summary: after months of solitude, odysseus finds you washed up on the shores of his island, and a quiet yearning begins to fester between the two of you.
wc: 1.2k words
warnings: 18+, brief scene of him killing bad men, piv, unprotected, we have a bush, choking, headlock, #biceps
a/n: firstly there’s 1000 of you guys now, i am so gagged and emo lowkey, ily. genuinely need to be put in a headlock by matt damon's arms. and yes this will become a fucking 15k word fully fleshed out fic eventually where i reignite my greek mythology hyperfixation that has lay dormant for years. divider credits: @strangergraphics | soundtrack: everytime by ethel cain
Odysseus was living on an island alone, lost, with only the sound of waves and the wind surrounding him for months.
And you were from a nearby island, taken captive by a conquering king after his army had ravaged your village. But the ship carrying you across the sea was swallowed by a storm, splintered into pieces, and you washed ashore on his island. Odysseus saw you half buried in the sand, the first human after rotting in his own solitude for months, alone in the middle of the ocean, and is enamoured by you immediately.
He gathered you into his arms, holding you against his chest with desperation. You were warm, real, alive. For a fleeting moment, he closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of salt and seawater clinging to you, simply revelling in the press of your skin against his, the touch of another human. A beautiful one at that.
He carried you back to the small hut he'd built with his own hands and nursed you back to health.
You were a shy little thing, shrinking away from his touch at first, horrified and untrusting of men after having trusted the wrong men before.
So he never pushed. Instead, a companionship formed in the quiet spaces between you.
Words spoken in hushed whispers under the shade of trees stabbing at the sky, nights spent lying side by side on the cool sand, watching the moon. He’d always be the one going out to hunt, and cooking it, not letting you lift a finger.
Occasionally you wake up pressed against him, seeking comfort in his arms. Odysseus would lie perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe, afraid that even the smallest movement would break the beginnings of the trust you'd placed in him.
He did, though, eagerly await the day the thread would snap, the thread that grows precarious with every instance of you tending to his wounds after a bad hunt, every time your fingers brushed his as he handed you food.
Every morning he caught sight of you wading into the shallow water to wash yourself, rubbing the salt and sand off, the thin dress draped over you clinging to your skin. He would look away almost as quickly as he'd looked, ashamed of the longing and the lust growing heavier under his ribs, wondering how much longer that thread could hold before it finally gave way.
It snapped the day another ship washed ashore. A handful of men stumbled onto the beach, their laughter turning vile the moment they saw you. Odysseus was watching you from the corner of his eye as you bathed in the shallows below. The moment he saw them leering, he ran from where he was buried in the trees hunting for food. Grabbed his spear, the only weapon he had carved from wood, and met them before they could reach you. Striked them down with the fury he was certain not even Ares himself would possess, the God of War himself, as he killed them off, one by one, brutally.
He did not stop until the beach fell silent once more.
When it was over, you stepped out from the water, the hem of your dress dripping seawater onto the blood-soaked sand. You found him standing among the bodies, blood streaking his arms, his chest rising with ragged breaths.
And that’s when you know – he would protect you forever.
Slowly, almost timidly, you reached a hand out to cradle his face, wiped the splatter of blood on his cheek gently, before leaning in, and pressing your lips against his. For a heartbeat Odysseus stood frozen, unable to believe the warmth against his mouth was real. Then his hand free of the spear found your waist and drew you impossibly closer as he kissed you back with desperation, groaning into your mouth, breaking months of restrained longing.
Now after you carefully washed the blood off his body, Odysseus finally has you.
You sit on his lap, his chest pressing into your back, impaling you on his cock. His thighs are pressed into the sand, your waist gripped in one massive arm as he moves you up and down, face buried in your neck. His other hand is gripping your neck loosely, holding you upright as he pounds into you.
“Fuck, this what you wanted hm? To be sittin’ on me, milkin’ my cock?” he grits out, feeling you tighten around him, your slick dripping down to his thighs.
