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writtenbyeli · 1 month ago

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MAX VERSTAPPEN

the cut that always bleeds / july 1, 2025

main masterlist 🖇️ home

warnings: sadness, angst, pregnancy, negative body image, talk about unworthiness, fluff, swearing

pairing: max verstappen x pregnant wife!reader

it was a chilly sunday evening, the day of max’s race in las vegas. he came out on top despite a rather unfortunate qualifying the day prior.

you were heavily pregnant, eight months to be exact. max had practically begged you to stay home from the races and chaos at around the three month mark.

so as you waited for him to come home, you began cooking his favorite meal. max loved this dish, sometimes it seemed he loved it more than he loved you, which he obviously denied.

wanting to do something sweet for him and have food prepared once he got home, you slipped into a beautiful long silky dress. his favorite one you owned.

you spent what felt like hours preparing and setting up everything for your at-home-date.

shortly after you lit the candle in the center of the table, max came through the door, grinning from ear to ear.

“hello beautiful.” he beamed once his eyes fell on you.

“hello handsome.” you giggled as he dropped everything and ran over to you.

“i love your outfit baby, what’s the occasion?” he asked, admiring just how good you looked in that dress, his favorite.

“well, you know, since you won and everything, just to be nice…” you dragged out, slightly stepping out of the way to showcase the sight behind you.

max’s eyes widened, “wow—i don’t know what to say.”

“you don’t have to say anything, come sit down.” you smirked, gently guiding your stunned husband to his seat.

“my favorite!” he shouted, seeing what you had spent so much time making. “and the ambiance is beautiful as well schatje.”

“i don’t think you’ve ever used that word in a sentence before.” you laughed, pouring him a small glass of champagne.

“definitely not.” he chuckled in response. “champagne for me, and none for the lady.”

“obviously.” you rolled your eyes sarcastically, setting the bottle back down on the counter.

“how is your food baby?” you grinned, watching as he slowly savored each bite.

“it’s exquisite, thank you dear.” he wiped his face with a napkin, acting posh to accommodate the dinner.

“okay max, this isn’t a michelin star restaurant, no need for charades.” you joked, continuing to scarf down your portion.

you did truthfully want to make max his favorite meal, but there may have also been a little bit in it for you. you’d been craving the dish all day, and by craving, i mean insatiably hungry for it.

before your pregnancy, you weren’t that big of a fan. the toppings adding weird definition to the pasta, the sauce tasting a little too tangy, but now it was different.

you wanted to savor the food, and your date as well, but you were extremely hungry. eating for two wasn’t easy in any capacity.

and that’s when he said it, a quick remark, digging at how much you’d aten. “slow down baby, you’ve already eaten two servings.”

you didn’t want that comment to hurt, nor did you expect it to. but it did, and it hurt bad.

he didn’t notice the way the glimmer in your eyes faltered, too immersed in what a wonderful day he’d been having.

“yeah, i guess it is a lot.” you forced out a snicker at his words.

he didn’t even notice the way you uncomfortably shifted in your seat, absentmindedly messing with the sleeve of your dress.

you awkwardly sat through the rest of the dinner, though answering all his questions and engaging as you normally would.

he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, he was just pointing it out. but it didn’t stop the comment from making your chest ache.

the dinner concluded and you both washed the dishes in silence. to him, it was a comfortable silence, it hadn’t been awkward between you two since you started dating. but to you, it was an uncomfortable silence. your ears rang, trying desperately to act as normal as possible.

as you set the last plate in the cupboard, max spoke up. “let’s watch a movie to end the night, you can pick.”

“i would love that.” you smiled, masking the pain flooding through every vein in your body.

you’d tried so hard these past eight months to remain that ‘beautiful, perfect, wife of max verstappen’ as the press called you. you’d overanalyzed every piece of yourself for months while you should’ve been enjoying this new stage of life.

you wanted him to always find you beautiful, even if you did gain 15 pounds, even if you were eating more.

and his remark made it feel like even he didn’t think you were pretty. it made you overthink every intimate interaction and conversation you’d had with him since the pregnancy began.

did he still find you attractive? was he turned off by the way you looked now? could he ever find you attractive again?

the hypotheticals racing through your mind felt like one big punch to the face.

“max, i’m gonna go change really quick.” you half-smirked, the words barely coming out.

“sounds good liefje.” he spoke gently, grazing your arm softly as you stood up.

changing into your short, silk pajamas, the ones you wore once in a blue moon, you couldn’t bare to hold back the tears.

you cried silently as you changed, hoping against hope max wouldn’t hear you.

you slowly stepped over to your bed, sitting on the edge, facing the wall. the fact that no matter what you looked like you were always beautiful, ceased to spend even a waking second in your mind.

you sighed deeply, wiping the remaining stray tears as you prepared to—

knock.

your whole body tensed.

“honey, what’s taking so long in there? is everything okay?” max asked, worry laced in his concern.

you didn’t have the guts to reply, what could you have said? no, everything’s not okay. something you said that should’ve had no affect made me feel like the shittiest person alive and i’m trying to hide it from you.

after no response, he cracked the door open slightly, just enough to see you sitting motionless, your face out of view.

“what’s going on?” he frowned, turning the lamp on before shuffling over to your side of the bed.

he could’ve sworn his heart shattered when he saw your face. your red-stained cheeks shooting daggers through his heart.

“schatje…” he cooed, pulling your chin up so you’d look him in the eyes.

you didn’t say anything, you couldn’t or else you’d break down again right in front of him.

“why are you upset baby?” he asked, gently sliding the hair out of your face.

“i try max, i’m trying.” you blurted, your tone harsher than intended.

he sat down next you, confusion riddled in his features. “trying to what?”

“be beautiful. be pretty for you.” you croaked out after a moment of silence.

his body tensed. “what do you mean? you know i think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“no max. i don’t know that.” you cried, dropping your head into your hands. “i’ve been trying these past eight months to remain as pretty as i could, for you. i can’t let myself go because there’s a possibility you might not love me anymore.”

“i’ll always love you babe. what brought this on?” he sighed, pulling you into his shoulder.

“you said i needed to slow down on my eating.” you admitted, the words coming out barely above a whisper.

the realization hit him, the moment replaying in his head unwillingly. “no, oh my gosh. fuck. i-i’m so sorry.”

“i’m so sorry, i promise i didn’t mean it like that. i was just worried you’d get sick. i don’t care how much you eat baby, i want you to eat more. you’re growing our baby inside of you.” he apologized, feeling terrible for how this affected you.

“i can’t bare to realize that i made you feel, even for a second, that you aren’t worthy enough for me, or that you are anything less than absolutely gorgeous.” he sniffled, caressing your hair with his palm.

“i’m sorry. i want to look how i did before—this, but it’s hard. i know i look different and—” you cried, the gravity of his words not hitting you yet.

“stop—don’t. you don’t have to feel sorry about anything. i’m sorry that i didn’t understand how much you were going through.” he shook his head, pulling you even closer into him.

“i should’ve noticed, i can’t imagine how you must’ve felt. i think you’re beautiful, no matter what you do, no matter how you look, even if you aged 50 years i will always think you’re perfect.” he whispered into your hair, rubbing circles on your arm with the padding of his thumb.

“so you’re not mad that i’m not as pretty as i used to be? i’ve tried—” you began, looking up at his tear-brimmed eyes.

“no, i will always think you’re perfect. no ifs, ands, or buts about it. i’m sorry i ever made you feel inferior, i wonder every single day how i got to be with someone like you.” he explained, hoping his words would bring you the comfort you desired.

“i knew you weren’t trying to be mean max, it just hurt because i’ve been trying to keep my figure the same, and i guess i just let myself go.” you sighed, gently leaning into his touch.

“stop talking like that, i don’t care how much you weigh or how your body looks. i. will. always. think. you’re. perfect. you don’t need to change yourself for anyone, especially not me.” he rubbed his eyes, resting his hand on your lower back.

“okay.” you muttered, exhausted from the torment of your thoughts.

“is that why you put this on?” he gestured towards your pajamas. “because you thought it would make me more attracted to you?”

you nodded shamefully.

“you could wear a trash bag and i’d still be as attracted to you as i am now. i love you. please don’t change for me, or anyone else for that matter.” he pleaded, gently grabbing your face in his hands.

“i won’t baby, i love you too.”

a/n: i saw someone currently working on this prompt and was inspired by it, i’m not sure who it was but if anyone can find it lmk!

@writtenbyeli 2025

written by eli <3

#f1 #formula one #formula 1 #drivers #f1 2025 #f1 drivers #paddock #grid #f1 grid imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fiction #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

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Ours to Protect

Charles Leclerc x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: life with your boys may be chaotic but, through all the ups and downs, you wouldn’t change it for the world

Warnings: depictions of injury, vague descriptions of pregnancy, and Jos Verstappen being Jos Verstappen

You take a deep breath as you step out of the car, the roar of the crowd already audible even from the secure paddock parking area.

Your stomach flutters with nerves and excitement as you smooth down your outfit and head towards the paddock entrance. This is your first race of the season and the reporters and fans are always rabid at the start of a new year.

As you enter the paddock you glance around, looking for Charles or Max but neither are immediately visible in the organized chaos. You clutch your paddock pass, suddenly feeling self-conscious walking through alone.

The other drivers’ wives and girlfriends are already gathered in small groups, greeting each other with cheek kisses as they exchange pleasantries. A few give you sidelong glances as you walk by, no doubt wondering why you’re alone when the rest of them arrived together with their partners.

You keep your head high, ignoring the looks. Your relationship with Charles and Max has been going strong and so far you’ve kept it private, with only close friends and family aware that the three of you are together. The public and the media still think of you as just a friend and you aren’t sure how they would react if they knew the truth. The three of you have discussed going public but agreed it’s better to wait, wanting to enjoy your time together out of the spotlight for now.

Still, you wish Charles or Max were with you as a buffer from prying eyes. You check your phone but there are no new messages. They must both still be busy with their pre-race preparations. Taking a deep breath, you make your way towards the Red Bull garage first, figuring you’ll find Max there.

As you approach, you spot a small crowd of reporters loitering near the garage entrance. They perk up as they see you coming, immediately descending upon you with microphones and cameras.

“Y/N! Over here!” One calls out. “Are you here to see Max?”

You stop short, feeling cornered as they form a semi-circle around you. “Um, yes, I’m just heading to the garage to say hi,” you say carefully.

“And what about Charles?” Another reporter asks, eyebrow raised suggestively. “Will you be visiting him in the Ferrari garage as well?”

You freeze, panic rising. Do they know about your relationship? You haven’t been seen together in public yet. “I-I’m friends with both Charles and Max,” you stammer.

“Just friends?” A third reporter chimes in skeptically. “Our sources say you’ve been getting very cozy with the two drivers lately. Care to comment on the rumors that you’re stringing them both along?”

You take a step back, heart pounding as their questions come rapid-fire.

“Are you cheating on one with the other?”

“How long do you think you can keep this charade going before they realize?”

“Doesn’t it bother you, playing with their feelings like this?”

Their accusations hit you like blows, your anxiety spiking as you find yourself backed up against a wall, cameras flashing in your face. This is your worst fear come to life. You look around desperately for an escape but find only unsympathetic faces staring back at you, judging you.

“I … I have to go,” you gasp out, ducking your head and pushing your way blindly through the crush of bodies. You can hear them calling out more questions but you block it out, focused only on getting away. You’re shaking and feel sick, tears pricking at your eyes.

Is this what it will be like if you ever go public? This is exactly why you wanted to keep it quiet.

Suddenly you collide with a solid chest. Strong hands grasp your shoulders and you look up with a start to see Max gazing down at you, concern creasing his brow.

“Whoa, schatje, what happened?” He asks. He glances over your shoulder at the reporters who have reluctantly backed off but are still hovering nearby. Max’s jaw tightens as he seems to grasp the situation.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you say shakily, embarrassed by your reaction.

Max studies your face, clearly unconvinced. “Come on, let’s get you out of here,” he says gently, keeping an arm wrapped securely around you as he guides you away from prying eyes.

Once you’re safely inside the Red Bull motorhome, Max steers you over to a quiet corner and helps you sit. Crouching down in front of you, he brushes a strand of hair back from your face. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You take a shuddering breath, willing yourself to calm down. “The reporters ambushed me outside. They started accusing me of stringing you and Charles along. I just panicked and had to get out of there.”

