessive fury that a shiver traced its way down your spine.
He knew. He was watching this man try to court you, and the jealousy radiating from him was a palpable force, a poison that seeped into the very air between you.
You offered the suitor a tight, polite smile, your mind racing. "Your lands sound bountiful, my lord," you murmured, the words tasting like ash. "You honor our house with your visit."
As soon as protocol allowed, you excused yourself, claiming a sudden headache. You didn't dare look in Antinous's direction, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back as you fled the great hall. You didn't go to your chambers. You went to his.
His rooms were small, tucked away in a disused wing of the palace. The cage within the cage. You slipped through the door without knocking, closing it firmly behind you and leaning against the solid wood, your heart hammering against your ribs.
He was waiting for you, standing in the center of the spartan room. He hadn't moved, yet he seemed to fill the entire space with his rage.
"A headache?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft, a low rumble that promised violence. "Or did the brilliance of your new admirer simply become too much for you?"
"Antinous, please," you whispered.
"Please what?" He took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey. "Please allow you to entertain the next rich lord who comes sniffing at your door? Am I to stand in the shadows and watch you smile at him, fluttering your lashes as he describes the fine sons he will give you?"
"It is not my choice! It is my father's will."
"And you are the dutiful daughter." The words were a sneer. He was in front of you now, close enough for you to feel the heat coming off his body. He braced his hands on the door on either side of your head, trapping you completely. His dark eyes bored into yours, filled with a terrifying mix of jealousy and pain. "Did you like him, Y/n? Did his talk of chariots and herds thrill you? Are you already imagining yourself as his queen?"
"You know I am not," you said, your voice shaking. "I want no one but you."
His expression wavered for a fraction of a second, the cold fury giving way to a raw, desperate vulnerability. That was the truth of it. He had lost everything—his ambition, his pride, his freedom. You were all he had left. The thought of losing you was not just a heartbreak; it was an annihilation.
"Then prove it," he growled, his voice thick with emotion. He lowered his head, his lips crashing down on yours.
This was not one of your gentle, stolen kisses. This was a kiss of pure, desperate possession. It was angry and punishing, his mouth hard and demanding, his teeth grazing your lower lip. You gasped, and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you. All the frustration, all the jealousy, all the fear he felt was poured into that kiss. And you met it with your own desperation, your hands coming up to tangle in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer.
He broke the kiss only to press his mouth to your neck, his lips hot against your skin. "Mine," he snarled, and you felt the sharp sting of his teeth as he bit down, not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a definite, angry mark on the sensitive flesh just below your ear. "You are mine. Not his. Not your father's to give away."
His hands moved from the door to your body, gripping your waist with a bruising force. He spun you around and pressed you face-first against the rough wood of the door, hiking your chiton and peplos up with an impatient rustle of fabric. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered in anticipation.
"Tell me you're mine," he demanded, his voice a guttural rasp in your ear as his hand splayed across your bottom, squeezing one cheek hard. His other hand worked at the lacing of his own trousers.
"I'm yours," you choked out, your mind already spinning. "Only yours."
"Who do you belong to?" he pressed, his hot breath ghosting across the mark he'd just made on your neck.
"To you. I belong to Antinous."
The sound of his release of breath, a shuddering sigh of satisfaction, was your only warning. You felt the thick, hot head of his cock press against your entrance. He was massive, and in his anger, he seemed even larger. He wasn't using any oil, and you were slick with arousal but tight with a nervous tension. It didn't matter. He wanted to possess you, to fill you so completely there was no room for thoughts of anyone else.
He shoved into you with a single, powerful thrust.
A sharp cry tore from your throat, a sound that was half pain, half exquisite pleasure. He was huge, stretching you, filling you to your very womb. You could feel every thick inch of him inside you. He paused for a moment, letting you feel his complete possession, his body pressed flush against your back, his hand gripping your hip to hold you pinned against the door.
"Feel that?" he whispered hoarsely, his lips against your ear. "That is me. No other man will ever feel this. No other man will ever fill you like this. You were made for me."
Then he began to move.
His thrusts were punishing, a savage rhythm driven by jealousy and fear. He slammed into you again and again, his pace fast and brutal, forcing a choked gasp from you with every deep, powerful stroke. Your head fell forward, your forehead resting against the cool wood of the door as you gave yourself over to the onslaught. This was what he needed—to fuck the thought of any other man out of your head, to brand you with his body, to reclaim you in the most primal way possible.
And gods, you needed it too. You met his desperate rhythm, tilting your hips back to take him even deeper, your own hands pressing against the door for leverage. The sound of his flesh slapping against yours filled the small room, a raw, wet, percussive sound that was utterly obscene.
"Did you smile for him?" he grunted, his pace becoming frantic. "Did you imagine his hands on you?"
"No," you cried out, your voice strained. "Only you, Antinous. Always you!"
Your confession seemed to break something in him. The rhythm of his thrusts changed, the anger bleeding away, replaced by a deep, desperate passion. The movements became slower, deeper, each one a deliberate act of love and possession. He pulled almost all the way out before sinking back into you, stretching you, stroking a secret, sensitive spot deep inside you that he knew better than you did yourself.
"Gods, Y/n," he groaned, burying his face in your hair. "What you do to me."
He reached around with his free hand, his long fingers finding your clit through your damp folds. He began to rub you with a firm, knowing pressure, perfectly in time with his deep, rolling thrusts. The dual stimulation was too much. Your vision began to starburst. The feeling of being so completely filled from behind, of his thick cock hitting your cervix with every powerful lurch, combined with the skilled attention of his fingers, was sending you over the edge.
"Antinous, I'm close," you panted, your body trembling violently.
"Come for me," he commanded, his voice thick with his own impending release. "Let me feel you fall apart around me."
He sped up his rhythm, his fingers moving faster, his thrusts becoming powerful and driving again. Your orgasm hit you like a lightning strike. Your back arched, your inner muscles clenching violently around his cock, milking him. You screamed his name, a high, keening sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
Your climax triggered his own. With a final, deep, guttural roar, he drove into you one last time, his body going rigid as he emptied himself deep inside you, his hot seed flooding your womb in powerful, pulsing waves.
For a long moment, he stayed there, buried to the hilt inside you, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his release. His forehead rested on your shoulder, his breathing harsh and ragged in your ear. The rage was gone. All that was left was the man, vulnerable and trembling, clinging to the only good thing in his shattered life.
Slowly, he withdrew from you, the feeling of emptiness almost as profound as the feeling of fullness had been. He turned you around gently, his eyes, now clear of rage, searching your face. He saw the mark on your neck, his own thumb coming up to trace it with a look of regret.
He didn't speak. He simply lifted you into his arms and carried you to his narrow bed, laying you down on the rough-spun sheets. He lay down beside you, pulling you against his chest, wrapping his powerful arms and legs around you, cocooning you. He held you tightly, as if he was afraid you might vanish.
He buried his face in your hair, his lips pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your head.
"Promise me," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, stripped of all its former arrogance. "Promise me you will not let them give you to another. Promise me you are mine."
You tilted your head back, looking into his dark, desperate eyes. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin.
"I promise," you breathed, and in the quiet of his small, lonely room, it felt like the most sacred vow you could ever make. "I am yours."
