#amphinomus x reader

[oneverytiredwriter]

All Is Fair In Love and War

tw: antinous

CHAPTER TWO

taglist: @ur-local-angel , @wielderofarrows

I wake to the rocking of the ship and the scent of salt thick in the air.

For a moment, I forget where I am—half-dreaming still, caught between the whispers of sleep and the lulling rhythm of the waves. The wooden beams above me sway, and the faint creak of the hull settles into my bones. It is only when a gull screams too close to my ear that I jolt fully awake.

I groan, rubbing my face, my limbs stiff from sleeping on the thin mattress. My mother had warned me, in that ever-patient voice of hers, that sleeping on a ship would be uncomfortable. I had waved her off, too caught up in the excitement of travel.

Regret sets in swiftly.

“Finally awake?” one of the servants says as they pass by, carrying a bundle of linens.

I sit up, stretching. “Where are we?”

“Just a few miles from Ithaca,” she replies. “Your mother wants you dressed before we arrive.”

Of course she does.

By the time I step onto the deck, the sky is bright, the sun glinting off the water. Ithaca rises ahead—a rugged island, smaller than I expected, its cliffs sharp against the waves. The land looks dry, but green in places, with olive trees bending in the wind. The sight of it sends a thrill through my chest.

This is where it all begins.

My mother calls my name, and I turn. She is already dressed in fine, flowing garments, her jewelry gleaming in the sunlight. My father stands beside her, speaking with the ship’s captain.

“Come,” she says. “We are nearly there.”

I nod, brushing my hands over my chiton. My fingers tighten briefly over my wrist, where the bracelet I sacrificed to Aphrodite once sat. A foolish instinct. I must trust that the goddess heard me.

The ship cuts through the waves, slowing as it nears the shore. Sailors throw down the anchor, and the plank is lowered. My father steps off first, my mother following, both regal even on unsteady ground.

And then it is my turn.

I take my first step onto Ithacan soil, inhaling deeply. The air is different here—earthy, warm, tinged with the scent of olive oil and the sea.

Then, without hesitation, I dart away.

“By the gods—” My mother sighs behind me, but I hear the amusement in her voice. “Let her go. She will return soon enough.”

My father only hums.

Ithaca is… different from home.

The streets are lively but smaller, the people rougher, their clothing simpler. Women carry baskets of olives and fish, and men haul crates toward the markets. A group of boys chases each other past me, their laughter sharp in the midday air.

I weave through the crowd, taking it all in—the narrow stone paths, the vendors shouting their wares, the scent of fresh bread mingling with the brine of the sea. It is nothing like the grand cities I have visited before. No towering temples, no golden statues gleaming in the sun. But it is alive.

I like it.

Which is why it is so terribly unfortunate when my parents find me.

"There you are," my mother says, unimpressed, as she grips my arm.

"You said nothing of going directly to the palace," I protest.

"Because you did not wait long enough to hear it."

I sigh but do not resist as they lead me away from the bustling streets, toward the heart of Ithaca’s kingdom.

The palace is not what I expected.

It is large, yes, but not grand. The stone walls are weathered, the pillars simpler than those of other kingdoms. There are no golden doors, no lavish displays of wealth. Yet there is something about it—something worn but sturdy, something that speaks of history, of time, of waiting.

The waiting, I think, is what lingers in the air the most.

We are brought into a hall where Queen Penelope sits, poised yet exhausted, dark circles beneath her eyes. She is beautiful still, in a way that is sharp rather than soft, like a blade that has dulled but not broken.

She greets my father first, then my mother, before her gaze turns to me.

“You are welcome in Ithaca,” she says, though her voice is quiet, as if it costs her something to speak at all. “I hope you will find our halls… accommodating.”

I bow my head. “Thank you, my lady.”

Her lips twitch, almost amused, before the expression fades.

A servant whispers something in her ear. She nods, then stands.