You only whine, “fuck-yes, yes,” grip him tighter, one hand coming up to hold his, pressing his palm harder against your neck. You writhe in his grasp, trying to grind your clit against something, anything, before he grips your waist even harder in warning.
He grunts against your neck, moaning your name. His beard rubs against the side of your face as he lifts his head up.
“Yeah, my girl needs to be choked? That’s what she needs to stay. Fuckin’. Still.”
He pounds into you harder between each word. You’re reduced to a mess, can only whine and blubber out soft begs, “please.”
Instead of choking your neck with his hand, Odysseus shifts. Still thrusting into you, the wet sounds of your slick echoing through the island, his arm slides across your chest, gripping your shoulder, one thick bicep pressing against your neck. He traps you in a headlock while he moves his hips faster. You moan, loud, at the weight of him.
“Try gettin’ out of this now,” he grunts against you. Everything is warm and fuzzy as he brings you closer to the edge, pounding into you with slower, deeper thrusts now. His hand slides down your waist, to your mound, rubbing at the patch of hair there.
“Please- fuck, please touch me,” you whine, desperately.
Then he pulls, hard, and you let out a whimper.
“You take what I give you, yeah? Don’t be fuckin’ greedy,” he groans against your ear.
You blabber out apologies, gripping his arm tighter. He feels his balls tighten when you claw your nails into his arm, leaving red marks.
“S’okay pretty girl, shush, just let me do all the work yeah?”
You nod, or try to as much as you can while wrapped in a headlock, as he peppers kisses to the side of your face. His beard scrapes you deliciously as he fucks his cock into you deeper, the perfect amount of coarse and rough.
After a harsh thrust, Odysseus finally takes mercy on you, and brings a finger to your clit, rubbing slow circles. Pleasure sparks up your spine.
“Fuck- yeah, just like that,” you moan softly, closing your eyes as you get closer and closer to your peak.
“That feel good?” He pants against you. You whimper out a yes, writhing in his grip.
“You gonna be my good girl and come now?”
“Fuck- yes,” You moan, loud, your voice echoing in the island as you finally reach your peak. Your body grows limp in his grip as you close your eyes, pleasure washing over you.
Odysseus jerks up, once, then twice, before spilling into you, groaning your name. It trickles down your thighs as you lean your weight against him, practically sitting on him.
You’re still wrapped up in his massive arms as he pants against you, loosening his grip slightly.
“Stay with me, on this island,” he whispers, tilting your head to the side.
His eyes bore into yours.
“Stay, forever. Please.”
You lean in, press the gentlest of kisses against his lips.
“Forever.”
And at last, Odysseus had found his way home, not to Ithaca, but to you.
u will not believe the state i wrote most of this in (hungover with five hours of sleep after hallucinating matt damon at the club)
meeting ODYSSEUS when his crew lands on your island, heading into the nearby village on a hill to trade for food and supplies… if your lord welcomes them.
but peaceful negotiations quickly turn into violence, and you can hear screams from outside your window in a matter of minutes.
you try to keep quiet in your house, putting out the fire and rushing to hide family heirlooms before he storms in, jaw tight until he catches sight of your widened, glassy eyes, frozen still like a deer in headlights.
for a split second, you see gaze face soften at the helpless look on your face before his blade clatters onto the floor. still, he doesn’t move, almost like he’s afraid to scare you off.
he’s wearing a golden pin of the goddess athena near his belt.
you’ve heard stories of him; the trickster hero, odysseus.
lost with his crew on their way home from the beaches of troy.
his men are exhausted, starved.
but he’s hungry in more ways than one.
“please—“
“are you going to be good for me?” he asks you. “or are you going to make me do something I don’t want to do?”
you stammer, words lost on your tongue for a moment until he makes his move, taking a cautious, yet dominating step forward.
his voice lowers, “do you know who I am?”
you step backwards as he takes another step, then another.