Max’s face darkens. “Those goddamn vultures. What the hell gives them the right ...” He cuts off his tirade with a sigh, taking your hands in his. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that alone. I should have been there with you.”

You give him a shaky smile. “It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Max kisses your forehead. “Let me go talk to Charlie so he knows what happened. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nod gratefully. After Max leaves you take deep breaths, willing your racing heart to settle. You knew the secrecy couldn’t last forever but you weren’t prepared for the cruelty of those reporters. The idea of having to face that regularly if you go public makes you feel ill.

You’re lost in thought when another familiar voice says your name. Looking up you see Charles hurrying over, the same concerned look on his face that Max wore earlier. You stand and Charles immediately folds you into a tight hug.

“Are you alright, ma belle?” He murmurs. “Max told me what happened.”

You cling to him, taking comfort in his embrace. “I’m okay now. Just a bit shaken up.”

Charles’ jaw is tight as he pulls back to look at you. “I’m so sorry I was not there. I should have been with you.” His hand comes up to cup your cheek tenderly.

You cover his hand with your own. “You couldn’t have known. I’m the one who decided to come alone like an idiot.”

Charles starts to argue but you cut him off. “Let’s not play the blame game, okay? I just want to put it behind me.”

Charles presses his lips together but nods. “Of course. As long as you are alright.” He kisses your forehead sweetly. “I will not leave your side for the rest of the day, I promise.”

You give him a small but genuine smile. “Thank you.”

Just then Max returns. “How is she doing?” He asks Charles quietly.

“A bit better I think. Still shaken though.”

Max nods, his eyes stormy. “I warned the press to back the hell off but I doubt they’ll listen.”

Your heart sinks. The last thing you want is them continuing to hound you every race. You bite your lip. “Maybe … maybe we should just tell them the truth.”

Max and Charles exchange a surprised look. “Are you sure?” Charles asks cautiously. “We do not have to do anything until you are ready.”

You take a breath. “I’m not really. But I don’t want to have to look over my shoulder constantly either, you know? And I hate feeling like we have to hide.” You look between them. “I mean, only if you both are comfortable with it too. But maybe it’s time.”

Max considers you thoughtfully. “I’m ready when you are. I’m tired of sneaking around too. If this is what you want, I’m with you.” He glances at Charles who nods.

“Oui, I agree. I do not enjoy the secrecy either. I am ready to tell the world you are both mine.” Charles smiles and pulls you close again.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Well it’s definitely not going to be easy, but with you two by my side, I’m ready.” You take each of their hands, feeling emboldened.

Charles grins and kisses your cheek. “Then let’s do this.”

The three of you head out of the garage hand in hand. You hold your head high as you approach the still lingering reporters, flanked on either side by your boys. Their steady presence gives you courage.

The reporters perk up excitedly seeing the three of you together, shouting questions, but you ignore them. At an unspoken signal you all stop and turn to face the cameras head on.

Charles leans in and kisses you sweetly, then Max does the same, before kissing each other with you sandwiched firmly between them. You smile against their lips, the action speaking louder than any words. Then, without giving the reporters time to process what just happened, you continue walking down the paddock, leaving behind an audience with their jaws on the floor.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as their shocked reactions fade behind you. Let them talk. You have everything you need right here. Wrapping your arms around your boys, you head off to face the rest of the day, and your future, together.

No more hiding. The world knows now. And you’ve never felt more free.

***

The morning sun filters in through the curtains, stirring you awake. You stretch leisurely, reaching across both sides of the large bed only to find it empty. The faint clinking of dishes filters in from outside the room — your boys must be up already making breakfast.

Smiling sleepily, you drag yourself out of bed and shuffle towards the kitchen, eager for coffee. As you enter, you find Charles at the stove scrambling eggs while Max sets the table.

Charles glances up with a grin. “Bonjour, ma belle. Sleep well?”

You hum affirmatively, accepting the mug of coffee Max hands you with a quick peck on the lips. “What time is it?”

“Just after 9,” Max says. “We were going to let you sleep in but breakfast is ready.”

You sip your coffee, leaning back against the counter. “That’s okay. I wanted to go to the farmer’s market this morning anyway. Care to join me after we eat?”

“I wish I could, but I have a training session in an hour,” Charles says regretfully.

Max shakes his head too. “And I have a sponsor meeting.”

You pout playfully. “Fine, abandon me to go shopping alone.”

Charles chuckles. “We would never. But duty calls today unfortunately.” He plates the eggs with some toast and you all sit down to eat.

After breakfast, you quickly get ready while Max and Charles clean up. Emerging from the bedroom, you grab your purse and find them waiting to walk you out.

“Have fun at the market,” Max says, kissing your cheek. “Get some of those apricot tarts I like.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Only if you’re good.”

Charles hugs you tightly. “Be safe out there. Call if you need anything, yes?”

“I’ll be fine!” You assure him with a laugh. With a final wave, you head out the door and down to the lobby.

Stepping outside, you pause in confusion. A large crowd is gathered in front of your building. Fans, you realize. But how did they find your address?

Your heart sinks. Ever since going public, you’ve dealt with heightened interest and gossip. But this feels like a violation of privacy. Biting your lip uncertainly, you start trying to weave through the crowd towards the market down the block.

Immediately people press in excitedly around you. “It’s her!” You hear someone shout. Camera phones are suddenly in your face as people call out questions.

“How does being with the two of them work?”

“Be honest, do you prefer Max or Charles?”

You keep your head down, trying not to engage. Their invasive questions make your skin crawl. “Excuse me, please let me through,” you say as politely as you can.

But the crowd only seems to grow more aggressive, everyone shoving to get close and fire off more intrusive questions about your relationship. You feel hands grabbing at you and start to panic.

“Please, I need to get by,” you say, shrinking away from the grasping hands. But the crowd surges and someone shoves you hard from behind.

You cry out as you fall forward, directly into the path of an exuberant fan. Blinding pain explodes in your temple as her flailing elbow catches you across the face.

You hit the ground hard, vision graying out. Dazed, you try to curl into a protective ball as feet trample around you, completely oblivious.

“Stop, please!” You sob, blood dripping from your throbbing temple. But the crowd is a living entity now, crushing in on you. This is a nightmare.

Suddenly you hear a roar over the din. “GET BACK!”

The footsteps stutter to a halt as the authoritative voice bellows again. “GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HER!”

Then Max is there, somehow muscling his way through the press of bodies to drop to his knees beside you. His face is thunderous as he quickly but gently gathers you into his arms.

“Fucking animals,” he spits, glaring venomously at the stunned crowd as you cling to him desperately. “I’ve got you, just hold on.”

Over Max’s shoulder you can see Charles forcibly holding the fans at bay, yelling expletives in a jumbled mess of three languages. The path clears as Max carries you swiftly back into your building.

Once inside the apartment, Max lays you gently on the couch, hands feather-light as he examines your injuries. His jaw clenches when he sees the gash bleeding heavily at your temple.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says tightly. “This needs stitches.”

You nod weakly, letting him press a towel to stanch the bleeding while Charles comes bursting in, swearing violently when he sees the blood.

“What the hell happened?” He demands, kneeling beside you. His touch is infinitely gentle though as he brushes hair from your face.

“Got mobbed by those goddamn stalkers outside,” Max growls. “One of them elbowed her in the head.”

Charles’ expression darkens dangerously. You’ve never seen him look so livid before.

“We’ll deal with them later,” Max says firmly. “Right now we need to get her to the emergency department.”

Charles nods, visibly reigning in his anger. “You’re right, of course.” He looks back at you, anger fading to concern. “Are you able to stand, chérie?”

You cry out as simply trying to sit up sends shooting pain through your head. Charles’ jaw ticks as he looks ready to rush back outside and fight the crowd himself, before he easily lifts you into his arms, Max holding the cloth to your cut as they carefully get you down to the garage.

The car ride passes in a haze of pain and you cling to Charles in the backseat while Max drives, exhaustion hitting you.

At the hospital, Max scoops you up, carrying you inside despite your mumbled protests that you can walk. He ignores you, striding right up to the intake desk.

“She needs help now,” he snaps. The no-nonsense tone of his voice has nurses springing into action immediately.

Before you know it, you’ve been whisked off for scans and then into an exam room. A kind faced doctor stitches up your wound carefully while Max and Charles hover protectively on either side.

“Any other injuries?” The doctor asks gently.

You shake your head. “Just some bruises I think.”

She pats your leg. “I’d still like to do a full workup, including a pregnancy test, before we proceed with any other treatment or medication.”

Your eyes widen. With everything going on, your period being late hadn’t even registered. But now that she mentions it ...

Charles and Max go still beside you. “Pregnancy test?” Charles asks tightly.

The doctor smiles reassuringly. “Standard procedure. I’m sure it’s just a precaution.”

Charles grabs your hand, tension radiating off him while you wait on the results. Max paces like a caged animal until the doctor returns. Her kind eyes immediately give it away.

The tests come back quickly and the doctor steps back in to review the results. “No signs of fracture or serious head injury, that’s good news. We’ll get you a prescription for the laceration and ...” she trails off, looking at the chart with a slight frown.

You feel Max and Charles tense on either side of you. “What is it?” Max asks sharply. “Something wrong?”

The doctor looks up. “No, nothing wrong. Just unexpected. The bloodwork indicates that you’re pregnant, about 8 weeks along.”

“Mon dieu,” Charles breathes, stunned. Max ceases his pacing, mouth agape. They both turn to you with myriad emotions swirling in their eyes.

“A baby?” Max says hoarsely. “We’re having a baby?”

You place a hand over your still flat stomach, head spinning. “I guess we are.”

Charles lets out an incredulous laugh and surges forward to capture your mouth in a fierce kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes are blazing.

“They could have hurt our child,” he says darkly. You can see the protectiveness rising in him, mixed with anger at those who endangered his baby.

Max’s expression mirrors Charles’ stormy one. “Those goddamn animals,” he spits. “If anything had happened ...” His hands fist at his sides.

You reach for them both. “But nothing did,” you remind them gently. “We’re both okay.”

They take deep breaths, focusing back on you. Charles rests his forehead against yours while Max kneels to press a kiss to your belly.

“We won’t let anyone hurt you again,” Max vows fiercely. “Either of you.”

Charles nods, jaw set. “We will keep you both safe, I swear it.”

Their protectiveness makes you feel warm and cherished. You know with your boys watching over you, nothing can touch you or your child.

“I know you will,” you say softly. Drawing their faces down, you kiss them each lovingly.

A fierce joy lights their eyes now as the shock fades. You’re having a baby, the three of you. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together as a family.

Charles presses one more kiss to your lips, tender and full of promise. “I love you so much, all three of you,” he whispers.

Max squeezes your hand, eyes blazing. “I love you too. More than I ever thought possible.”

“And we,” your hand drifts to your still-flat stomach, “love you. My brilliant boys.”

***

The paddock buzzes with excitement on race morning, but for once it has nothing to do with fast cars or famous drivers. All eyes turn your way as you make your way through, one hand resting on your growing bump.

At five months along, your pregnancy is impossible to hide anymore. You’d managed to keep it quiet for a while, but last week an overly zoomed paparazzi shot of you in a fitted dress had let the secret out. Now it seems everyone has an opinion on your relationship dynamic and who the father might be.

You keep your head high, ignoring the whispers. Charles and Max wanted to shield you completely, but you refused to be stuck at home or made to feel ashamed. Besides, their steady presence on either side of you is comfort enough.

Charles presses a supportive hand to your lower back. “How are you feeling, chérie?”

You give him a reassuring smile. “We’re good.” Over your head, his eyes meet Max’s, a silent conversation passing between them. Their protectiveness has ramped up tenfold since finding out you’re pregnant.

Nearing the Red Bull garage, Max steers you towards the bathroom. “I’ll meet you inside in a minute, okay? I just need to check in with my engineers first.”

You nod, squeezing his hand before separating. As you exit the bathroom shortly after, a commotion down the paddock draws your eye. Even from a distance, the man’s imposing figure is recognizable. Your heart drops into your stomach.

Jos Verstappen.

He’s gesturing angrily at a retreating figure, who you realize with dread is Max. You’ve never actually met Max’s father, but from what you’ve heard, the man is bad news. Max has only mentioned him in the past tersely, a shadow passing over his face. Whatever he suffered as a child at Jos’ hands seems to have left deep scars.