"You must be tired from your journey," she says. "Rooms have been prepared. I will see to it that you are comfortable."

It is a polite dismissal. My father accepts with a bow of his head.

As the conversation shifts to matters of politics and trade, I slip away.

The palace is quiet. Not in a peaceful way, but in a way that feels… restless.

There are servants, of course, and guards posted at the entrances. But something about it feels empty, as if it is waiting for something—someone—to fill the space again.

As I turn a corner, I nearly collide with someone.

I step back just in time, blinking up at—

Oh.

The prince of Ithaca.

Telemachus is taller than I expected, though slightly scrawny. His curly raven-black hair is unruly, his skin lightly tanned, his sea-green eyes sharp yet tired. There are freckles scattered across his nose, faint but present.

He looks at me, startled, as if he too had been wandering without thought.

"You are the princess from Ethiopia," he says after a moment.

"And you are the prince of Ithaca," I reply.

A beat of silence. Then, unexpectedly, he grins.

“I assume you are already tired of formalities,” he says.

"Exhausted by them."

He laughs, and it is a bright sound, so at odds with the stillness of this place.

We talk, for a time.

He asks about my journey, and I ask about Ithaca. His words are quick, a little chaotic, leaping from one thought to the next as if his mind cannot keep still. Yet there is something careful about him, too—something weighed down.

I do not ask about his father.

He does not bring him up.

Eventually, he sighs, running a hand through his curls. "I should go. Paperwork." He pulls a face. "You would think suitors overrunning your home would mean less responsibility, but no, it only means more."

I do not envy him.

I watch as he strides off, his lanky frame disappearing down the hall.

Then, turning a corner myself, I find myself colliding into someone else.

Antinous.

I know it is him before he speaks.

The arrogance rolls off him in waves. His chiton is finer than the others’, his posture that of a man who thinks the world should kneel before him. His dark eyes flick over me, unimpressed.

“Watch where you’re going, girl.”

I have never had the misfortune of meeting someone so instantly unlikable.

"And you should watch where you stand," I retort. "Lest you find yourself tripping over your own arrogance."

His expression darkens, but before he can speak, another voice cuts in.

"Antinous," the newcomer says, stepping between us. "Must you insult every guest that walks these halls?"

The man before me is taller than Telemachus, his brown curls tied back, hazel eyes flicking toward me with something unreadable. He is—softer, somehow. His words more careful, his posture less rigid.

Antinous scoffs. "She is hardly worth—"

"Enough," the man says, his tone firm. "Go."

For a moment, Antinous looks as if he might argue. But then, with an irritated huff, he turns on his heel and strides away.

I exhale. "That was unpleasant."

The man chuckles, though there is something nervous about it.

"You have my apologies," he says. "Not all of us in Ithaca are so rude."

"And you are?"

"Amphinomus," he answers. "Prince of Dulichium."

We speak for a moment, but I notice the way he fidgets, the way his gaze flickers away. Then, suddenly, he excuses himself and leaves.

"Aphrodite must be laughing," I murmur under my breath.

And now there are two.

[antinousletmehit]

Hello, fun request here!

Could you do Telemachus and a younger sister reader? Maybe around like 14 since Telemachus was around 20 at the end of the odyssey (I know the math doesn’t make sense because of Odysseus’s adventure but like trust) and just show like Telemachus protecting her from the suitors to the best of his ability or something? And like just a cute sibling relationship? :)

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader platonic

୨୧┇I love writing platonic stuff more than romantic honestly

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The great hall of Ithaca’s palace echoed with laughter as the suitors lounged in their stolen comfort. Their voices got on your nerves, their presence a reminder of how powerless you and your family had been for years. You lingered near the edge of the hall. At fourteen, you were too young to truly understand the depth of their insolence, but old enough to feel the sting of their mockery when they noticed you.

