The Hands of my Father | 18+
antinous x f!reader
summary: the palm of his hand pressed to the back of your head, protecting you from the hardness of the ground. it was a delicate touch, caring and considerate, and for a moment you wonder if a father’s touch was any similar.
content warning: CRAZY! daddy issues, corruption kink, daddy kink (from antinous), breeding, cream pie, large age gap, manipulative evil liar antinous, NAIVE reader, VERY uncomfortable n messed up antinous, dubcon
a/n: big fan of the robpat cinematic universe so this movie ofc broke me out of my evil evil hiatus. Hope to be back to writing my other fics but I am making no timeline promises (to escape my unfortunate fic author curse) 🧿
word count: 4K
The stone temple was often quiet during the early hours of the morning. It was once a part of the palace meant only for the royal family, but like many things in Ithaca, that too changed after the years that followed the Trojan War. Now at times, drunken suitors could be found loitering by the flames to seek warmth. They rarely were awake in the early hours due to their long nights of heavy drinking, so you found solace at dawn.
You felt a gentle flicker of the candle nearest to you. You would have missed it had it not been for your own keen senses. You did not turn, nor did you halt your prayers. Instead, you kept your head bowed and continued your quiet murmurings to Athena. You could hear Antinous’ quiet footsteps, the clacking of his sandals against hard marble.
“Oh Goddess,” you whispered quietly. You knew he stood behind you now, and yet you did not greet him. It was not in disrespect, but rather something you could not name. It was as though you understood him, as he did you. You were beyond greetings, and common social conditions. You often did not greet each other in the halls, not unless your mother or Telemachus was present. That was when Antinous would make a grand show of things. A kiss to the back of your hand with eyes that peered deeply but did not linger. Your mother did not like you to be near any of her suitors, as she thought of them as leeches, lecherous men who took and took and took from her crumbling kingdom.
“Deliver my father from the seas. Please, may he return, wise and kind. I ask that he recognize me, for I was merely a babe in my mother’s belly when he left to war. I ask that my father may know me, I beg of it.” You did not sit up from your kneeling position, and instead shut your eyes and breathed in the scent of honey that you offered to the shrine. An old spinster told you once that an offering of honey would sweeten your words. The gods enjoyed flattery of any kind, even the wisest of them.
You tensed at the feeling of Antinous’ outer thigh against yours. He kneeled next to you facing the tall statue of Athena, but his eyes were focused on you. You could feel it, the sensation was a familiar one and not always unwelcomed.
“Did you come to pray?” You questioned quietly, a tone you took often in his presence. Something about him softened you, like a cat that showed its belly at the sight of a reaching hand. Antinous was nearly sixteen years your senior; he was on the cusp of manhood when your father left for Troy. Not quite a boy, but not yet a man. But old enough to have left with the other men and not yet men. You had never questioned why he had not joined your father, as it did not matter to you. After all, they were the only kind of men you knew, the men who stayed. You’d grown to learn that most of your mother’s suitors had not been able to sail for one reason or another.
“My prayers have been answered,” he stated with what you could only imagine to be a half smile. You could feel it prickling at your skin, goosebumps raising on your arms at the sensation of his quiet fixation.
“Oh? What did you ask for?”
“I asked to be in the presence of a beautiful maiden, and instead they brought me a princess.” Warmth suddenly filled your stomach, his words were tender and his lips neared your ear. “A princess,” he whispered. “So beautiful that her mommy dearest never let her roam outside her palace walls.” His lower lip now tickled the shell of your ear, and you inhaled sharply at the sensation.
“And what did my princess pray for?” You turned to him now, his face close to yours. His pupils dark, and mouth agape as he stared at your lips.
”I pray for my father’s return,” you said and suddenly the illusion shattered. Antinous blinked and leaned back, curious. You felt unsure of yourself all of a sudden, your thoughts frantic at the subtle movement of him furthering your distance. “I prayed that he would know me, I pray he comes so that he may bless our union.”
A dry chuckle emerged from his throat, and suddenly you felt even more aware of the gap between you. You turned to look at your knees which were concealed by the fabric of your dress. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you remembered that you are a girl, barely twenty, and he was a man nearly double your age.
A man who knew your father, the one who left you before you even grew a soul. One who may not even know your name, or if you lived to take your first breath. But Antinous had known him, and so that made them all the more closer. It frustrated you at times how it felt as though the entire castle knew Odysseus. Your father had many stories, even prior to the war, and yet you only knew them through others’ accounts. A father that was not your own, a father that belonged to everyone but his lone daughter.