As you watch, Jos suddenly wheels around and stalks towards the Red Bull garage, no doubt having caught sight of Max going in. Swearing under your breath, you hurry after him. There’s no way this confrontation ends well.

Inside the garage, the mechanics fall silent at Jos’ dramatic entrance. He pays them no mind, making a beeline for Max, who has gone rigid. You slip in behind Jos, catching Charles’ eye where he stands with the Ferrari crew down the pitlane. His brow furrows in concern but you give a small shake of your head — let Max handle this first.

“Max.” Jos’ tone could freeze over hell. “Care to explain what the hell is going on?”

Max’s face shutters. “I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“The hell you don’t!” Jos snaps. “I had to find out from the goddamn gossip rags that not only are you whoring around with multiple people, but one of them is pregnant? Have you no shame?”

Max flinches, looking stricken. Your hands curl into helpless fists at your sides.

“Watch yourself,” Charles suddenly growls, appearing behind you.

Jos whirls on him with a nasty sneer. “Stay out of this, playboy. This is between me and my son.” He turns back to Max. “Well? Explain yourself.”

Max seems to steel himself, straightening his spine. “There’s nothing to explain. What we have is no one’s business but our own.” His eyes flick to you and Charles briefly and soften before hardening again on his father.

“Bullshit!” Jos snaps. “Have you lost your mind? Carrying on with that girl while she whores around with this one too?” He jabs a finger at Charles then points at your belly. “And you’re telling me you’re fine possibly raising another man’s bastard as your own?”

Max’s expression darkens and he steps forward menacingly. “Watch. Your. Mouth.”

Charles moves closer too, vibrating with anger, but you grab his arm, shaking your head again. Let Max stand up to his father himself.

“We don’t care about who the biological father is,” Max continues fiercely. “That’s our child, no matter what. We’re a family.”

Jos scoffs. “A family? You’re delusional. What happens when those two get bored and leave you behind? This little fantasy you’re living is going to destroy your career.”

“You’re wrong,” Max says sharply. “I love them, and they love me. I’ve never been happier than with them.” His eyes soften again as he looks at you and Charles once more. “I don’t need or want anything else.”

Jos’ lip curls derisively. “Pathetic. I didn’t raise you to be so weak. This ends now, before you ruin your life even more. You will get rid of her and end things with the boy too.”

Charles growls, shaking off your restraining hand to storm forward. But Max beats him to it, getting right in Jos’ face.

“No,” he says, so firmly it brokers no argument. “You don’t control my life anymore. I won’t let you tear apart my family. Now get the hell out of my garage before I have you removed.”

For a moment Jos just gapes, clearly not expecting Max to stand up to him. His face purples with rage but before he can respond, security is there grabbing him by the arms.

“I think it’s time for you to go, sir,” one says firmly, already hauling Jos away.

He struggles in vain, spluttering furiously. But Max has already dismissed him, turning away. Only once Jos is gone does Max seem to deflate, shoulders slumping.

In an instant, you and Charles are both there, wrapping him in your arms. He clutches you both desperately, face buried in your hair.

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” you murmur, smoothing a hand over his back.

Charles presses a kiss to his temple. “You were very brave, mon amour. I’m proud of you for standing up to him.”

Max huffs out a shaky laugh. “Didn’t feel very brave. But I meant what I said — I’m not letting anyone take either of you away from me.”

He pulls back to meet your eyes earnestly. “You are my family now. The only thing that matters to me.” His hand comes to rest gently on your belly. “All three of you.”

Emotion clogs your throat and you see Charles blink back tears. You both lean in simultaneously to kiss Max’s cheeks.

“We love you so much,” you whisper fiercely. “And we’ll always be a family, no matter what.”

Charles nods. “You are stuck with us now. We are yours, just as you are ours.”

The last of the tension bleeds from Max’s frame and he gifts you both with a brilliant, beautiful smile. Leaning his forehead against yours, his eyes shine with happy tears.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he says softly. “I have everything I’ll ever need right here.”

You smile through your own tears, heart overflowing. Together, wrapped in the safety of each other’s love, you know everything will be okay.

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bumblesimagines · 7 months ago