“Ah, little princess!” one of the suitors called, a smirk curling his lips. Eurymachus, always the boldest. “Come here, won’t you? Pour me some wine.” You hesitated, your grip tightening on your chiton as your heart raced. The way his eyes gleamed made you want to run, but you couldn’t, your pride wouldn’t allow it.

“Leave her alone,” a firm voice cut through the noise.

Telemachus.

Your older brother stepped into the hall, his presence commanding attention. His gaze burned with defiance as he crossed the room, placing himself squarely between you and Eurymachus.“Are you deaf, boy?” Eurymachus sneered, leaning back in his chair. “I said the little princess should pour me wine.”

“And I said leave her alone,” Telemachus snapped, his voice steady and sharp. The hall grew quieter, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade.

“She’s just a child,” Telemachus continued, his eyes blazing. “You have no right to speak to her that way.” Eurymachus’s smirk faded, replaced by a scowl. He stood, towering over Telemachus, but your brother didn’t flinch.

“She’s the daughter of Odysseus,” Telemachus said, his voice unwavering. “And until my father returns, I’ll protect her with my life.” Your heart swelled with pride and relief, but also fear. Eurymachus was a cruel man, and you worried what he might do.

But before anything could escalate further, another suitor, Amphinomus, intervened, placing a hand on Eurymachus’s shoulder. “Let it go,” he said, his tone wary. Eurymachus grumbled something under his breath before slumping back into his chair. The hall slowly returned to its previous clamor, but the suitors left you alone after that.

Telemachus turned to you, his expression softening. He gently took the tray from your trembling hands and set it down on a nearby table. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice quiet now.

You nodded, though your hands still shook. “I… I didn’t know what to do.” He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to do anything, Y/N. I’ll handle them.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you looked up at him. “Why do they have to be so awful?”

“Because they’re cowards,” Telemachus said, his jaw tightening. “But don’t worry. Father will be back soon, and when he is, they’ll regret ever setting foot in this palace.”

You managed a small smile, comforted by his confidence. “Come on,” he said, guiding you out of the hall. “You don’t need to be around them anymore. I’ll make sure of it.”

As he led you to the quieter parts of the palace, you felt a wave of gratitude for your brother.

[oneverytiredwriter]

All Is Fair In Love and War

Chapter One.

(Fem Ethiopian Princess!Reader x Amphinomus x Telemachus)

This is mainly Odyssey but there will be EPIC references here and there!

TWs: None

Taglist: @ur-local-angel , @wielderofarrows

The scent of burning myrrh curls through the air, sweet and thick, as I kneel before the altar. The golden brazier flickers, casting shifting shadows against the stone walls of my chamber. Outside, the night hums with distant voices, the gentle clatter of clay jars, the muffled laughter of servants moving through the halls. But in here, it is only me and the goddess.

I press my hands together, fingers laced, knuckles brushing my lips as I bow my head.

"Aphrodite, golden-crowned, laughter-loving," I murmur. "Great queen of Cyprus, mistress of desire, hear my prayer."

The words slip from my tongue with ease, though my heart stutters, hesitating on the brink of something foolish, something selfish. But I have thought of this for too long, carried it in my chest like a secret flame, and I will not let the fear of speaking it aloud hold me back.

I take a steadying breath.

"Grant me love, O goddess. Not as poets sing of it, with tragic ends and sorrowful sighs, but true love—wild, endless, full of life. Let it not matter whether it is a man or a woman who stirs my heart, so long as they do. Let me find the one, or perhaps, the ones, who will see me and know me. And I—I will love them as fiercely as I would worship you."

I open my eyes. The flames dance, golden and blinding, licking hungrily at the offering I placed upon the brazier—a fine gold bracelet, delicate as a woven vine, a gift from my mother that I have treasured since childhood. It is a worthy sacrifice. A piece of my heart in exchange for another.

The flames rise higher. My skin prickles.

I do not know if it is merely the heat, or if the goddess is watching.

I exhale, my shoulders dropping. That is all I can do. The rest is in her hands.