“yes.” you answer wryly, “odysseus, of ithaca...”
you swallow when you feel the table press against your back, odysseus now caging you in.
“… hero from the trojan war,” you add.
he nods slowly as you speak, surveying your body language carefully, neck craning to watch your chest heave rapidly up and down under his armor. his gaze darkens when he meets those fragile doe eyes once more.
“and will you be good for me?”
your heart thumps wildly against your ribs as you gaze into the blue eyes of the beast in front of you. then, with a deep breath, you answer to him in a whisper.
“yes.”
calloused fingers grab you by the nape of your neck and slam your lips into his.
he loves his wife, but he needs you right now.
the kiss is intense, deepening quickly as he forces his tongue into your mouth. he drinks you up like the fresh water he hasn’t had in months.
his lips are dry, and you can taste the salty mix of sea and sweat on him as his beard scratches against the soft skin of your chin.
he contrasts you in every way.
soon enough, he’s pulling up your dress and sliding a hand between your legs, introducing his index finger to your pussy. he hums admirably at how warm you are, desperate hole already drooling when a second finger to slide through your folds. when they catch on your clit, you jump.
“you’re sensitive,” he comments between kisses.
all you can do is whine into his mouth in response, thighs spreading wider for better access.
it’s pathetic, how he’s able to reduce you to such a brainless slut with only a few movements.
next thing you know, he’s pulling you down to the floor, settling between your knees as he sheds his armor, discarding it beside you before he hikes up your robes above your waist and exposes your needy hole.
as he hungrily eyes your cunt, you can’t help but feel embarrassed, trying to close your knees around him. he shakes his head disapprovingly before pushing your thighs apart once more.
he shimmies out of his pants, freeing his cock, already red and angry. you swallow nervously at the size, not knowing when the last time you were in this compromising position was.
you let out a quiet whimper when his tip prods at your tight heat, and he pauses, glancing up to you through thick brows and getting lost in your gentle, wide-eyed gaze once more.
without another word, he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and grips you by the hips, dragging you down onto his lap and positioning himself in line with your pussy before plunging into your hole with one quick thrust, growling deep at the way your soft walls clench around him. your jaw falls slack as you gasp at the stretch.
his movements are fast, rugged, starved. with every push of his cock, you’re sobbing at the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix; and with every pull, you’re trying to drag him back in.
it’s not long before you’re completely lost in the feeling. you need him like you need air.
he watches your euphoric expressions like a hawk, eyes crossing ever so slightly every time he thrusts back into your cunt, and when he glances down to see where your bodies meet, he can see a faint frothy ring of your slick mixed with his precum forming around the base, and he loses himself.
odysseus reaches down beneath your thighs, pinning your knees to your chest and leaning over you, giving himself the perfect angle to watch how your swollen pussy swallows him whole as he pounds into you, and giving you the perfect angle to feel his pubic bone grind against your clit with every thrust as he reaches spots inside of you that you never knew existed.
you can’t help but yelp at the intensity of the new position, but odysseus is quick to slap a thick palm over your mouth, catching your knees over his shoulder, letting you cry into his hand as he continues to ruin you.
you watch his strong biceps glisten with sweat above you as he fucks you, watching the muscles twitch with every movement. you claw at his forearm, nails leaving little crescent marks in their wake as a familiar warmth grows in your core.
you clamp down around him, soft abs twitching as your orgasm comes barreling towards you, with his not far behind. your moans against his palm grow louder and whinier as the flames lick your nerves, thighs shaking beneath his grip. your heart skips a beat as the wick finally lights, and the fireworks are set off inside.
your back arches when your orgasm crashes over you, pussy spasming around his cock. he bows his head, jaw clenched tight as the coil in his stomach grows tighter, tighter… he’s only seconds behind you when he spills inside you with a punched-out groan.