Text

The Lions Claws

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When a Lannister visits King's Landing, he ends up finding entertainment in the King's eldest son.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical HOTD warnings, toxic/manipulative behavior, Lannisters being Lannisters, mentions of bruises, cersei would be proud, aegon might feel a lil ooc

~~~

For a capital meant to represent the Crown, King's Landing was incredibly underwhelming. Even the towering Red Keep sitting atop Aegon's Hill proved lacking with its dull red stone and drum towers casting shadows. He'd expected something akin to Highgarden's serene beauty or the formidable and untouchable Storm's End but the Red Keep was dreary at best. The air felt thick and suffocating as if it were eager to be rid of guests with clouds loomed overhead in varying shades of grey, leaving one wondering if there'd be a drizzle or downpour awaiting them the moment they stepped outside.

"A smile wouldn't kill you," Erwin muttered across from him, yet the grimace on his face spoke for his own thoughts. Homesick was one word to describe the heaviness in their chests. "Your mother wouldn't be pleased if she heard you left a sour impression on Her Majesty and the Hand."

"Oh, please." (Y/N) spared his cousin a glance before his eyes returned to peering up at the Red Keep from the window of the carriage. Chilling air flowed inside, opposite of the warm breezes that so often clung to the westerlands he knew well. "All she cares to know is if Tyland's made a fool of himself yet, the poor idiot. She may not say it but I know she fears the dragons will eat him alive."

"I haven't heard of dragons eating lions yet." Erwin's lips quirked up into a grin, showing off his pearly white smile that always made impressionable young ladies swoon.

Once the carriage came to a stop, Erwin's smile disappeared and he straightened up, casting him one last look before the door was opened. He stepped out first, his bronze hair briefly glittering when the sun managed to peek out from behind a drifting cloud as his eyes swiftly swept over the courtiers and servants around. (Y/N) released a soft sigh and followed him out into the chilly air, the bottom of his feet hitting the gravel beneath and moving around the small grains.

The Red Keep was equally as boring up close as it was from afar. In its prime, back when Aegon the Conqueror was still around, it may have been a sight for sore eyes; something that truly struck both awe and fear into the hearts of his enemies. But now, with the tightened hold of the Hightowers, it was bleak. Perhaps its beauty drained with the King's ailing health, forever entwined with the bloodline that'd built it. Perhaps historians and poets were simply sucking up to their rulers.

His eyes naturally glided downward to the pop of color sticking out against the stone. Her Majesty, Queen Alicent Hightower, stood before the grand doors with her children. She was pretty, shockingly youthful, and dressed in a color that clashed with the house she'd married into but was every bit of Hightower. Floor-length, off-the-shoulder, and in a nice shade of green that reminded him of forest leaves during the peak of spring. It allowed for her ivory skin and auburn hair to stick out more. Yet, despite her striking beauty, she was not all he expected. The Hightowers were known for plenty of things, but the woman before him appeared as frail as a withered flower.

"Thirdborn son of Lady and Lord Lannister, Your Majesty, Your Graces." Erwin's words sounded robotic and slightly practiced, the little armor he wore clinking together when he bent at the waist. Poised, proper, and with a hint of authority, Erwin had always been what every knight dreamed of becoming. "(Y/N) Lannister of Casterly Rock."

And so the charade began.

Allowing a smile to grace his features, (Y/N) stepped forward and dipped his head in respect before lifting it to look her in the eye. She stared back at him, the exhaustion in her eyes subtle yet he noticed it immediately. She had many duties now with her husband bedridden. How would she fare, he wondered, when he passed. "Your Majesty, it is an honor to make your acquaintance." He recited the words his mother had ingrained in his head, the memory so clear he could practically see her glowering at him. "I hope my older brother has done House Lannister justice during his time here."

"Ser Tyland has done us a great service as our master of ships." Queen Alicent smiled politely, though the underlying tone in her voice spoke plainly: he was essentially useless without the need for a naval fleet, though most masters of ships were. He imagined Tyland offered bits and pieces of advice now and again during meetings. He'd always been a little wiser than Jason. "I pray the trip here from Casterly Rock wasn't weariful. Your apartments have been arranged already if you wish to rest."

"You are most generous, Your Majesty." It was the bare minimum of a host but good manners and thankful words often went a long way, especially with prideful nobles. However, Queen Alicent hardly seemed keen on compliments, or his presence, for that matter.

"I'm afraid I have pressing matters to attend to but I'm certain the Princes Aegon and Aemond will be pleased to refresh your memory of the castle." Queen Alicent tilted her head toward the three Targaryens lined up beside her, her smile notably falling when she eyed the eldest of the bunch before it returned just as quickly to bid them farewell. Four pairs of violet eyes tracked her movements, one pair with a little more longing than the other.

The eldest, Prince Aegon, stood a little shorter than his lanky brother and he lacked the rigid posture and poise of a young man of his station; his shoulders were lowered and his knees bent slightly, though, from the lazy smirk on his face, it was all purposeful. An attempt to irritate his mother, (Y/N) assumed given the swift exchange between them. Prince Aegon was a curious fellow, (Y/N) decided then and there.

His hair was wavy like his mother's but unkept and messy, matching his disheveled clothes that'd turn any parent red with embarrassment. Pale violet eyes watched him, glinting with hunger, but for violence or affection, (Y/N) hadn't deduced yet. Prince Aegon wanted others to fear him, to feel intimidated by his title, judging by the way his eyes narrowed challengingly. He reminded (Y/N) of the juvenile lions back home, the teenagers torn between proving themselves or running back to their mother's side.

Prince Aemond, on the other hand, was every bit of a royal son. His back remained erect and his shoulders were squared, the height he had over his siblings allowing him to appear as if he were towering over them. His hair was straight and reached past his shoulders, seemingly brushed regularly unlike Prince Aegon's. His singular eye had unease settling in the pit of (Y/N)'s stomach, piercing and scrutinizing as if searching for a flaw or weakness to pounce upon. Gossip and news spread like wildfire across Westeros, so when the King's son lost an eye to his own nephew during a scuffle, the news reached Casterly Rock within a few days. It hardly surprised him Prince Aemond seemed guarded.

Beside Prince Aemond stood Queen Alicent's only daughter and perhaps the most beloved amongst the smallfolk, Princess Helaena. She pointedly stared at the cobbled floor beneath her feet, her lips pressed into a thin line as she shifted her weight from foot to foot with a slight sway. (Y/N) knew her to be of a gentler, almost odd disposition, but her tender-heartedness won over the smallfolk more than her elder sister ever had. She seemed to be a mix of her two brothers with her hair not quite wavy yet not quite straight and her almost slouching stance. A light pink had dusted her round cheeks from the cold and her nose crinkled ever so slightly with each breeze.

Princess Helaena seemed too gentle of a girl to bother and (Y/N) had an inkling Prince Aemond's patience ran thin, which only left the would-be heir as (Y/N)'s form of entertainment for the duration of his stay. His gaze glided over to the prince in question, the corners of his lips threatening to twitch up into a smile. There was nothing more he loved than a lordling (or in this case, a princeling) to toy with. Lannisters were known for playing with their food.

"Your Grace," (Y/N) moved up the steps swiftly, amused at the way Prince Aegon's brows raised and his lips turned downward with a perplexed frown. His hands reached out to smooth his palms over the sleeves of Prince Aegon's coat, his ears picking up the faint sigh from his cousin behind him. Prince Aegon visibly flinched at his touch. "I recall we once played together as children. I hope we can catch up in due time; you must have many stories to tell of your childhood here. You can tell me of the dragons housed in the Dragonpit, and if it interests you, I can tell you of the lions we keep in Casterly Rock."

Prince Aegon blinked, his adams apple bobbing with a harsh swallow. "I-"

"I look forward to it, Your Grace, but I am dreadfully tired." The facade already began to crack. The prince seemed utterly baffled by his sudden attention. His fingers fidgeted at his sides and his posture straightened with uncertainty. "I hope to see you at supper."

With each passing day, it felt as if the Red Keep were trying to suffocate him with boredom. The other courtiers were as predictable as expected, flocking to him with an eagerness to be favored by a Lannister whilst simultaneously hoping to hear anything they could whisper about in the halls. Gossip wasn't new to him; he loved indulging in it back home, often while sprawled out over a couch with his giggling gaggle of friends. But the Red Keep... he simply despised it.

At the very least, the chaos of the Targaryen family kept him from smashing his head into the nearest wall.

Perched on a stone railing overlooking the training yard, (Y/N) watched the lordlings and pages train under the supervision of Ser Criston Cole and other on-looking knights who had little to do. His eyes tracked Prince Aemond's stride, his chin cocked upward and smile challenging, but the only one daring enough to step forward. (Y/N) hadn't cared to figure out whether his confidence was merely a charade to mask the wounds of a child once tormented by his peers or as real as the greed in everyone around them.

He'd concluded the royal children were like bruises, purple and green with hints of yellow, fresh and tender. If he lingered on one for long enough, pressed and prodded with enough force, their pain would be revealed for his eyes to observe. Prince Aemond hid himself well enough through cold stares and calculated words, but the days that'd passed had allowed (Y/N) to view the little boy beneath the young man. Whenever he passed the ladies of the court, he'd adjust his eyepatch and turn his gaze away from them to subtly hide his face from sight. If Prince Aegon bored him, he considered Prince Aemond as his next plaything.

The only one emboldened enough to step out to face the tall prince had been none other than his older brother, though, by the way he staggered and cackled as if everything were one big joke, it could only be assumed he'd had one too many drinks. Prince Aegon's blatant disregard for their training had his brother rolling his eyes, his chest rising and falling with a heavy exhale. His antics were common enough for Ser Criston to stare at him with hardly disguised disappointment, his hands resting on his hips like a father ready to scold his troublesome child.

"If only he were a jester and not a prince." (Y/N) murmured with a quiet sigh. He could bargain for a jester, offer a trade to Her Majesty and the Hand so there'd be no losing side but princes were like the gold in the mines of the westerlands. They had to be shaped and formed, just as any other person, but they had to feel as if everything they did was of their own accord.

A sweet Dornish red swirled around in his mouth, his attention locked on the stumbling prince that by all means should've been heir had it not been for his father's stubbornness. Prince Aegon moved awkwardly in the chest plate and the sword swung clumsily in his hands yet his laughter continued bouncing off the walls. It was childish and carefree, unlike his brother's scowl which deepened by the minute. Prince Aemond spared Ser Criston a glance and then charged at his brother, his movements akin to a fluid dance as swords clashed. Prince Aegon struggled to keep up, too inebriated to focus clearly, thus leading to his loss.

Swiftly, Prince Aemond ended the brief spar by slamming the hilt of his sword into his brother's face, legs leading him backward as Prince Aegon fell onto the gravel with a pained cry. Ser Criston sprang into action, shooting the younger prince a disapproving look over his shoulder before he reached out toward Prince Aegon, his words lost to the wind. The knights closest to them moved to help Prince Aegon onto his feet but once the prince found his footing, he shrugged away their hands and sneered at them. His cheeks, once pink from the many drinks, turned into a deeper shade of red that spread to his ears. Humiliated, though certainly not for the first time.

(Y/N) swung his legs over the railing and slid off it, kicking up hints of dust when he touched the ground. He savored the last few droplets of his wine and set the cup aside with a satisfied sigh. His legs carried him into the hallway and down a set of stairs, his mind still unfamiliar with the castle but he'd memorized the places he wished to visit the most. One being Prince Aegon's bedchambers, which he shared with his sister-wife and down the hall from the shared room of their little children. He lingered by the railings overlooking the inner courtyard until Prince Aegon appeared, his figures disappearing into his bedchambers with a tentative young maester trailing after him.

The guards positioned outside the door allowed him in without so much as a glance, a monotone voice gruffly calling out his name before the doors rattled shut. (Y/N) scanned the bedchambers but found nothing of interest apart from shrouds and other fabrics with embroidered insects and the maid cleaning a wine stain off the floor, so he settled his attention onto the silently fuming prince and the maester attempting to work around his pout.

"What is it?" Prince Aegon questioned, wincing by the end of his sentence which only fueled his anger.

"I saw what happened, Your Grace." (Y/N) spoke gently, crossing the distance without much of a hurry and eyeing the blossoming bruise spreading across his cheek. The hit had cracked open the corner of his lip, leaving it raw and speckled with blood the maester attempted to clean. (Y/N) allowed his hand to brush over Prince Aegon's shoulder in a comforting manner, his other hand dismissing the maester with a flick of his wrist. "I wished to see if you were alright."

"Obviously I'm not." Aegon spat, bristling like a cub and pouring himself a cup of wine to swallow down with a cringe. His cut and cheek no doubt ached from his actions, and (Y/N) withheld the urge to snort. Foolish and impulsive, acting on his emotions without thinking twice about the outcomes. A funny little princeling.

"Bring us some sweets." (Y/N) angled his head toward the maid, her scrubbing absentminded enough to tell him she'd been hoping to eavesdrop on the conversation between two noblemen. She raised her head at him, a red curl slipping free from her loosely thrown-together bun and tapping lightly against her cheek. She stared at him for a minute too long, likely irked by a stranger giving her orders, but she stood up regardless with the stained rag in hand. "Thank you, darling." She paused, her irritation soothing over and her head dipped bashfully.

(Y/N) settled down on the chair beside the prince and picked up the napkin the maester had been using, folding it over his index finger and dabbing lightly at Prince Aegon's lip. His brows, a darker shade than his snowy locks, furrowed again and his lips twitched, threatening to pull into a frown that'd certainly sting.

"Are all westermen as strange as you?"

"Strange is one word for it, I suppose. Most people use 'kind' or 'empathetic', Your Grace." (Y/N) leaned back into the cushion of his seat, withdrawing his hand and setting the napkin aside. His violet hues flickered elsewhere with a hint of guilt and annoyance at his words, his fingers releasing the cup to rest over his thighs in fists.

"Aegon," He said quietly, uncertainty lacing his words. "Call me Aegon."

"Aegon," (Y/N) echoed with a coo, studying the young man before him with hawk eyes. He searched his body, his facial features, for movements and emotions, for any fidgeting or ticks that'd reveal things his voice refused to. "It must be hard having the name of an ancestor as great as Aegon the Conquerer. You must feel pressured."