A knock raps against the door. I straighten.

"My lady," comes a voice—one of the servants, gentle but firm. "Your mother wishes for you to sleep. The ship leaves at dawn."

I glance back at the flames, still twisting in the brazier, and whisper, "I hope you were listening."

Then I rise, smoothing my chiton, and step away from the altar.

Sleep does not come easily.

I toss beneath the linen sheets, kicking them off, then pulling them back when the night air cools my skin too much. My mind is a restless thing, caught between excitement and unease. Ithaca. I know little of it, save for what my father has told me: a rugged land, small but proud, a kingdom ruled by a man lost to the sea. Twenty years gone, yet his people wait for him still. It seems a foolish thing, this devotion to a ghost. And yet… I cannot help but admire it.

I wonder what Ithaca will be like.

I wonder if the goddess heard my prayer.

I wonder if I will regret making it.

At some point, exhaustion claims me. My dreams are thick and heavy, shifting between flickering images—golden apples, a hand brushing mine in the dark, laughter like a song. I wake before dawn, pulled from sleep by the hushed murmurs of my parents beyond the walls, by the distant cry of gulls, by the scent of the sea.

"It is time," my mother says, standing over me, her dark eyes watchful.

She does not smile, but she never does in the mornings.

I push myself upright, rubbing the sleep from my face.

"It came too quickly," I grumble.

"As all things do," my father says from the doorway, his arms folded. "Come, little dove. The sea does not wait, not even for princesses."

I roll my eyes but rise nonetheless, letting the servants drape me in fresh garments, braid my hair, fasten sandals to my feet. I know better than to complain. My father is not a man to tolerate dawdling, and my mother—well, she has the patience of a saint, but even saints have limits.

Soon, we are walking through the halls, out into the cool morning air. The sky is just beginning to pale, the stars fading one by one. The harbor is alive with movement—sailors shouting, crates being hauled, the slap of ropes against wood. The ship that will take us to Ithaca is a fine one, its sail marked with my father’s crest, its hull sturdy.

My mother presses a small bundle into my hands as we approach.

"Dates and honeyed figs," she says. "You will be glad for them."

I grin. "You think I will starve before we reach Ithaca?"

"I think you get restless when you are hungry," she replies, arching a brow. "And a restless daughter is a troublesome one."

My father snorts. "That she is."

I feign offense, but the warmth in my chest lingers as I step onto the ship.

The wind picks up. The ropes are untied. The sail unfurls, catching the morning breeze.

I glance back at the land of my birth, watching as it shrinks behind us, golden in the early light.

And then, with a deep breath, I turn forward, toward the open sea.

Toward Ithaca.

Toward whatever awaits me there.

[oneverytiredwriter]

All Is Fair In Love and War

Chapter Three.

tws: Antinous.

tl (tell if you want to be added or removed) @theyumeeighth, @ur-local-angel and @wielderofarrows

I wake to golden light spilling through the window, the scent of the sea drifting in with the morning breeze.

For a moment, I lie still, letting the sounds of Ithaca settle around me—the distant murmur of servants, the occasional clatter of pots, the rustle of wind through olive trees. It is different from home, but not unpleasant.

Stretching, I rise from my bed and dress, my fingers working through the familiar motions. My mother and father are already speaking with Penelope this morning, which means I am left to my own devices.

A dangerous thing.

I wander the palace halls, letting my feet take me where they will.

And then, quite suddenly, I bump into something solid.

Or rather—someone.

Amphinomus.

He stumbles back, nearly colliding with a column. His hazel eyes go wide, his posture stiff as if I have caught him doing something he should not.

"Oh," I say, startled.

"Oh," he repeats, blinking rapidly. Then—"My lady!" He straightens at once, hands clasped together as if unsure what to do with them. "I—I did not see you there."

I arch a brow. "Clearly."

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. His curls are a little messy, his chiton slightly askew, as if he dressed in a hurry. I cannot tell if he is always like this or if I have caused it somehow.