The kingdom did not pay you any mind. You were a great beauty or so you had been told, but it did not rival your mother’s. A second born, a daughter at that, had no value not when she did not have a father present to negotiate the terms of a betrothal. Antinous only began to seek you out recently, he had ignored you like many of the men who lingered in the halls of the palace. You were not sure what had changed in him or in you for this development to have occurred. But you were scared to question it, as if it would lead him to question himself. You did not want to risk losing his affections, not when it was something you were so unused to. It often felt as though you were cursed to live alone, and potentially die alone. For as long as your mother proclaimed that Odysseus lived, you could not marry— not without your father’s blessing.
The maids of the palace would snicker and call you the virgin princess. It was befitting that you took such a liking to Athena.
But Antinous, over the past few months… At times, he stared at you with a look you were unfamiliar with. A steeled focus on your body before it would settle on your face and linger long and hard. It confused you at first, until the evenings where he would take you by the arm and lead you through hidden halls. In the dark he would touch you, his hands would turn your face and admire you. Then they would settle on your breasts, pulling and kneading harshly until you cried. He would coo softly into your ear before pressing his hand under your skirts. His fingers plunging into your softness, spreading your cunt open.
You were so used to being forgotten. The child that her father never knew, a father who could not delay his departure in another man’s war a few days to see the delivery of his second child. So, you learnt to crave Antinous’ affections, alongside his sharp eyes and skillful fingers from the moment he set his sights on you.
But you could not marry him, not until your father returned and gave his favour.
“You have no reason to feel embarrassed,” he said. “Your words flatter me, and I admit in a perfect world, your wish would be fulfilled.” His arms moved to encircle you, and you tensed, nervous that a servant would see. But when you looked around the temple room, you realized you were both still alone. “But my love, it bothers me to see how your mother has made a mockery of you.”
You turned to look at him, shocked. “What do you mean?” You bring your hand to his cheek, and he leans in as his eyes roll back in pleasure. The image is erotic, and instantly you feel wetness pool between your inner thighs.
“Twenty years,” he says softly. “Perhaps her grief has blinded her, and I misjudge her. But twenty years she has sat alone on the throne unwilling to even pass it to Telemachus who is nearing manhood with nothing to show for it because of her coddling. She keeps you locked away too, as though afraid. She wants you alone, she can’t see you happy because it’ll force her to realize she is a widow. I know you understand, for you did not know your father, so you have no reason to trust in his return. I know deep down that you know he is dead.” The words cut deep, and instantly you have the feeling of wanting to lash out, to yell at him for making such a claim.
But while speaking, he lowered you onto your back. His body over yours like the hanging dome of a cradle. The palm of his hand pressed to the back of your head, protecting you from the hardness of the ground. It was a delicate touch, caring and considerate, and for a moment you wonder if a father’s touch was any similar. You don’t think this for long however, at the press of his hardness against your inner thigh. You stiffen, a bit shy. You had felt him before, but never this closely as he insisted he did not want to risk taking your virtue.
“I don’t think my mother means to hurt me,” you say softly. He is looking down at you, his other hand latched onto your hip squeezing with lust. A contrast to the other behind your head.
“No mother ever wishes to hurt her child,” he says as though to sound comforting. “But that does not mean she still cannot cause you pain. It is a sad truth, but you are wise enough to see it.” He presses his lips to your neck, the hand not holding your head reaches under your skirts and suddenly you are aware of the virgin goddess’ statue above you. You face up as his teeth sink gently into your tender flesh, and his fingers part your lips to play with your pearl. His hands are dry, so the feeling is a bit unpleasant but not unwelcome. Soon they are slathered in your essence and despite the bubbling of pleasure, you can’t help but speak.
”Why did you not join my father?” His hand freezes, but does not pull away at first until you feel a gentle pinch. It resettles on the floor as he uses it to adjust his position, and level his eyes with yours.
He kisses you first, a light peck against your lips before he replies. “I begged so badly to go. I wanted to be a man, I wanted to fight a worthy cause. But it was your father who clasped my hand, the same hand I use now to keep your head off the ground. He told me: “please take care of my son, you must stay. Please take care of the child in my wife’s belly. If it be a boy, treat him like your own. If it be a girl, wait for her to bloom and marry her when she is ready. Love her and protect her, and if I do not return know that you have my blessing.” So you see, that is why your prayer amused me. I have had your father’s blessing for many years but your mother refuses to listen to me. I would marry you now if I could,” he presses himself closer to you, the fabric doing little to block the hard mass eager to slide into your cunt. “If I could, I would marry you right now if I could. So that I could bury myself into you every night, so that my seed would take root so deeply, it would have no choice but to fill you with my babes. Perhaps a son, we would name him after your father. That way he would know you, and you would not have to seek him out in every man. Don’t cry, my love.”