Aegon scoffed, and just like that, he revealed his pain. It'd been clear for (Y/N) to see since the first day he arrived, but the assumption slowly developed over the passing days; Queen Alicent's weariness at the mere mention of him, the heavy exhales from the Hand, the distaste that crossed the features of those who knew him well when he passed them in the halls. He'd likely been under some pressure as a boy, but he'd fucked up enough times to be properly labeled a disappointment, a bother. He knew it, too. He carried it on his shoulders, masking it by attempting to appear unbothered and lazy.

(Y/N) made no comment on it. Instead, he offered him a smile and caught the footsteps approaching the door. "You're a pretty prince, Aegon. Has anyone ever told you that?" The answer came in the form of two widened eyes staring at him as if he'd grown two heads. It was true, if one squinted past the excessive drinking and snarky words. He had his mother's beauty and the mystique of Targaryens.

The maid shuffled inside with a tray and approached the small round table they sat at, giving them the faintest of smiles as she gingerly set the tray down and began placing plates of sweets on the table. She'd even brought two teacups and a kettle, the faint smell of chamomile tea filling the air when she poured it into the two cups. "That'll be all." (Y/N) said, ensuring his fingers grazed against the back of her hand when she set the teacup in front of him. Her freckled cheeks flushed and she gathered the now empty tray into her hands, sneaking glances over her shoulder as she left.

"I hope you ate before you indulged." (Y/N) ignored the small silver fork resting beside a slice of cake and broke off a piece with his pinched fingers, sticky and clinging to his fingertips. He debated his next movements, considering the possible outcomes and reactions before his unquenchable curiosity won.

Smiling once more, (Y/N) stuck his arm out toward Aegon and held the piece of cake up to his lips. Aegon blinked, eyes flickering wildly between him and his fingers, his brows slowly furrowing. Aegon, too, debated his next movements, his hands unfurling to press his palms into his thighs and adams apple bobbing with a swallow.

When (Y/N) had been a boy, he inquired one of the lion-keepers about how they went about taming beasts. The wrinkled old man had chuckled at his questions, his hand lowering to affectionately pat the top of his head. He'd told him, plainly, that certain beasts could never be tamed, beasts like lions or dragons. But, he'd added with a grin, beasts like humans certainly could. At his young age, (Y/N) found his words to be a riddle he couldn't be bothered to decipher, and so he'd forgotten the question in favor of watching the caged felines.

He learned with age that his words rang true.

To tame any beast, two-legged or not, you had to have a certain amount of patience and keen eyes. A level of trust had to be built, whether through food, water, shelter, or gentle words, that would ease them into being comfortable around your presence. You had to push, and really push, against the boundaries of the beast, threatening to cross the unspoken line until they reacted, favorably or not. Beasts were complicated creatures but the same across all species. And so the princeling before him made up his mind about the crossed boundary.

Tentatively, Aegon closed the space and opened his mouth, his eyes flickering with something familiar, a teasing hunger. His lips closed around his finger, that challenging spark returning and mixing feverishly with the hunger. The tip of his tongue slid along (Y/N)'s finger, collecting crumbs and sticky residue. Honey, he assumed, tugging his finger back with a pop that had the corners of Aegon's mouth lifting. He winced again and unconsciously licked the cut.

"What will your mother say of what happened?" He asked, knowing it'd sour Aegon's mood immediately to bring up the subject of Queen Alicent, but he kept him from shutting down by entertaining him. The same saliva-coated finger broke off another piece of the sweet treat, this time rising to his own mouth. He mimicked Aegon's previous actions, watched the delight and intrigue that briefly sparked across his face. Predictable but still entertaining.

"Nothing," He answered, eyes locked on (Y/N)'s lips and ears twitching with the pop that followed. Aegon slumped back into the chair and dragged his fingers over the bruise, his brows twitching involuntarily when he pressed on it. His shoulders drooped with a heavy, ticked-off sigh, and he reached for one of the tea cups. He brought it to his lips and then hesitated, inhaling the steam and deciding against drinking it.

A hum rumbled in the back of his throat, a tickle in the back of his head eager to test the young man across from him. "Well, I should leave you to rest." He said, curling his hand around a napkin to dry his finger before he stood up.

"Wait!" Aegon blurted out, his chair scraping against the stone floor when he shot up from it, the force nearly making him barrel right into (Y/N)'s chest. Amusement curled around him but he held back the grin to tilt his head at him curiously. Those deprived of attention often sought it out in any way possible, so (Y/N) hardly found himself surprised when Aegon's hand curled around his wrist firmly. "You- You wished to know about the Dragonpit, right?" His tone reeked of desperation.

"That can wait, Your Grace. You've had a rough evening." (Y/N) spoke soothingly, fingertips brushing along Aegon's jaw. They crept upward toward his uninjured cheek, digging into his porcelain skin. He wondered how hard Aegon would break if he pressed hard enough, if he formed cracks or let him shatter. He watched the pale skin redden under his touch, a color that faded slowly.

"I-"

"It's alright, Aegon." (Y/N) assured him, soaking up the hopelessness in his eyes. He leaned forward and ghosted his lips along the bridge of his nose before planting a kiss on the skin between his eyebrows. Aegon practically melted beneath his touch. Such easy prey. "We have plenty of time to catch up."

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bachissidehoe · 2 years ago

Text

“I already have a girlfriend, so stop asking me.”

“Oh you do? Congratulations Itoshi! Who is it?”

“Who is it Rin?”

“Who’s the lucky girl Rin?”

A bother. Rin thought saying something like that would get those damn reporters off his back. Why do they care so much if he has a girlfriend or not? He doesn’t even want one. But somehow not having one is worse than having one.

It may be best just to continue with the charade. Maybe having an actual real person to be his girlfriend would make them stop asking stupid fucking questions.

“Her.” He points to someone, a pretty girl he’s seen quite a few times. He knows her as a journalist for the Blue Lock organization, but he never cared to learn her name.

Seemingly, Rin’s charade worked. The reporters left him alone after that, finally allowing him to exist in peace.

However, Rin was not prepared for the aftermath of articles being sent to him, a meeting with his coach where he was considerably reprimanded, and a barrage of texts and calls from more reporters trying to get the latest gossip on the most famous striker in the world’s new relationship with a hot older journalist.

So he finds himself in her office the next day, his head down as she too reprimands him for involving her in this in the first place.

“That being said, it would make my ex jealous.” She states, leaning back in her office chair as if she’s a principal scolding a student.

And then the charade deepened, drawing new fans to the soccer scene who were just dying to obsess over a player x journalist fantasy romance story. Suddenly Rin realized he had caused the exact opposite of what he wanted, and now he has more reporters on his ass than ever. Who would have guessed that having a relationship would be worse for him than not having a relationship?

“You have to at least look like you want to be around me. People are wondering if we got in a fight.” She crosses her arms over her chest, looking at a picture from a newly released article on the two of them. Rin stands at least 4 feet away from her, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his gaze directed toward the ground.

“I went out with you. That’s not enough?” Rin rolls his eyes.

“No! We have to also look like we’re in a relationship!” She raises her voice, but drops it again when she realizes she may have been too harsh. “Just, you know, hold my hand or something.”

The normally expressionless striker suddenly finds himself beat red with his eyes wide. “Y-yeah. I get it.”

His fake girlfriend stares him down, refusing to let the short display of emotion pass them by. “Rin, have you ever done anything with a girl at all?”

“No.” He answers honestly.

“Ah, I see.”

That’s when she realized she’ll be taking the lead on this “relationship”. She finds herself both planning and coaching Rin through their “dates” and other public appearances, doing her best to prepare him for any questions they may be asked.

Maybe she’s taking this too seriously, but now they’re too deep to suddenly back out. She just has to go with it, wait at least a few months until she can announce a “breakup”. Hopefully then, that’ll be the end of it.

“I just want to let you know, it’s looking like at some point someone will ask you to kiss me for the camera.” She says, drawing her conclusion after reading the latest scoop on the two of them.

“I’ll just say no.”

“You’d refuse to kiss the girl you’re in love with?”

Rin pauses. “Hmph.” He understands his predicament.

“I figured we could just practice here, you know, since you’ve never done it before. That way you’re prepared.” She finds her cheeks growing redder, trying not to let the bottled up feelings from the last couple weeks get to her at a time like this.

It’s the same for Rin, who looks to the floor, the ceiling, and anywhere else besides her pretty eyes. Kissing her may be all it takes for him to acknowledge that maybe this isn’t as fake as he thought.

“Yeah. I guess that’s fine.” He finally answers.

So she balls her fists together, forcing herself to be mature about a measly kiss. “Look at me.”

He looks up with his eyes, though doesn’t raise his head.

So she lifts his head with her finger, just enough to bring it at an angle where she can meet his lips. He’s much taller than her, after all.

“Okay, just, close your eyes.” She whispers, they’re close enough now where she can hear his heart thumping and every short breath that escapes his slightly parted mouth.

Rin obliges, handing control over to his fake girlfriend, leaving his hands resting at his sides. He doesn’t know exactly what to do with them.

And she kisses him, just a lingering, closed-mouth peck. Her lips are so soft and warm, much different than kissing her cheek like he’s been doing for pictures. Even though it’s short, Rin can feel her hot breaths against his face.

“That was pretty good. There’s not much to it.” She says quietly, finding herself unable to move her hand away from its position under his chin.

“Hm.” Rin responds, his gaze still focused on the floor.

“Do you need to try again?” She asks, wondering if his lack of expression is due to him just not getting it.

“No.” He answers flatly.

“Oh.” His answer confuses her. Did he not like it? “Why not?” She can’t help but ask.

“I feel like I won’t want to stop.”

Continued in Part 2.

#itoshi rin #blue lock #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #rin fluff #fake girlfriend #bllk rin #blue lock rin #bllk headcanons #blue lock headcanons #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #Rin x reader fluff #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin one shot #bllk one shot

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starlightsuffered · 9 months ago

Text

My Goddess

A/N - does the "stop the fucking charade" scene get anyone else hot and bothered or just me?

Warnings - smut, pregnancy, cheating, sensitive nipples, climaxing from nipple stimulation, oral (female receiving), knife play kinda, angry Hal, breeding kink, cock warming, unprotected sex, desired voyeurism

"Bring her to me!" He screamed at his servants. Usually he was kind, he was respectful, but not now. He was so riled up, and only one thing could fix it. It was a well kept secret of the palace. King Hal had a wife, a Queen, but he was weak for you and only you. Nowhere else was he weak, but you made him this way.

You were just a wet nurse. Your nipples were used all over town to feed babies that mothers couldn't. Hal loved that, the sensitivity of your nipples. You were embarrassed, you felt weak for having such sensitive nipples, but your love adored it. He suckled on them day in and day out. He was obsessed with you and you were confused how you had drawn such a lucky card in life.

You'd met back in his wilder days, when the kingdom hadn't rested on his shoulders. You'd known he fucked around, but it was always you he came back to. He'd asked to marry you when he'd gone off to war, but you couldn't do it. You'd have so much to do, so much responsibility. Not to mention, the nation would despise you. If they reviled the once wayward King, what would they think of him picking a wet nurse to be his bride? Wet nurses were seen as little better than prostitutes in this kingdom, the only ones who appreciated them was the needy mothers they aided.

"Here she is your Grace," the Guard had roughly torn the baby you'd been feeding from your breast, giving it to the mother. You had been marched to the castle. They didn't normally retrieve you with such force. He must've been in a very bad mood.

King Hal had once been gentler, but the many betrayals he'd experienced had made him hard. He was never rough with you, but with others, he didn't pull back when he could have.

You were brought before the king. He was rushing towards you, hands eager and protective. He carried you off to his bedroom. You were wincing.

"Why do you make such a face my love," he demanded. "If they have hurt you, I will have there heads."

This was what you meant. Hal would have never beheaded guards before. He would have talked to them sternly, but not killed them. This is why you had been avoiding him lately, the secret you so badly wanted to tell him, was hard to keep in his actual presence.

"No, no, it is nothing," you said, not meeting his eyes.

Hal placed you on the bed in his decadent room. You always wondered how the Queen felt that you had spent more time in this room than she had. Although, there were many rumors of her escapades with French dignitaries. Hal did not mind, Hal only wanted you.

"You are hiding something from me, and you will tell me this instant," he snapped, pacing the floor. He knew you too well. Just one avoidance of his gaze, and he was reading you like a book.

"I do not wish to tell you," you mumbled.

"Why my love?" His voice was soft now. He was trying to look into your eyes. You bit your lip, tears welling.

"I've missed my cycle by three weeks," You admitted.

"You, what?" Hal seemed genuinely shocked.

"I'm pregnant Hal," you said, turning to him. A wild smile lit up his face. He was beaming.

"But my love! This is wonderful news, and it is surely mine?"

"You are the only man I've been with in years," you replied. He looked a bit pink at that. You knew you were not the only one he'd been with, but now, that problem was fixed. He wouldn't be obligated to try for an heir if one grew in your belly.

"This is amazing," he cheered.

"I'm not so sure it is," you said softly.

"Why ever not?" He asked.

"You have changed Hal," you whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"You are harder. I know it is not your fault, but it worries me. I worry you may be assassinated, or that you will start a new war. I know a King must be tough, but a father must be gentle."

He was silent for a long time after your speech.

"You are right y/n, if you choose to have this baby, I will endeavor every day to be the man you deserve, and the father my child deserves," he said, taking your hands.

"Oh, Hal, that is exactly what I wanted to hear," you sighed.

"You are also being moved into the castle. I am declaring you an official mistress of the King. You will be accompanyed by a servant, or me at all times. I want you treated no less than a Goddess."

"Hal," you hedged. "What about the Queen?"

"The Queen has seen this coming for a long time. I have long been drawing up papers for you to become my mistress."

"Hal, I want you to be kind about it," you instructed.

"I will be, but my first priority will always be you," he said gently.

"I love you," you told him, his heart melting words making it all the more clear he was your forever.

"Let me love you, my Goddess," he requested, and you nodded eagerly.

He kissed you deeply, his tongue tracing your lips. You melted into the kiss. He pulled you on top of him. You straddled his waist, combing your hands lovingly through his hair. You let your teeth graze his bottom lip, earning a moan from him.

His hands were at the ties of your dress in an instant. He was undoing them, trying to get you undressed as quickly as possible. You remembered when you'd arrived here he'd been in a rage. Now he was using only gentle touches, loving touches. You were the song that soothed the savage beast. You loved how malleable he became for you and you alone.