"Are you well?" I ask.

"Yes! Yes, of course. Perfectly well. Why would I not be?"

He says this too quickly. Too defensively.

I tilt my head.

He shifts under my gaze, then clears his throat. "I only meant—" He stops himself, then sighs. "Never mind what I meant."

I suppress a smile. "Very well. But you seem—"

"I am not," he interrupts.

"Not what?"

"Whatever it is you were about to say."

Now I do smile, though I do not press him further. If he does not know why he is like this, then it is not my place to say. And if he does know, well… it seems to be ruining him just fine on its own.

"Then I shall leave you to your… whatever it is you were doing," I say, stepping past him.

He nods quickly, stepping aside—only to nearly trip over his own feet. He catches himself just in time, his face burning, and I pretend not to notice.

"Good day, my lady," he mumbles, rushing off before I can respond.

I watch him go, amused, before shaking my head and continuing on my way.

…

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. I wander the palace grounds for a while longer, but the peaceful solitude I had earlier quickly evaporates. There is a sense of restlessness in the air now—something that stirs my senses.

I stop by the river again, letting the breeze ruffle my hair, but something’s off. The energy here feels wrong, sharp.

Suddenly, I hear shouting.

I turn, my heart rate picking up. There’s a commotion near the training grounds, loud voices rising above the usual bustle of palace life. I start toward the noise, curiosity outweighing any hesitation.

When I round the corner, I see a scene I wasn’t prepared for.

Telemachus and Antinous are facing off, and it’s not a simple argument. It’s a full-on brawl.

Telemachus stands tall, though he’s visibly shaking, his breath coming in sharp bursts as Antinous taunts him, using every word to provoke him. The other suitors stand in a rough circle around them, egging Antinous on with shouts of encouragement, though some of them look a little uncomfortable at the violence.

But it’s Amphinomus I notice first.

He stands near the edge of the circle, his hands clenched in fists by his sides. His eyes dart nervously between the two fighters, his body tense as though ready to jump in but unwilling to. He looks terrified.

My stomach churns.

Telemachus and Antinous exchange blows, the fight escalating. Telemachus seems to falter for a moment, and I notice a flicker of something in the air, a glimmer of light that makes me pause. It’s not the sun—it’s something else.

I take a step forward, trying to get a better look.

“Telemachus…” I whisper under my breath.

For a brief moment, the air shifts, and I feel it more strongly—the same feeling I had when I first came to Ithaca, that strange connection to something unseen. It’s as though Athena herself is aiding Telemachus, a whisper of divine presence that no one else seems to notice.

But even with that assistance, Telemachus loses.

Antinous grins triumphantly, his chest heaving with exertion as he stands over the fallen prince. The suitors cheer, some of them clapping and hollering, but I don’t feel victory in the air. I feel a sense of… emptiness.

And then, to my own surprise, I step forward.

“No.” The word is louder than I meant it to be, cutting through the noise.

I step into the ring, my heart racing, my breath coming faster.

Antinous turns, his eyes flashing with surprise before that same smirk creeps onto his face. “What’s this? The princess wants to play hero?”

I don’t wait for him to taunt me further. Instead, I take a stance—one I’ve seen my father take before. And though I’ve never fought in a full-scale brawl like this, I’ve trained with my family enough to know how to hold my own.

With a quick motion, I rush forward, catching Antinous off guard. My fist lands hard, and his face twists in shock. The crowd falls silent for a moment, but the cheers come quickly afterward, now half-hearted as Antinous stumbles back.

Before he can recover, I spin away, ready to make another move, but I feel the sharp tug of a thought. There’s no point in staying here.

I turn and flee, the heat of the fight still sparking in my chest.

But as I glance back, I see Amphinomus’s eyes locked on me. His face is pale, his lips slightly parted, and there’s a flicker of something in his gaze—something that makes me feel more exposed than I’d like.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Telemachus’s gaze as well.

