You're Mine (Part 1): Lysander x Reader
I got inspired by that L/Lysander fic that I'm diving into more dark aspects and I'm writing as much as I can while I'm motivated.
I'm using Lysander from X/Y.
Premise for the reader: You're a strong trainer visiting Kalos to take on their gyms and league. You met Lysandre in Lumiose, but you don't have close interactions. It's more implied that he took an interest in you and had his grunts keep tabs on you. You've got a good head on your shoulders, and have absolutely love of pokemon, and a strong sense of doing what's right.
CW: kidnapping, dubious consent, possessive, obsessive, dark romance, villain romance, resistance and conflicted attraction.
Click here for a Prequel Scene
Click here for Part 2!
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You woke to darkness. Not the gentle dark of sleep, but a deliberate one—curtains drawn, lights extinguished with intention. The air smelled faintly of smoke and something sharp beneath it, like crushed citrus and metal. Silk brushed your bare shoulder when you shifted, and that alone was enough to make your breath hitch.
This was not your bed.
The sheets were impossibly soft, cool against your skin, tucked with obsessive precision. You became aware of the mattress dipping beside you, the subtle press of weight—controlled, patient.
“You’re awake.”
His voice was low, cultured, warm in a way that feels rehearsed. You know it even before your mind fully catches up.
Lysandre.
Your pulse stuttered, and you pushed yourself up, but a hand settled at your waist—not restraining, not yet, but possessive. Familiar in a way that made your skin prickle.
“Don’t,” he said gently. “You’ll hurt yourself if you panic.”
“I want to leave,” you managed, though your voice betrayed you, thin and unsteady.
A soft breath of amusement ghosted your ear. “You misunderstand. This isn’t a place you leave. It’s a place you’ve been brought to.”
Your eyes adjusted slowly. The faint outline of the room emerged—tall windows, geometric shadows, the gleam of polished metal and glass. His silhouette behind you was immaculate even in the dark: broad shoulders, perfect posture, crimson hair catching what little light there is like embers.
“You kidnapped me,” you said, flatly.
He did not deny it.
“I rescued you,” he corrected instead, sliding closer. His knee presses into the mattress beside your thigh. “From a world that will burn itself to ash. From ugliness. Waste. Meaninglessness.”
His hand lifted, unhurried, brushing your hair back from your face as if you were something precious, something fragile. You flinched—and hate that part of you leans into the warmth anyway.
“You were wasted,” he continued softly. “Do you know that? Surrounded by people who could never truly see you. But I saw you. Immediately.”
“You—!” Your throat tightened. “You followed me.”
“You didn’t think I failed to notice you, did you?” he said. “A trainer like you doesn’t pass through Kalos unseen.”
Your chest rose sharply. “You mean my battles.”
“Your victories,” he corrected. “Your restraint. The way you refuse to abandon your Pokémon even when strategy would demand it. The way you intervene when you see cruelty and pretend it’s coincidence.”
His fingers brushed your hair back, reverent.
“You fight beautifully,” Lysandre murmured. “And not just with strength—with conviction. That is… unbearably rare. And I know beauty when it refuses to rot. I know worth when I see it standing untouched amid decay.”
His thumb traced your jaw, reverent, but again, possessive.
“You belong in the world I’m creating,” he continued, voice low, sultury. “A perfect world does not need many people. Only the right ones.”
You twisted toward him, heart hammering. “And what happens to me in this world?”
For the first time, something sharp glinted beneath his calm.
“You live,” he said simply. “You are cherished. Protected.” A pause. Then, quieter: “Bound to me.”
Your breath came faster. “That’s not a choice.”
Lysandre smiled, and it was devastating in its certainty. “Choice,” he says, “is a luxury of the old world.”
“I came here to stop you,” you started to say. “Whatever you’re planning—”
“Yes,” he interupted calmly. “And that is precisely why you’re here.” His hand slid to your thigh, slow enough that you could pull away—yet you don’t.
“You love this world,” he continued. “You love Pokémon. You believe they deserve protection, not exploitation. You believe strength exists to preserve, not dominate.”
His thumb pressed lightly, grounding you to the bed.
“So do I.”
You shake your head. “That’s not true. You and I don't believe in the same thing.”
“Ah, but we do,” he insisted softly. “You simply haven’t gone far enough.” He leaned closer, the heat of him unmistakable now. “I watched you choose mercy when cruelty would have been easier. I watched you inspire loyalty—not obedience. Pokémon follow you because they trust you.”
His hand stroked your thigh, not hurried, not crude—measured, as if he is demonstrating a truth rather than seeking permission. Your body reacted traitorously, heat blooming where his fingers rest, and you hate yourself for it.
He noticed.
“There,” he whispers. “Your body understands what your fear will not.”
You tried to pull away again. This time, his grip firmed—not painful, but absolute. He leaned in until you feel the warmth of him, the steady control in every breath.
“I will not force what is already inevitable,” he said, a warning beneath his voice. “But understand this: I do not take what is unworthy.”
His lips brushed your temple. Not a kiss. A promise.
“You will be mine,” he murmured. “Not because I break you—but because the world I build will have no place for you except at my side.”
His fingers curled, drawing you back against him as the darkness closes in, as his voice continued—soft, relentless—describing a future where you are never alone, never free, and never discarded.
And when his mouth finally finds yours, the room disappeared.