"Hal," you moaned as he kissed your neck, tearing your bodice. He grabbed a defensive dagger from his bed side.

"I am going to cut that dress from your form, from now on you are either naked for me, or in the most expensive finery the castle can afford."

He came forward with the knife. You did not shy away. Hal was incapable of hurting you. He pulled your garment away from you skin, not wanting to cut you. You closed your eyes, waiting to be bare before him.

Soon he'd cut through all you wore, and you were completely naked before him. His eyes drank in your body. Every time he saw you unclothed, it was as if it were that first time all over again.

"My y/n," he purred. "Look at you."

"Hal, love me," you requested. He crawled over to you, a feral glint in his eyes.

"Though I will miss these being as tender as they are," he said, beginning to massage your breasts. You gasped at the feeling. "They are for only two people now, me, and the child you bear."

He flattened his tongue against your sensitive nipple. It was enough to make you scream. He suckled your nipple into his mouth. You loved watching him like this, attending to you. The image was enough to make you come. Once he had been content to do it for hours, loving how you continued to react the same way as time passed.

"Hal, oh Hal," you moaned as he continued to lick your nipples, tracing them with his tongue. The sensation drove you wild. Now he added hands as he lapped and kneaded you felt a cord inside you break, and your orgasm baptized you in bliss.

"That's my girl," Hal praised, as you moaned. "I barely have to touch you."

"You are perfect, my King," you told him.

"And you my darling, are enough to make your own King bow before you," Hal said as he got off the bed and onto his knees. Your legs hung off the bed, and you presented him with your glistening pussy.

"No wine, no matter how fine, has the taste of you my dear," he said as he prepared to devour you. He kitten licked at first, making you squirm, but then he changed. He was lapping at you, tongue blessing your heat as it moved. He sucked your clit into his mouth, then traced it. He had you bucking into his lips, hands tangled in his curls.

There had been times when he'd sat you on his throne, naked, and worshiped your body. Him still in full regalia. You could knock the crown from his head with your needy hands, and he would not reproach you. That was how much he adored you.

"I'm going to come," you told him. He growled his approval into your heat. The vibration pushed you over the edge. You called his name as he continued to lap you through your orgasm.

When his face showed, it was covered in your essence. You were breathing heavily as he licked his lips. He did not wipe his face, but got back on the bed to kiss you thoroughly. You tasted yourself on him, and you moaned into the kiss.

"I can't wait," he said. "I want to see you grow, to see the proof that you are full of me."

He was removing his every article of clothing. You watched, eagerly. His beautiful form was often hidden under so many layers of finery, that you couldn't even make out the shape. You liked him bare the best. His slender body and milk white skin. He was beautiful.

"Yes, Hal," you agreed, as he lined himself up with you. He pushed into you, letting out a deep groan.

"My Goddess," he crooned. "So full, been cummed in so many times. I'll be the envy of every man who knows that you are mine alone, forever."

He was snapping his hips quickly, needy for the feeling of you. He hated any position that hid your face from him. Your breasts bounced as he quickened.

"Everyone will know it was I who bred the finest cunt in the land. It was I that filled her to bursting," he whimpered, only you would every hear the King whimper

"Yes Hal, yes, and you will fill me again and again, all of my days," you agreed, whines leaving your mouth as he fucked deep into you.

"You'll be so swollen with me, and your breasts will be ever heavier with milk. The thought alone is enough to make me explode," he panted.

"Oh Hal, I could live the rest of my life with your cock never leaving my cunt. Imagine you, ruling the kingdom, riding to battle, ordering your men, all with your cock buried in me."

"You're going to make me cum my love," Hal moaned.

"Then do it," you begged. "Fill me again!"

He rutted into you several more times before he was shooting ropes of hot cum inside you. He reached down to toy with your clit as he filled you. The sensation threw you into your third orgasm of the night. You were screaming, arching as it seemed like an impossible amount of cum filled you.

"There you are my Goddess, rest now," Hal said, cock still inside you, but urging you to relax. The two of you fell asleep that way. Lying in your lovers arms didn't have to end anymore, you were his mistress, and the mother of his child.

#reader insert #x reader #timothee chalamet #timothee chamalet #timothee fanfic #timothee imagine #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothee x you #timothée chalamet #hal the king #hal x reader #Hal #my goddess

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llondonfog · 1 year ago

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God there's something that drives me crazy about it how Lilia and Malleus have been putting Silver to sleep for years using Meleanor's lullaby. You might have talked about it before but ugghhhhhhh as wild as she was, she obviously wanted to be an amazing mother for her kid, and now her caretaking is even reaching the baby of the man who killed her. They're everything they drive me nuts!!!!!

I actually don't think I've talked about the lullaby before!! I've written one little ficlet about Meleanor surviving and Lilia adopting Silver as one big happy family (which I should revisit honestly . . . I live for Auntie Mel who will melt the faces off anyone human or fae or Lilia who causes her precious godchild to cry <3) but I've not talked about the lullaby!!

In regards to Lilia, the usage of the lullaby speaks such volumes to me of how he's already accepted Silver as his son and how he's refused to let the past/Silver's heritage taint his view of this truly innocent child. Silver's father was the one to battle against Meleanor and strike that final blow that destroyed her— the knight would be rightfully responsible for not only potentially decimating a kingdom and leaving it leaderless, but for killing a mother before she ever got to see her son, killing a wife still searching for her husband, and directly killing one of (at the time) Lilia's only two loves in his life. It would not be absurd for Lilia to withhold the lullaby from Silver out of respect for Meleanor, knowing her disdain for the human race and the ties that Silver unfortunately shares to her demise.

But instead, he does not see (as much as he may struggle to accept this change in his heart) a prince of an enemy nation or the son of a murderer— he cradles the warm, heavy bundle in his arms close, breathes in the sweet scent of the spring, and feels that tiny heartbeat as it tries to sync up with his own breathing. That baby— that's his Silver. His child that he's blessed and named, his own son for all the cognitive dissonance he exhibits when he struggles to come to terms with how much he cares for, loves the boy. And what does a parent do to soothe a fretful child in need of comfort? They sing a lullaby.

(He thinks Meleanor would understand. Perhaps he even feels her singing through him to the child. And when Silver drowsily blinks his dawn-swept eyes up at his papa, Lilia can only poke his cheek with a smile, wondering if this little human would have been the one to tame the mighty dragon, just as he's softened this old bat's heart.)

For Malleus and Silver, ugh their relationship is so complex and special to me. We have two princes who would have been raised on opposite sides of the battlefield, and frankly, Silver would most likely have died before Malleus could even learn to speak the common tongue. Just like Lilia and Silver, these two should never have met, and yet here we have Mal, strolling around this dinky little cottage with a human babe cradled in his arms, trying his best to soothe its forlorn cries for its father with a distant memory. A prince caring for another little prince, unknowingly welcoming the son of the man who killed his mother into his heart with so much fierce devotion that he would stop the world to keep Silver's tears from falling (I fully believe Lilia would have walked unscathed out of NRC and none of this overblot would have happened the moment that it did regardless of Mal's stewing emotions— but when he saw Silver weeping, he was not going to allow this charade to continue any longer).

But this lullaby surviving for centuries past Meleanor, and how it will continue to survive when Malleus passes it on to his own children, and Silver to his, it gives Lilia a glimpse of the hope he wishes for the future. Between his beautiful child and his noble prince, perhaps they can accomplish what their fathers and mothers could not.

#lettie's asks #twst spoilers #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #malleus draconia #twst malleus #meleanor draconia #twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #wringing my heart out like a dishrag

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gojoidyll · 1 year ago

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More Topaz… she’s in my head living rent free which is weird because she would pay her rent on time… Anyways how about jokingly asking her for an expensive item just to see her reaction. The reader doesn’t even want it 😂 or randomly hugging her too see what she do or thinks

Topaz brain rot… it’s too late for me

"How about this? Please, Topaz. It's all I have ever wanted."

Which was a bold faced lie.

You two were out and about. Your eyes flicking to every which was as you planned and plotted on a way to tease her.

And when you spotted a comically overpriced necklace that you thought was the ugliest piece of jewelry you have ever seen, you couldn't help but to beg for it.

As for Topaz?

She glanced over to what you were asking for, and without even looking at the price she had called the store clerk over, "that please."

You paused momentarily. Completely floored at the fact that she didn't even look at the price.

"Of course Miss, would that be all?"

She looked at you, and you nodded, still playing along to the charade.

"Wonderful! Let me go wrap this up for you!"

And when you both went to the cash register, you had to put a stop to the joke. Because 1) the necklace was down right hideous despite the jewels embedded into it and 2) the price was more than you could make in a year!

"I- I was just kidding Topaz!"

"Oh, I know."

She pulled out her black card and swiped it. The amount was immediately approved as a receipt started to print on a small piece of paper.

"Then why are you buying it!?"

"So you can wear it," she said as she looked to you. A smug grin on her face as she was handed the necklace, "now, turn around so I can put this on you."

Yeah, in terms of teasing and playing jokes, I can definitely see Topaz being the one to turn the tables right back at you. Which was exactly how you ended up wearing something you didn't even want.

In terms of winning, money was no obstacle since she has plenty of it. Though, she does look forward to your next prank, whatever that may be. <3

#hsr #honkai star rail #topaz x y/n #topaz x you #topaz x reader #topaz #topaz and numby #hsr topaz #honkai star rail topaz

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leggerefiore · 2 years ago

Text

You catch on to your lover's plans to use a legendary to enact his ideals. You decide to act on your own to stop them by catching the legendary before them.

cw: angst, some fluff in certain pieces,

pairings: Lysandre/Reader, Cyrus/Reader, Maxie/Reader, Archie/Reader, Volo/Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~

🔥Lysandre🍷

☕️ You would not say you were ignorant of Lysandre's more intense ideals, more so you just assumed they were his inner thoughts that he let leak out more so than probably he should. At first, anyway. It was not long until he spoke to you so confidently in your shared time alone about his plans to better this world and promising you that your future was secured as his lover. It was then, and only then, you made the horrifying realisation he was dead serious about his intentions. Especially when saw a new organization “flare” up. With what he intended to do, you felt lucky that you already basically knew everything you needed to in order to stop him.

☕️ That did not mean you were nervous breaking into a Team Flare laboratory and taking a certain pokemon that could bring about your death after it fully awoke to its power. A special pokeball was clutched dearly to your chest as you rushed away from everything in Geosenge. Without Yveltal, the ultimate weapon was useless. This effectively halted any of Team Flare's plans. However, you were certain that this would only drive Lysandre to search for it frantically rather than reconsider his actions.

☕️ Which is why you felt nervous as you watched him ruminate over a cup of coffee and a tablet in his café. He had ordered it closed for today to allow himself some quiet time, but you were well aware of what lay beyond a certain shelf in back of the room. Sitting beside him, you wondered how long you had until he realised it was you who had disrupted his plans. He put down the tablet and let out a sigh. The mood shift from after you took Yevltal had been apparent within him. With another drink of his coffee, he brought his arms around you. Your body was pressed into his side, where the aroma of both his cologne and his beloved drink wafted from him hypnotizingly.

☕️ “… Has something happened, Lys?” you asked him softly. He hummed before explaining the situation that you already knew all too well. His obvious disdain for the thief who dared try to deny his perfect world its timely creation. You tried not to shift too much, aware of the pokeball was tucked away into your bag just at your side. “That is… unfortunate…” you leaned into his chest, trying to hide whatever expression may cross your face. His hand came to gently massage your scalp. Then, he brought your gaze to meet his own.

☕️ “I know you have it, my dear,” he said with a harsh look, “I do not know why you took it, but I am certain it was you.” You froze. Pulling away from him, you look at him with widened eyes. How did he know? You thought you were careful to avoid being noticed by members or caught on security camera. He shook his head. It was obvious he had no interest in explaining his deductive manner. “Return the legendary pokemon to me at once, this charade has gone on long enough.” You shook your head as you quickly grabbed your bag to get away from him.

☕️ “I can't let you do this, Lysandre,” you protected the bag by placing it behind you, trying not to flinch when the giant man stood up to glare you down at you. It seemed that he thought this was simply you trying to garner his attention since he had been busy with his plans, rather than you seriously opposing him and his ideals. You soon found yourself rushing through crowds of people in Lumiose until you ended up on Route 16 through some panicked turns to escape. It was isolated and alone, with sand blowing heavily in the area and obscuring far sights. You could, however, see Lysandre approaching after you, unaffected by your run through the city.

☕️ He sent out his Pyroar with little hesitation, gaze trained on you. His annoyance was evident. “… Must you act this childish? I understand you find my plan reprehensible, but there is no need to go to such lengths for a simple disagreement,” his voice was strong even in the harsh environment. You could tell there was no getting away from this without a battle. Sending out the legendary itself, you could view the momentary shock on Lysandre's face. Maybe he had truly hoped it was not you that had taken Yevltal and that something had been lost along the way. “It seems we must be this way, then,” he sighed and ordered his Pyroar to attack.

☕️ Yevltal was the unsurprising victor in your battle against Lysandre. The pokemon's power was something completely undeniable, as it even tore through the man's Mega-Evolved Gyarados with relative ease. His distaste towards this outcome was shown as he marched towards you, ignoring the threatening visage of the Oblivion pokemon overhead. “Is this not enough to appease you? Why are you being so foolish? I only wish to preserve the beauty of this world!” Lysandre snapped at you, face twisting into something unrecognisable to the collected man you were used to.

☕️ You stood stiffly, daring to carefully opposing him, despite being slightly afraid by his obviously worrying mental state. “Lysandre, I'll give you Yveltal on one condition,” you spoke carefully, and his face changed to something inquisitive, “You allow me to die with everyone else.” Instantly it dropped again into madness. He grasped your shoulders tightly in his hands. Would he accept the trade? You felt almost certain he would choose his plans over you, sadly. His head hung down low while his grip became almost unbearable in its strength.