I can feel the warmth spreading in my chest. I brush it off, but even as I leave the scene, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s something I’ll have to reckon with soon.

Amphinomus and Telemachus both stand there, their eyes locked on me, but I didn’t look back.

They feel it too.

And neither one of them knows what to do with it.

[antinousletmehit]

Hiiiiiii! I love your writing, and I also love my bf's when they're jealous lol.

Can you do either a Telemachus or Antinous x Reader where they get really jealous and maybe get in a fight?

Idk, just pls no smut

୨୧┇pairing: Antinous x reader

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The hall of Ithaca echoed with the usual voices as the suitors lounged and feasted, wine spilling from their goblets and their laughter ringing through the air. Antinous sat at the head of the chaos, his usual smug expression faltering as he watched you from across the room.

You were speaking with Amphinomus, one of the more tolerable suitors. His words made you laugh, a soft, melodic sound that sent a sharp pang through Antinous’s chest. His hand tightened around the stem of his goblet as he watched the way Amphinomus leaned a little too close, his smile lingering a little too long. Antinous’s jaw clenched. He had been watching Amphinomus trail after you for days now, like a dog begging for scraps. And now, seeing you laugh at whatever idiotic comment he’d made, it was too much.

He stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the stone floor. The room quieted slightly as the other suitors noticed his movement.“Amphinomus,” Antinous called out, his voice dripping with mock politeness, “why don’t you share with the rest of us whatever it is that’s so amusing?” Amphinomus turned to face him, his brow furrowing in confusion. “It was a private conversation, Antinous,” he replied calmly, though there was an edge to his voice.

“Oh, was it?” Antinous’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he stalked closer. “Because from where I was sitting, it looked more like you were trying to worm your way into someone else’s business.” You stepped forward, placing a hand on Antinous’s arm in an attempt to defuse the situation. “Antinous, it’s not what you think. We were just talking.”

But your touch only seemed to ignite him further. His eyes, which had softened slightly when they met yours, hardened again as they flicked back to Amphinomus. “Talking,” he spat. “That’s what you call it? Hovering over her like a lovesick fool?”

Amphinomus stood, his expression darkening. “Careful, Antinous. Your jealousy is showing.” The room went deathly quiet. The suitors had stopped their conversations, their eyes darting between the two men. Antinous’s lips curled into a snarl. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Without waiting for a response, he lunged, his fist connecting with Amphinomus’s jaw with a sickening crack.

The suitors erupted into shouts as the two men grappled, chairs toppling over and goblets shattering on the ground. You tried to intervene, shouting Antinous’s name, but he was too far gone, his jealousy blinding him. Amphinomus managed to land a punch of his own, but it only seemed to fuel Antinous’s rage. He pinned Amphinomus to the ground, his hand gripping the front of his tunic.

“If you so much as look at her again,” Antinous growled, his voice low and dangerous, “I’ll make sure you regret it.” Amphinomus glared up at him, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “She’s not yours to control,” he spat. Antinous froze for a moment, his grip tightening. Then, slowly, he released him, shoving him back onto the ground. “You’re right,” he said, his voice eerily calm now. “She’s not mine. But I’ll be damned if I let anyone else have her.”

He turned and walked away, ignoring the murmurs of the other suitors and the looks of shock on their faces. When he reached you, he took your hand gently, his earlier anger replaced with something softer, regret, maybe. “Come with me,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded, letting him lead you out of the hall. As the doors closed behind you, Antinous stopped and turned to face you. “My bad,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “I let my jealousy get the better of me. But you have to understand…I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

You sighed, placing a hand on his cheek. “Antinous, I’m not going anywhere. But you need to trust me, and maybe not punch every man who talks to me.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll work on it”.

And as much as you wanted to be angry with him, the sincerity in his voice and the way his eyes softened as they looked at you made it impossible to stay mad.