he stays buried inside you as he rides it out, balls pressed against your ass as he pants, figure curled over you as his troubled mind swims with pleasure. you watch his muscles relax, vein in his forehead softening.
a soft hand comes up to caress his jaw, shaky as the adrenaline still courses through your veins. his eyes open again, gazing down at you with a mix of exhaustion and solemn. he doesn’t speak, but his eyes say a thousand words.
when the afterglow fades, odysseus slips out of you, catching only a quick glance of the seed dripping from your hole before tucking himself back into his pants and sliding his chest plate back over his head.
then, he tends to you, pulling the skirt of your dress back down and carefully dusting it off like the gentleman he is, even in his darkest moments.
he helps you back to your feet. when your knees wobble slightly, he catches you, leaning you back against the table again, right where you were before he kissed you.
then, a loud pounding on your door pulls you from the moment, and back to reality.
the door swings open, and odysseus turns to meet eurylochus, who barely spares you a glance before nodding to his general.
“let’s go.”
he leaves without looking back.
minutes later, you can see him lead his men back to their ship, sacks of food slung over their shoulders.
your only memory of him exists in the ache between your legs as his seed drips down your thighs.
Imagine! For years, mermaid! Reader observed the humans from a far fearing the unknown, until one day you find a boy named, Odysseus, passed out on the shore. Protecting the strange boy from being eaten alive by the ocean, you took him under your wing and watched him gain his strength. But, everyone needs to come back home eventually. Years later, Odysseus—now a king, cannot forget your face. He rememberers the day he arrived at home, how everyone told him he was mad—and how it was all a dream. He needed to see you again, so he set out his men to catch you, and now that your destiny crossed path with his—this will be the last time he loses you.
a/n: should I write this? if so comments if you want to be tagged!
The afternoon sun spilled across the palace courtyard in warm ribbons of gold, turning the pale stone pleasantly hot beneath bare feet and bathing Ithaca in the lazy stillness that only came after a successful harvest. The sea whispered somewhere beyond the cliffs, gulls wheeled overhead, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Odysseus had absolutely nowhere he needed to be.
He intended to enjoy every heartbeat of it.
Stretched comfortably across a woven blanket beneath the shade of an old olive tree, the King of Ithaca rested with his hands folded behind his head, one ankle lazily crossed over the other. The countless scars earned through twenty years of war and wandering gleamed pale beneath the sunlight, no longer marks of survival alone but reminders that he had come home. His eyes drifted shut as the breeze carried the scent of saltwater and wild herbs across the hillside.
Unfortunately for his peaceful afternoon, there was a very important little person who had absolutely no interest in allowing him uninterrupted rest.
His toddler daughter had declared his chest to be the finest seat in all of Greece.
She sat there triumphantly with all the confidence only a two-year-old princess could possess, balanced squarely over his sternum with her tiny legs dangling against his ribs. In both chubby hands she clutched an enormous ripe fig that looked almost comically oversized beside her round little face.
Odysseus cracked one eye open just enough to watch her.
She was concentrating with breathtaking seriousness.
Small brows furrowed.
Tongue peeking out.
Both fists squeezing the fruit with enough determination to conquer kingdoms.
“My clever girl,” he murmured sleepily.
She answered with a proud squeal before taking another enthusiastic bite.
The fig immediately fought back.A stream of deep purple juice burst from the opposite side of the fruit and splattered directly across Odysseus’s cheek.
He blinked.
Another drop landed on the bridge of his nose.Then one rolled dramatically down toward his lips.
The king remained perfectly still for a long moment, as though refusing to acknowledge that he had just been defeated by produce.
Above him, his daughter froze.
She looked down at the sticky trail decorating her father’s face, her enormous eyes widened. “…Oops.”
Odysseus let out the longest, most theatrical sigh Ithaca had heard in years.