You had not realized the tears had been streaming down your face until you felt his lips wet against your cheeks. He peppered kisses all over, eager to comfort you in your distress. “A child,” he says. “An heir,” he whispers between kisses. “They cannot refuse, and they will not. You would like that, wouldn’t you?” You nodded quietly, unsure of what to say. A baby would not desert you, a baby could not go to war. A baby would belong to you, not to the crown and certainly not to the fallen Troy.
…
You did not see Antinous that evening, nor did you see him the next day amongst the drunks who sipped on your family’s wine and crowded your halls.
It wouldn’t be for another three days until you would feel him slip into your bed in the dead of night. Your gown was nearly transparent, but your candles had long gone out so you did not have to worry much for modesty. You could still see him however, due to the moonlight that crept into your bedroom.
“What are you doing here?” You asked startled. Your lover was often eager, but never had he entered your chambers before.
“My love, how you tempt me,” he whispers against your lips. He presses them softly against yours and you accept with a soft sigh. How you missed him, the softness of his lips and the way his hands wrapped around yours as though there was no question of who you belonged to.
“Tempt?” You questioned as soon as his lips turned to your neck, softly biting your skin hard enough to claim but not enough to leave a mark. “My love, I have not seen you for days. I had began to think you had deserted me.”
A deep chuckle emerged from his chest. His nimble fingers gripped your chin, turning it so that you could look deeply into his eyes. “I am not your father, my love,” the words turned your stomach cold. It wasn’t even in your thoughts, or perhaps it was. It was hard to say, as oftentimes it felt as though the shadow of your father loomed over everything. His departure haunted you, but it did not feel like your own. His departure haunted everyone and everything in Ithaca. “I would never leave you, I simply needed time away. I wanted to control myself, but I kept remembering how eager you looked under the lights of the temple. You would have let me deface you, wouldn’t you? Under the eye of your beloved goddess, yes? Had I sank my savage cock between your legs, you would have simply taken it along with my bastard seed. It sickened me to think about taking advantage of you in such a way, in such a holy place.” It seemed as though he was anything but sick as you could feel the sign of his health pressed against your stomach. Large and demanding, twitching through his chiffon.
Deface, he said. As though loving you was something he did to you rather than a partnership. Often he spoke this way, as though all his actions were an act of war, not against you but an idea of you. The forgotten princess of Ithaca, known only for her frozen cunt, at least according to the maids.
“But we didn’t,” you said. “You did not take me, and if you did, why would the gods punish two lovers?”
“I do not fear the gods’ punishment,” he whispered. His fingers still holding your chin while the other lifted your dress and bared your pussy to the cold air. His fingers danced over your slit, the sound of wetness filling the room as two fingers pressed inside you. You hissed a little at the intrusion, but soon let out a moan at the feeling of him. “I fear your eagerness. Is it me you love? Or the thought of any man taking you? Sliding his cock in you and pulling out the sounds of a wanton whore.”
“How dare you!” You moved to sit up, but he did not let you, the fingers on your chin moved to hold your shoulder. His other hand continued to play in your cunt, making a mess of your thighs. Nonetheless you continued, “how can you say such a cruel thing, my love? Of course, it is you I love. The thought of any other man sickens me. It is you, it has always been you who has fascinated me since I was a girl even when you had ignored me so often. It was you who my father gave his blessing, as you claimed, so is it not reasonable to think you my only man?”
“That is the problem,” he said. His hand pulled out of you, leaving you with a sudden feeling of cold and emptiness. You watched as he sucked his fingers, his eyes shut as he cherished the taste. You felt the urge to clench your thighs but could not as your legs were spread around his. “Your father, merely a shade. He plagues you, he plagues everything in this land.” He sits up to slide his chiffon over his shoulders, tossing it away somewhere near the edge of the bed. His body is revealed to you, bare for the first time. A solid wall of pale skin, unmarked from battle. Standing below it, a large cock heavy and leaking at its reddened tip. He strokes it with the hand that was inside you.
“What do you mean?” You ask nervously, for you had never seen his appendage before. You could not move your eyes from it, mesmerized by its stark difference from what your own body possessed.
