I just want like....reader being giddy and giggly when having a crush on Telemachus cus that's lowkey me when someone drew him hehhehehehhehehehehđđ
Tapestry
A/N : I love Telekinesis so much!! Telemachus art belongs to duvetbox from yt ! I am so sad. My posts donât work on the tag âTelemachus x Readerâ sighhhh
WARNING : GN!Reader, fluff
Word Count : 881
The grand hall of Ithaca was, as always, a place of bustling activity. Servants hurried to and fro, delivering messages, preparing meals, and attending to the myriad needs of the royal household. You, however, were currently engaged in a battle of wills with a particularly stubborn tapestry. It was a beautiful piece, depicting scenes from the life of Odysseus, but the threads seemed to have a mischievous streak, tangling and twisting at every turn. You tugged at a particularly recalcitrant loop, muttering under your breath.
"By Hera's loom," you grumbled, your brow furrowed in concentration. "This infernal thing is possessed! It's as if the gods themselves are conspiring against me and my tapestry!"
"Having a bit of trouble there, Y/N?"
That voice. Deep, warm, and laced with a hint of amusement. Your heart did a complicated series of leaps and bounds, a sort of acrobatic routine performed entirely within your chest cavity. Telemachus. He was leaning against a nearby pillar, arms crossed, his posture relaxed yet regal. The soft light filtering through the high windows illuminated his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his lips, the intelligence that shone in his eyes. He looked every bit the prince, and you, well, you felt like a complete fool, wrestling with a tapestry like a commoner.
Your face flushed crimson, the heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks. You fumbled with the tapestry, nearly dropping the entire thing in your haste to appear composed. "Oh! Uh, Prince Telemachus," you stammered, your voice coming out in a mortifyingly high-pitched squeak. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. "Just... this tapestry. It seems to have... developed a rather independent spirit." You attempted a casual smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. Why did your words always abandon you in his presence?
He chuckled, a rich, melodic sound that resonated through the hall and sent shivers down your spine. It was a sound that could melt glaciers, a sound that made you want to abandon all pretense of composure and simply bask in its warmth. "It certainly looks like it's putting up quite a fight. Perhaps it senses your... frustration?"
He pushed himself off the pillar and took a few steps closer, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your knees weak. You could feel your pulse quickening, the blood rushing to your head. You suddenly became acutely aware of everything about your appearance: the stray strands of hair flailing out like wild animals, the smudge of dust on your tunic, the fact that you were probably still blushing like a newly ripened tomato.
"I... I have it under control," you insisted, your voice barely a whisper. You tugged at the tapestry again, this time managing to snag it on a loose thread, creating an even bigger tangle. You groaned inwardly. This was going from bad to worse.
He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, that charming smile playing on his lips. "Are you quite sure? It appears to be winning." He was teasing you, you knew, but there was a warmth in his eyes, a playful glint that made your heart flutter even faster.
"Positive!" you squeaked, then cleared your throat again, trying to sound more authoritative. "I mean, yes. Definitely. Thank you for your concern, Your Highness." You punctuated the sentence with a jerky nod, nearly losing your balance in the process.
He watched you for a moment longer, his expression a mixture of amusement and something else... something that made your stomach flip-flop. It was a look that hinted at a deeper interest, a curiosity that went beyond simple politeness.
"Very well," he said, his voice a low murmur that seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace. "But if it gets the better of you, don't hesitate to call for help. I wouldn't want you to be... overwhelmed." He paused, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, and your breath hitched in your throat.
"And Y/N?â
"Yes?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the frantic beating of your heart.
He hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words. Then, a hint of that familiar, disarming smile returned to his face. "It's a... very impressive tapestry," he said, a hint of laughter dancing in his eyes. "I'm sure it will be... magnificent."
And then he was gone, striding out of the hall with that effortless grace that was so uniquely his, leaving you standing there in a state of utter disarray. You clutched the tangled tapestry to your chest, your mind reeling, your face burning with a blush that could rival the setting sun.
"He thinks my tapestry is magnificent," you sighed, your voice a dreamy, lovesick whisper. You knew, logically, that he was just being kind, offering a polite compliment to a struggling servant. But your heart, that treacherous, giddy organ, refused to listen to reason. It chose instead to revel in the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, Prince Telemachus saw you as more than just another face in the crowd. You were pretty sure your face was going to stay this shade of red forever, and you were perfectly okay with that.