“I survived monsters,” he announced gravely to the heavens. “I survived storms sent by Poseidon himself. I escaped Cyclopes, Sirens, Scylla, Charybdis…” His gaze slowly drifted upward toward the tiny culprit perched on his chest. “…Only to be slain by a fig.”
The little girl dissolved into delighted giggles.
Not polite laughter.
Not even sympathetic laughter.
The sort of infectious, wholehearted cackling that only toddlers seemed capable of producing.
She laughed so hard she nearly tipped sideways.
Odysseus reached up automatically, steadying her with one broad hand around her little waist before she could tumble off him.
“There now,” he said, unable to keep the smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Laugh at your old father, will you?”
She answered by patting his sticky cheek.Unfortunately, her tiny palm was now covered in fig juice.The affectionate pat became a slow smear.
Purple streaks spread across his face.
“There,” she declared proudly.
Odysseus stared upward. “…I have been painted.”
His daughter nodded with complete satisfaction, her curls bouncing. “Pretty.”
He barked out a laugh so sudden it startled a pair of sparrows from the nearby branches.
“You hear that?” he called toward the palace. “My own daughter has decided I required decoration.”
From the terrace overlooking the gardens, you looked up from the basket of folded linens resting against your hip. The sight before you nearly made you drop it entirely.
Your husband, The legendary Odysseus, whose name inspired songs throughout the world, lay completely at the mercy of a toddler.
His face was smeared with dark fig juice.
One curl of his hair had somehow become sticky enough to stand slightly upright.
Your daughter sat proudly atop him, still chewing her fruit with the dignity of a queen enjoying a royal feast.
You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.The sound carried easily across the courtyard.
Odysseus opened one eye toward you, wearing the long-suffering expression of a man who knew he had absolutely no allies.
“I was ambushed.”
“I can see that.”
“It was entirely unprovoked.”
Your daughter gasped in outrage around another bite of fig.
“No!”
“Oh?” you asked, hiding another smile.
Odysseus pointed toward the tiny princess balanced on his chest. “She launched the first attack.”
The little girl immediately shook her head so hard that soft curls bounced around her cheeks.
“No.”
“You’ve become a remarkable liar for someone who still asks permission to climb stairs.”
She simply stuffed another bite of fruit into her mouth.
Another splash of juice escaped.Another drop landed squarely on Odysseus’s forehead.
You covered your mouth as laughter escaped again.
He looked skyward in quiet resignation. “I surrender.”
Your daughter beamed.
Apparently believing surrender meant victory, she leaned down and wrapped both sticky little arms around his neck in an enthusiastic hug.
The embrace coated his shoulders, beard, and hair with even more purple juice.
Odysseus closed his eyes as though accepting his fate. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “the Cyclops was cleaner.”
Your daughter pulled back just enough to press an impossibly loud kiss against his forehead.
“Mwah!”
His expression melted instantly.
The warrior who had outwitted kings and monsters alike disappeared, replaced by nothing more complicated than a father hopelessly enchanted by his child.
He smiled up at her with all the softness twenty years of hardship had never managed to erase.
“I suppose,” he murmured, brushing a stray curl away from her face with surprising gentleness, “there are worse ways to spend an afternoon than being covered in fruit by the greatest treasure Ithaca has ever given me.”
You crossed the courtyard and lowered yourself beside them, smiling as your daughter immediately leaned toward you, offering the mangled remains of her fig with complete generosity.
“For Mama.”
You accepted the sticky little offering as though it were a priceless gift. “Thank you, my love.”
She settled happily between the two of you, one tiny hand resting against your arm while the other continued clutching what remained of her snack.
Odysseus reached over and intertwined his fingers with yours, the warmth of his calloused hand familiar and comforting.
For a long while, none of you spoke.
There was only the rustling olive leaves overhead, the distant crash of waves against Ithaca’s cliffs, and the contented little sounds your daughter made as she finished her fig atop the safest place in her world, her father’s chest.