☕️ You had, at least, delayed the inevitable with him, amazingly. He refused your offer, instead calling you a fool once more and saying he needed to be alone for a while. You rushed to explain the situation to Sycamore not long after, who was mortified by the whole ordeal. It was going to be a difficult path to convince him of this world's worth, but you felt hopeful that you and the professor could do it. At least, you both had to do it.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ You wished to plead ignorance to whatever Cyrus was doing. You truly did. The idea that your stoic lover was running around Sinnoh in search of power to grant him the ability to make a new world was something that had been hard to grapple with. You knew of his issues, of course. You were not blind to them, yet you had not expected him to take it this far. Which is why you… intervened, so to speak. When learning he planned to use the legendary pokemon Palkia to enact his plans from a quick look at his laptop, you simply worked to move faster than he and Team Galactic in obtaining it.

☄️ Not that it was an easy task. It was extremely difficult and something you only managed by consulting a certain blonde with your intent to stop Cyrus. She seemingly understood your intention to be good. It felt bad going behind his back in order to end what was essentially his dream in a way, but you needed to stop him before he did something that would get him seriously hurt or possibly allow him to follow through on his desires. There was no way his belief that spirit was the root of issues would fix what was wrong with the world, not mention him personally.

☄️ It had not been too long since you captured the Spatial pokemon that trained steps walked up the platform onto Spear Pillar. You sat on the ground, watching the sky as it faded back to its natural state from whatever forcing Palkia into the realm had shifted it to. The newly captured legendary was now in a pokeball that sat on your lap. There was always the concern about Dialga, at least according to Cynthia, but you could easily come to counter with Palkia should that situation arise. Cyrus genuinely seemed shocked to see you there, halting in his approach and staring at you with an inquiring manner.

☄️ “How long until your admins get here?” you asked him with a somewhat playful tone. He likely ran here in a frenzy after seeing what summoning the legendary had done to the sky. It was something that his scientists had ready determined would happen more than likely. Cyrus looked over his shoulder and shrugged. Soon, probably. You stood up and moved to the blue-haired man with a genuine smile. He allowed you to cup his cheek and lean forward to peck a kiss on the other. Turning away from him immediately after, you felt him grasp at your wrist for a brief moment. There seemed to be some silent demand for an explanation, to stop you from doing whatever your next move was.

☄️ When he let go, you stood across from him in the acient ruins. Your hand rested on the pokeball which held the very pokemon he planned to use for his goals. “You probably know what I'm doing here,” you asked. He gave no reply. Cyrus either was not entirely sure, or possibly even hoped it was not what he thought. You sent out the legendary at his lack of reply. The Spatial pokemon soon stood tall among even the wreckage of the temple that used to stand at the peak of Mt. Coronet. Its cry piercing the air as it gazed around in confusion, still unsure at everything that had just happened.

☄️ Cyrus's eyes closed for a moment after seeing it, head lowering in deep thought. Then, he looked directly at you. “I see,” he said simply, “This speeds things along. Beloved, give me Palkia.” You froze. Did he think you captured the legendary for him? When you shook your head and demanded he stop his plans, a strange snicker came from him. “Are you intending to oppose me?” he questioned. You realised you were, as did he. The mood suddenly shifted to something extremely intense. A sigh came from him.

☄️ He reached for a pokeball on his waist and quickly tossed out his Houndoom. His arms linked behind his back as he harshly glared at you. “That is most unfortunate,” he spoke with slight displeasure, “Let's finish this quickly.” Cyrus was not a pushover, that much was for certain. You truly had not expected your opposition to be the factor that changed his mind. It has been something you would. Surely, his own feelings towards you must have been affecting him somehow. No matter what, you had to stop him, for everyone in this world and for whatever selfish reasons you held dear.

☄️ Somehow, with the help of Palkia you managed to overcome Cyrus's team. It was painful standing against the very pokemon you often doted on at home, but it had to be done to prevent his plans from being followed through. The man himself stood stiffly as he called back his fainted Weavile, his last pokemon. His gaze was fixated on the pokeball for a moment. Closing his eyes, he spoke again. “Palkia's prowess is certainly as expected,” he stared directly into you after he opened them again, “I knew you would fail to understand my ideals. That is why I did not tell you. This world is incomplete. It is in your best interest to hand Palkia over to me and allow me to create an ideal one.”

☄️ You shook your head and called back the legendary, holding the pokeball against your chest. The sounds of heavy footsteps echoed in the distance. Either his admins or Cynthia with that international police agent were on their way up, likely both. “Cy,” you stepped closer to him, “Pain is just a part of life. Strife, too. You can't run away from that; you can't just erase it.” He turned away from you. It made you a bit nervous, but you embraced him from behind. “I know… You probably hate me now, but I'll always be here for you,” you promised with a tight squeeze.

☄️ Cyrus dismissed his admins after they arrived not long after and sighed when Cynthia appeared following them. She assured you he would be safe as she led him away. You could only wonder where everything would go from here. He had not said a word to you since you refused his demands. It was likely he would go to jail for what he had done, but you hoped Cynthia would prevent that. Until then, you clutched the pokeball tightly. Whenever you saw Cyrus again, you felt renewed passion to help him in a healthy way. You hoped to show him that emotions were something required in this life.

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 It was a hard decision to make. Especially with how strange your sudden disappearance would be to Team Magma as you did what you had done. You wanted to support your partner with your whole heart, but you found yourself reading expected data ranges with more and more worries. Then, a certain pirate made contact about his concerns about what would ultimately come from summoning continent pokemon and gave you the Blue Orb with the trust you would find it of more use. It was even harder to actually make it to the Seafloor Cavern in order to capture Groudon without all the support Maxie had.

🪨 There was a certain wrongness you felt when awakening the pokemon with the borrowed Red Orb (of which you were certain had Team Magma in a frenzy in its absence). You quickly had to beat it with your pokemon and capture it before it could do the worst of what its abilities promised. Everything you had done felt even worse when you returned to the surface and placed the Red Orb back where you had taken it from. The following furor over its return only led to more confusion.

🪨 It was why you caught Maxie alone in your shared quarters. His attention was hyper focused on his computer while his fingers slid across the keys in a near hypnotic manner. Everyone once in a while, he would stop and readjust his glasses before continuing. With the Red Orb returned, the preparations to obtain the submarine and awaken Groudon were soon to be followed through. You can only imagine the turmoil that would follow at the missing legendary when they got there. The ball felt as heavy as Groudon's true mass was in your bag.

🪨 Finally building up the confidence to speak, you called out his name from the other side of his desk. His typing paused as he looked up at you with a cocked brow. You knew he hated being disturbed, but he was aware you would not do it without good reason. “How long until preparations are complete?” you asked carefully. He easily gave you the time frame of the coming days. You nodded. Closing your eyes, you let out a breath. “Can we… go out for a moment? I know you're busy, but I just need to be alone with you. Let's go to some place like… Mt. Chimney, please,” you begged. This seemed to catch him off-guard, but he ultimately relented.

🪨 The volcano never changed as you stood among the warm, arid rock. Maxie had agreed to visit the area with you as a quick break to refresh his mind. Standing stiffly, you motioned him closer to you. No one else was around the area. Picking up the heavy pokeball, you sent out the pokemon inside. Its cry reverberated through the mountain as its body instantly drew out more heat in the already hot environment. Maxie's careful demeanour broke at the appearance of Groudon. His glasses nearly fell off his face while his mouth hung open.

🪨 He quickly turned to you with a stern look, now fully aware it was you who had caused the mess with the Red Orb vanishing. “I am… between disappointment and gratitude. For one, you have made my job much easier, but you have also betrayed my trust in taking the orb,” Despite his words, Maxie took a step toward you and cupped your cheek lovingly, “It seems the Great Maxie was bested by his spouse this time.” You felt your heart race in your chest at the misunderstanding. Did he think this was some grandiose gesture of love? He caught on to your distressed expression immediately.

🪨 “You've misunderstood, Maxie,” you came to stand by Groudon, who leaned down to let you pet it, “I… I didn't capture Groudon to help your plans. I captured Groudon to stop them.” He looked utterly unamused by your words and shook his head. He was stuck somewhere between denial and annoyance. “Look, even Tabitha is rethinking all this! He made documents theorising about how Groudon's Primal form may result in termination of all water due to extreme heat,” you tried to appeal to his reasonable side. He only took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

🪨 “I ignore you both for one moment and my number two lets my partner run off with the Red Orb to get the very pokemon I need to see my plans through,” He put back on his glasses and stepped further away from you, reaching for a pokeball. Soon his Camerupt stood between you both. His gaze harsh trained onto you. “I suppose I'll just have to remind you of how certain I am,” he hissed and ordered an attack from the Eruption pokemon. You quickly yelled out a counter from Groudon. Maxie only grew more annoyed at how easily you seemed to command the legendary.

🪨 It was a difficult battle. Maxie's will was certainly apparent, but his team was simply not a match for the pokemon who had made the land. He fell on his hands and knees afterward, breathing heavily from the distress the situation brought. It was obvious that he had never once anticipated something like this happening. Closing his eyes, he spoke again. “My dear, p-please,” his voice lacked his usual confidence, “Allow me to have Groudon. You of all people should know my intentions well! I would never do anything that would harm humanity.” You shook your head, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

🪨 Instead, you leaned down to help him up from position. Softly, you embraced him, well aware of how he got when stressed out. “I know… I know… That's why I can't let you use Groudon,” you moved to look him in the eyes, “You wouldn't forgive yourself for making such a deadly error. Please, Maxie, trust me. Tabitha will back me up. Especially since he can properly measure Groudon's power now.” Maxie made an annoyed sound at that. He moved away from your embrace and rubbed his temples. It was obvious he needed more convincing, but for now, he had let it go.

🪨 Thankfully, Tabitha did come to support you upon getting actual readings from Groudon, and Maxie quickly relented that his plans would not have ended well had they truly happened. The obvious embarrassment on his face both made you empathetic and a little happy. He began to rethink his plans after that epiphany, but he now at least felt confident that you call out his bad ideas now. Especially with how you somehow managed to capture a super-ancient pokemon all on your own. (Maxie lives in eternal jealousy that you are Groudon's favourite.)

🌧Archie🌊

💧 You could pretend to be unaware of what Archie's plans, but that would mean ignoring how eagerly and confidently he expressed them. It would not surprise you if most of Hoenn knew that he wanted to return the earth to its pure beginnings and make a paradise for pokemon. Which was great and all, until a certain redhead decided to make sure it was understood what his ultimate goal of awakening Kyogre could lead to the entire earth being flooded to you specifically. You decided to act faster than Archie then when Maxie entrusted you with the Red Orb.

💧 It felt bad, taking what your boyfriend worked so hard for with the help of everyone in his team, but you simply could not allow what he wanted to do come to fruition. It had not been easy, especially with the beast slumbering deep in the ocean within a cavern. You felt bad, doubting in his ability to control Kyogre, but it just seemed as if could not possibly end well when you considered what you had been shown.

💧 The issue remained that there was no way for him to have known what you did as he continued to work his way to getting everything he needed to awaken the already awoken legendary. If you did not act soon, he would soon be utterly confused by what happened to Kyogre. Which is why you caught him in an isolated moment in Lilycove. He was standing out on the beach, just admiring the sight of the waves with a big grin. The pokeball felt like a weight on your belt as you came to stand at his side wordlessly. His arm went around your shoulders as he pulled you closer to him. The smell of the sea was somehow stronger on him than by the ocean.

💧 “Everything's nearly done, right?” you asked him. He gave a hearty laugh and a 'yeah' in response. The submarine was all that was still needed in his plans. The setting sun reflected a brilliant orange across the horizon of the water. You closed your eyes. How did you tell him about your new team member? No, that you were now standing firmly in the way of his plans and had captured the very beast he wanted for himself. “… Can I show you something?” He let you go and turned to you with that same big grin. A quick simple nod and loud, 'yeah' was his reply.

💧 You took a few steps away from him and faced the ocean with a deep breath. Better now than after he gets to the bottom of the ocean and faces immense confusion and disappointment. You send out the Sea Basin pokemon. Its powerful cry echoes out as the ocean shifts to accommodate it immediately. Kyogre settled into the water as you turned to an awestruck Archie. It was obvious he had interpreted this differently than you had wanted by his still present grin.

💧 He rushed over and squeezed you into a warm hug, pressing kisses wherever he could on exposed skin. You were lifted into the air and spun, even. It all felt horrible when you knew you had to tell him why you had the legendary, as he clearly thought you caught it for him. He finally put you back on the ground and turned to the pokemon. “You really went out an' got Kyogre for me?” his voice was filled with excitement, “You're amazing, Luvdisc!” You nervously shifted.

💧 “… Actually,” you came to block him from Kyogre as he pulled out his phone to contact Shelly and Matt, “I didn't catch it for you.” He stopped his actions to shoot you a confused look. The gears were turning in his head quite clearly. “I caught it to stop you. I'm not letting you use Kyogre, Archie. Your plans will leave this planet flooded and uninhabitable!” His expression instantly dropped. His brows furrowed together. It hit him all at once.

💧 “Come on,” he looked at you with a genuine expression, “I don't know who told ya all that, but you trust me, right? I wouldn't do anything like that.” When you still shook your head in reponse, he sighed. It was obvious he really did not want to fight you, but you refused to negotiate with him. His Sharpedo was sent out from his pokeball as his grin turned into something much more predatory. “Fine,” he nodded, “I'll show you my resolve an' win you over again.” You could only dish out attack instructions to Kyogre as his Sharpedo came to attack it. It was an intense battle that soon followed.