“He is everywhere, in everything. A man who so shamelessly abandoned you without even waiting a measly three days for your birth. Why? Because he knew he was leaving a healthy first born son behind. So what mattered of you or his wife’s health.”
“What would you have me do? I was taught we must wait for him, and I was told he had no choice but to leave when he did. He cared enough to ask you to take care of me, of us.” He leaned forward, placing his elbow next to your head to prop himself up. You froze at the sensation of his cock nudging your entrance.
As if sensing your fear, he spoke, “I promise only the tip, my love. I have to feel you. No more than that, not unless you beg me for more then perhaps I may give into instinct.” You breathed shallowly as you felt it penetrate you, a light pain as even his fingers had not been able to stretch you this widely before. Then suddenly he stopped, keeping to his word.
“He did care enough to ask, but not enough to stay nor enough to come back. Every other man who returned to his kingdom only took at most two years. Assuming your father is still alive, that would mean an additional eighteen years of nothing. What has kept him so far gone? Do not say he is lost, for we know not a single person could match his navigational expertise.” Antinous’ words made sense, but the hollow delivery did nothing to soothe your heart. You felt empty all of a sudden, not until you felt his tip slip out of you and push back in. You gasped at the feeling, the sensation shooting pleasure through your body.
“What can I do?” You asked, your voice laced with pleasure and with longing. Longing for what? You felt unsure.
“Replace this idea, this idea of the man Odysseus. This man who is only your father through seed. Replace him with me, and I promise you will never feel so lonely again.” He continued to rock shallowly into you, his face strained as though it took all his power to hold back. You reached for his shoulder to grasp, but he harshly pinned your hand to the bed. Sweat rolled down his face, dripping onto yours. Its saltiness catching on the side of your lip.
“But how? He is so deep within me.” At the word deep, Antinous shuddered. His cock buried itself slightly deeper before pulling out entirely, and rubbing itself between your folds.
“I remember hearing your cries as a girl, for daddy. A daddy you did not know, sniffling for him. For this idea of a man.” He practically spat the words out, his fist moving to pump itself against your slick entrance. “I am no idea, I am a man eager and fertile between your legs. Call me by this name, I am more deserving than he is. Do it now, whisper it.” The thought left you sick, a perversion of a title only meant for one man. But you listened nonetheless, and so you said:
”Daddy,” and Antinous shuddered harshly. His cock sliding shallowly through your wet folds. His hips rocked so as to not quite fill you, but as you continued to murmur the word, as it slurred and felt less like a word and more like mindless babbling— his cock began to slip in deeper.
“Who am I?”
“Da..” You could feel his cock slide deeper, his hips slowing to accommodate the stretch you felt. “Oh Antinous!” You cried, only for a light slap to be delivered to your cheek.
“Do not forget who I am,” he said with a snarl. His hand gently held your throat, forcing your eyes to follow his. “Say my title, and remember no man but me has done enough to earn it.” His hips continued to rut against you harshly, the tip having already been buried in your sweetest depths brushing against your cervix.
“Daddy,” you said, humiliated. He shuddered, his hips angling to bury his shaft impossibly deeper into your wet heat. You chanted the title, encouraging him to fuck you faster and harder. His hands pressed against your throat and stomach, forcing you down as he continued his pursuit. Pursuit of what? You did not know.
Soon, neither did you know where you ended and he began, the words only the tip barely a memory now. You hardly remember lifting your hips to aid him further in you, his weeping cock filling you in its entirety as you moaned for him, his scent, his sweat, his breath and cock replacing the foggy images you had for a man named… named… nam…
“Papa,” you sobbed as you felt yourself tighten around Antinous’ shaft. You could only see stars in your eyes, but you could feel Antinous everywhere as he continued to rut harshly into you, sure to leave bruises across your skin in the morning. You gripped your nails into his back, likely the first scars to reach his skin and felt another gasp escape your throat at the sensation of his seed filling you with warmth.
You gasped at the sensation, feeling Antinous begin to pull away until your weak legs moved to wrap around his hips. You did not want his warmth to disappear, you did not want to see him leave. The heat of his seed and cock felt so heavy inside you, but you could not see it disappear. Antinous kissed your cheeks, seemingly content with staying inside you as his cock softened and seed spilt across your thighs. He hushed your cries, and kissed your tears. “Your papa is here,” he whispered into your ear, sucking the lobe. You try to ignore the way his words make you feel a bit sick, how everything felt sick, but you couldn’t explain why.