Odysseus glanced between the two of you, his smile quiet and full.
After everything he had crossed the seas to reclaim, every battle fought and every god defied, this was the victory he treasured most: an ordinary afternoon beneath the sun, his wife beside him, his daughter sticky with fruit, and a peace no legend could ever surpass.
Platonic! Odysseus after he returned home becoming close with his son Telemachus’ lover. A silent understanding between them that is hidden from the gentle hearts of Telemachus and Penelope.
Both realizing they’ve done terrible things for their the sake of their family.
Sitting on one of the beach’s of Ithaca is the king, alone, reflecting on the last 20 years. Comrades dead at his hand, gods begging for forgiveness. Until you walk up, the one betrothed to his son.
Eyes cold and hard, just like his. Shaped from the world you’ve grown up in, and you sit next to him quietly. A look of a survivor. Waving crashing on the rocks, you both look out in the ruthless sea.
“Do I look like a monster to you?” Your voice calls out, above the battering of water and rock. Steady and smooth.
“We all do.” Odysseus replies. “But when you’re in love…does it really matter?” For now he is not the king, or a great warrior, or some viscous murderer. But instead your father in law, a man who did what was best for his family. A man who has the same values as you.
You may both be “monsters,” but at least you’re doing it for the same people
I'm bored so here is a little scenario with different epic characters if you tell them: "would you still love me if i was a worm?"
Telemachus
"worm? why a worm? and you're not a worm my love you're the most beautiful person i ever known-" he'll keep yapping about how much he loves you and how beautiful you are you'll get diabetes from his sweetness.
Antinous
"i don't even love you in your normal form why would i love you as a worm?" he's Antinous what did you expect?
Penelope
she'll laugh a little at your silly question before answering with smile "if you were to be a worm, you'll be the cutest worm ever and I'll take good care of you. of course I'd still love you"
Odysseus
"a worm? doesn't matter because I'll still love you even if you were a cute little worm" he said this seriously btw.
polites
"a worm? but you're way too cuter as you are now! I'd prefer you not turning into a worm, even tho, I'll always love you!" he's the sweetest man to exist, you could be a cockroach and he'll still love you
eurylochus
"why are you asking me this..." he's way too tired for this kind of bullshit, he'll say yes tho but with a tired tone.
Hermes
he's the one asking you this, and you better say yes.
Athena
"what?" she was confused on why tf you would ask her that, you won't get an answer tho because she can't understand the meaning of this, are you messing with her?now she knows why she's been avoiding relationships for decades. great job.
Poseidon
"a worm- babe haven't i not been giving you enough dick? why on all the seas you're asking this??" he's confused and mad. run.
HEAR ME OUT odypen x reader smut Odysseus an Penelope making reader be the one making Telemachus a new siblings and by the time their done THE SUN IS RISING
(Poor Telemachus be asking "is y/n legs alright...?")
Ok, I see the vision... @bigidiotenergytm Odysseus design & @sloanslone Penelope design
WARNINGS: AGE GAP, FEM!READER, INEXPERIENCED!READER (not a virgin, tho), DOM!POLY!ODYPEN, BREEDING KINK, PEN AND ODY BABY READER, TELE KNOWS!!!
All through the night if I have to
Y/n pov.
Blood, there was so much blood. I woke to the screams, but by the time I was dressed it was too late, the suitors bodies lined the halls, leaving crimson rivers in their wake. I immediately darted to the queen's chambers, expecting the worst... I did not anticipate the sight before me...
The queen was kneeling on the floor, embracing an older, weathered, mostly naked man who was drenched in blood and weeping soundly. It took me a second, I had been 8 when he left, just starting my duties as a serving girl, and he had certainly aged in the 20 years he'd been gone, but there was no mistaking him, his eyes, his face, his stature... the king was back...
"Y/n..." Penelope's soft voice shook me from my shocked state, she and Odysseus were looking at me.
"I-I heard the screams... I... y-you're back." I whisper.
"I am. I remember you, young thing." The king rumbled, his voice rough.
"Y/n has been my most trusted companion in these years... she's loyal..." Penelope's voice held a note of implication that there was something deeper involved in this conversation. "She cares for Telemachus..."
"Are you sure, my love?" Odysseus asked hesitantly.
"I want her... if she's willing."
I looked between the two rulers.
"Willing for what?" I inquire hesitantly. Odysseus grins wolfishly at me and my stomach flips.
"Telemachus has voiced his desire for companionship..." Penelope starts.
"Siblings. He wishes for siblings, and we need someone to provide those siblings. Penelope does not wish to go through the pain of childbirth again... and I'm afraid at this age her body may not be able to handle it."
"You are young, healthy, and most importantly, trustworthy... we will not force you, but you are our choice." Penelope cooed softly, stepping forward and petting my hair soothingly.
I stood frozen with shock. Sure it was intimidating, and an odd proposal, but it made a heat stir inside of me...
"Yes." I replied. Odysseus' smile widened as he strode forward, picking me up with ease and practically tossing me on the bed.
"Easy Ody, the poor girl hasn't done this before..."
"How do you know, Pen? Have you asked?" He teased. "Y/n?" His question hung heavy in the air.
"W-when I was 17... the stable boy." I whispered shyly. Penelope let out a soft tsk for disappointment, but Odysseus merely looked amused
"And was he good?" He purred mockingly, sliding his hand up my leg. "Did he make you feel all tingly and warm?"
"No..." He really hadn't.
"Aww. Don't worry, young thing, we'll make you feel good." He hummed. Penelope took up a position behind me, her delicate hands running up my sides, cupping my breasts, tweaking my nipples, and toying with me as her husband slid his hand between my thighs, his calloused fingers finding my slick heat. I let out a gasp, pressing against his touch.
"Is it nice, y/n?" Penelope cooed...
"Y-yeah..."
"Gods, Pen, she's soaked, I don't even need to prep her..." The king whispered in awe, shedding the last of his rags and positioning his hard cock between my thighs. I mewled softly, pushing against him, his tip barely slipping into my hole. "Awww, ok honey, I'll take care of it..." He snickered, pressing himself fully into me. I let out a shaky moan, my legs locking around his waist. His thrusts started slow, gentle, getting me used to his size. He filled me so much better than the stable boy had.
Penelope had busied herself in kissing over my neck and playing with my breasts.
"Can't wait to see these swollen with milk, gonna look so pretty." She smiled sweetly. Odysseus groaned at that, frantically increasing his pace. I moaned under their touches... clenching around Odysseus' member.
"Penelope, gods I'm gonna cum!" Odysseus shouted.
"Come on, my love, breed her, give her our babies..." The queen encouraged. My eyes roll back in my head as I spasm and twitch. Odysseus cums with a roar, his seed hot inside me. I collapse in a heap, ready to roll off their marriage bed and stumble into my own, but Penelope keeps my back pinned against her. "No, no, no, you're staying right here."
"Yeah, and I'm gonna keep fucking you until you're stuffed full of my seed. All through the night if I have to." Odysseus growled, his cock already hardening inside of me again. I whimpered, feeling overly sensitive...
~Time skip~
Telemachus pov
I hadn't slept much last night, the noises from my parents' room had been... loud to say the least, and they hadn't stopped until the rising sun had turned the black sky orange. I was falling asleep in my breakfast when mother and father walked in, looking entirely too pleased with themselves.
"Good morning, son."
"Good morning, mother, father..." I replied, a strained smile on my face. It didn't take me long to realize who was missing, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why... "Is y/n going to be alright?"
My father choked on his water.
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm not deaf, father. You three were loud." I huffed. My father flushed.
"She'll be fine, my dear, she just needs rest." Mother hummed, seemingly calm.