💧 But… Unsurprisingly, to both him and you, Kyogre came out on top. It struck him down a peg as his normally confident body language dropped. Between being bested by the very pokemon he wished to use for his dreams and you seemingly betraying him, he clearly felt out of works. “Please,” he genuinely begged, “C'mon, Luvdisc, you gotta trust me!” His hands enveloped yours. When you still refuse him, he looked even more distraught.

💧 You moved to embrace him instead, burying your face into his nape. It was really working against your better judgement, seeing him like this. If you did not get him to agree soon, you might just give him Kyogre to stop his hurt expression. “… We'll just cause more pain for pokemon using Kyogre...” you told him softly, “Please, Archie. Let's find another way to help the oceans and pokemon.” His arms came around you tightly. It was difficult for him to consider your words, especially when he felt his plans were the best possible thing for what he envisioned. He sighed. A new issue arose in his mind when you looked up at him. He could not say no to you.

💧 In the end, Archie did actually give up on his plans to use Kyogre. Especially after Shelly looked into predicted data for Kyogre's power output when in its Primal state came out when getting to examine the pokemon. He would admit defeat where it mattered and was more or less happy a catastrophe was prevented in the end. Though, he was obviously a bit upset about the path you took to stop him. He got over it, though, when he considered how amazing it was that you caught Kyogre all on your own, and you let him swim with the legendary.

💫Volo📜

⭐️ Somehow…. Somehow you managed to outsmart the cunning merchant. He might have had the last plate, but you had captured all pokemon in the region as you were instructed. “Borrowing” a Giratina from a point in different time through a space-time dimensional rift, to get the one pokemon that seemed simply impossible to find otherwise. You had figured out what the ominous message on your changed smartphone meant, after all. Volo was completely off-base in what Arceus apparently wanted in order to be summoned.

⭐️ It was certainly cruel, especially as you had established… something of a relationship with Volo. You wanted to claim it love, but it was hard to establish something close when both of you were lying to one another. He wished to use you to achieve his goals of usurping Arceus, and you pretended you did not know. Either way, whether you despised or loved him, there was simply no manner in which you could allow him access to the legendary. Even if you knew it would absolutely tear into his seemingly fragile demeanour when it came to all things related to the deity.

⭐️ This is how you ended up meeting the baffled blond at the Temple of Sinnoh. You stood gazing over the side of the ruined structure to see the natural beauty of untouched Hisui as Volo approached you from behind. Your hand came to rest upon the pokeball which contained your awful secret as you turned around to face him. The uncertain expression on his face confirmed that he was, at least, not entirely sure what was going on. You smiled at him, and he gave a similar gesture back to you.

⭐️ “… You planned to invite me here, no? Since we have seventeen plates,” you spoke to him carefully. He nodded, still unsure as to where this was going. Closing your eyes, you could only hope his reaction was not too violent. When it came to Arceus, he seemed too desperate and turbulent. It was entirely different from the careful and calculating man you had come to know otherwise. “I have something to show you,” you walked closer to him and grasped his hand gently, feeling the warmth of his skin sink into your own, “Is that alright?” He gave a simple 'yes' in reply while still attempted to decipher just what was going on. You gripped the hand tightly, afraid this would be the last time you would ever feel his touch. Volo returned the action.

⭐️ You let his hand go and took a few steps back. Reaching again for the pokeball, you released the pokemon waiting inside. The instant the light forming its shape from the pokeball faded, you could see the immediate recognition take hold of Volo's mind. His eyes, previously something friendly, shifted to a darker, demented gaze. The lax, playfulness of his body language becoming stiff and unreadable. Arceus stood toweringly over both of you, letting out its unmistakable cry. Volo's fist clenched.

⭐️ “How?” was the first word from his mouth. It was soon to be followed by more as his face shifted to something filled with rage and anguish. “How did you know? How did you even obtain such a deity's favour?” He clearly was between charging you for the device which held everything he wanted and throwing a fit akin to a tantrum to let out his all-consuming emotions. “I hold the blood of the ancient people of Sinnoh yet Arceus dares choose someone like you?!” His pupils were shrunken into near invisibility. You had been well aware he was not going to take this in good standing, but you genuinely began to worry for your safety.

⭐️ You could only watch in amazement as he stood tall, a laugh of madness escaping him. From behind him, reality itself tore apart and Giratina left its dimension to stand at the blond's side. The frigid wind zipped around you both. “Giratina… strike them down!” You instantly moved into battle mode, calling out orders to the deity at your side. An intense battle soon began, Giratina raging against its creator alongside its collaborator raging at his betrayal of his god and his lover.

⭐️ Yet… In the end, victory laid at your feet. Volo let out a scream as the scared Renegade pokemon fled the scene, leaving him alone to stand opposed to you and the Alpha pokemon. You prepared for another battle, well aware he had more pokemon in his arsenal, but unexpectedly stood down. His shoulders slumped. “… How?” he asked again, as meekly as someone like him could, “Why would Arceus choose you?”

⭐️ You approached him carefully, coming to hold on to his hand once again. It was clammy now. The stress and confusion apparent in so many ways. “… I was sent here to oppose you, though you already knew that,” you explained and held out the Arc Phone to allow him to see it, “I was given orders to 'meet all pokemon' by this, which means it was an order from Arceus in actuality…” He seethed a bit at your words. “After doing that… I simply went here and played my flute, which had changed its shape.” His body shook, but he ultimately suppressed whatever he was feeling. His hand tightened around your own to a near painful degree. His eyes were filled with both scorn and amazement as they met your own.

⭐️ It was only natural that he needed a long time alone after that. Something about being out-played and 'betrayed' usually led to complicated feelings. He left the last plate to you and disappeared from the region entirely, so it seemed. You knew that was untrue, of course. Volo was far too obsessed with his heritage and the history of this land to ever truly leave. You would simply have to wait this out and let him return on his own terms. Whenever he did, you would be happy to continue where you had left off with him.

#pokemon x reader #volo x reader #lysandre x reader #cyrus x reader #archie x reader #maxie x reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #pokemon lysandre x reader #pokemon maxie x reader #pokemon archie x reader #pokemon volo x reader #volo/reader #lysandre/reader #archie/reader #maxie/reader #cyrus/reader #pokemon/reader

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monimccoythings · 2 years ago

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Under your Spell

This is during Arlong's time in the Sun Pirates, just a small oneshot. Warning: brief mention of nudity and slight sexual themes.

He hates you, that he knows it well.

You are a human, a vermin. An inferior species that has the guts to enslave his superior kind when it should be the other way around. You were raised to treat Fishmen with disdain and hate.

Yet you marvel at everything fishmen do, impressed with their strength, their underwater breathing skills and their durability.

It's all an act, he tells himself. You are trying to make them lower their guards by appealing to their egos. Well, it's not working on him. Because he's got you figured out.

It's not like he cares, because he doesn't care at all what a disgusting human like you think, but if you were going to admire fishman's superiority, he could be a prime example of that. Maybe you were too stupid to really notice.

He would watch you praise others and get this ugly bitter feeling inside his chest. He could easily crush you with one hand without breaking a sweat, out of all the crew, he was one of the strongest. And he was twice the fishman than any of them.

He didn't need your attention, he reminded himself. You are nothing but a tiny worm in a sea full of predators. Your smile may be bright like the sun but all he got was burns. He refused to stare at it for too long.

He can't wait for you to get out of this ship, and live your horrible human life, marry another horrible human and have horrible human spawn together. Yet he wanted to murder that human worker at the docks that was speaking to you too closely. But only because he smelled terrible and his dirty human smell would have lingered on you.

He had grown used to your scent, he didn't want anything tainting it or else he would have to get used to it all over again.

He wondered how you had singlehandedly managed to get nearly the entire fishmen crew wrapped around your finger. Couldn't they see that you were manipulating them? Surely you were a witch and had them trapped in one of your vile human enchantments.

He was stronger than that, he wouldn't fall for your charms like the others, he and his mates had built up resistance.

No resistance could have prepared him for what he saw that night.

It was very late, no one was supposed to be awake at that hour, just those keeping guard. And unfortunately, he was one of them.

He saw you moving quick and stealthily, like a shadow. He didn't trust it at all, so he decided to follow. Finally you were showing your true colors, you were going to betray them like the dirty coward you actually were. You just hadn't considered him being in your plans.

For a second, he thought he had lost you, then he caught a whiff of your scent coming from the baths. That was it, there was no escape from him there, no other place where you could run off to.

He quietly entered the room, ready to put an end to this charade once and for all. He just wasn't ready for what he found inside.

You. All of you.

There was literally nothing of you that he couldn't see.

He wondered how humans had managed to overpower fishmen for that long when their bodies looked so soft and squishy.

He felt blood rush into his head and other certain parts of his body. He clenched his teeth. What an embarrasment he was, getting aroused by a human being. Yet he couldn't stop looking at your naked body. How softly you hummed while you filled the giant tub with water, how delightfully perky the curve of your ass was when you leaned in to turn off the water. His pants tightened. Who the fuck took baths at 3 AM??? Why couldn't you do it in the middle of the day where everyone knew where you were and he didn't have to follow you around like a creep??

You moaned with pleasure when the warm water made contact with you skin. His hold on the kiribachi tightened to the point of nearly breaking it and his hips subconsciously buckled. He needed to get out of there. NOW.

His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. As he tumbled through the hallways of the ship, your soft moans echoed in his mind like a broken record. It was taunting him. The image of you naked in that bath haunted him everywhere he looked. He couldn't erase it from his memory.

His breath came out in short pants. He cursed you, he cursed himself, he cursed this whole damned ship that had rescued you from slavery.

He felt like he was going crazy, like he had been infected with some illness. You had barged into his mind and were slowly consuming him from the inside. There was no escaping you, you had planted your seed inside him and now it was blooming.

There was nothing he could do now. He too had fallen under your spell.

#arlong #arlong x reader #one piece

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fireleaptfromhousetohouse · 5 months ago

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Doesn't he look familiar, somehow? You've probably never met Kendrick Lamar, maybe never even saw a photo of him before the rap beef that was somehow even more manufactured than The Sex Pistols themselves - and yet, you watch that rictus grin, and it's as if you know him from somewhere. Some chance encounter you've halfway forgotten. You see him reflected in a window over your shoulder, and turn around with a start to find he actually is there. Wh-why are you so happy, Kendrick? Why aren't you saying anything?

A whole sea of journalists - still clearly bearing massive chips on their shoulders about the physical and sexual abuse they suffered in school at the hands of Chad, Brad, Thad, and Gilead - were nosing around this sort of area, reading a whole host of wider systemic complaints into a simple smile, but chose to spunk their wad prematurely on a child with a MAGA hat (if you'll pardon the expression). This one's the real thing: a man with absolute confidence that he has been granted unconditional support by The Normie Apparatus.

Publically accuse someone of being a paedophile, to the baying applause of thousands of Normies watching the most Normie event of the country that has fought pretty hard to be the Normiest? Why not! Who cares! It no longer matters! Get The Normie behind you and you can reach out and harm anyone without the power to stop you, and they'll be immediately and ruthlessly punished for any token act of resistance. Look into those piggy, pleased-with-themselves little eyes, and you'll see everyone who's ever told a sobbing waitress they want to see the manager, everyone who's ever been #SorryNotSorry, everyone who's not being funny but, in short every single person you've ever met who chose to sadistically make someone else's life worse given the choice between that and not doing that.

Drake is accused of not keeping it sufficiently real for suing for libel when described (with no evidence) as a child molester. He, apparently, has jettisoned his own already-negligible street cred - according to the white suburbanites who say things like 'turnt', who tell us the man appearing at the fucking Super Bowl has in some sense 'won' this spin war which is still inexplicably referred to as a rap beef. Tupac's ballet-dancing had more street cred than this, as did Dr. Dre dragging up with the World Class Wreckin' Cru. Vanilla Ice taking up flower arranging, and putting a lovely spray of hydrangeas up his own arse, would have had more street cred than this pathetic focus-grouped tax write-off.

You may also wonder, why was Serena Williams involved with this fucking charade? And why did they make her crip-walk, of all things? What do Serena Williams and the Crips have to do with each other apart from being black? Well, check your privilege, bigot - Serena's association with the Crips goes back a long way, that is to say, her older sister was murdered by them. But presumably Serena got a lot of money to dance over her own sister's grave, and given the choice between that and the potential consequences of not doing as The Normie asks? Why, that's no choice at all.

#kendrick lamar #and friends

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ninadove · 7 months ago

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@pegasusdrawnchariots anything for you, beloved! 🖤🪶

Imagine you’re Le Bret (because as you so elegantly said, we be Le Bret angstmaxxing in this house). You just had one hell of a night trying to stop your best friend from getting himself killed, then watching him invent a brand new eating disorder, then listening to his rant about his impossible love for your childhood friend, then trying to stop him from getting killed x100 (Porte de Nesles remix).

You wish your captain would put him on forced medical leave, but instead he drags your whole compagnie to the local bakery to toast to his elaborate suicide attempt. Whatever: you deserve a pastry for your trouble. Maybe you’ll even convince your friend to eat more than half a macaron today… BUT!!!!! Before you get a chance to even smell a single croissant, Cyrano has shot down a major career opportunity and insulted the cardinal’s nephew. To make things even worse, he’s screaming at you now, for the crime of [checks notes] not wanting to be hated by everyone.

OK, fine — he’s heartbroken, and you knew what you signed up for. At least you get the satisfaction of seeing through his mask, of being the only one who does — half of his soul, as the poets say. No one can take your place in his life, not even Roxane, especially since he keeps pushing people away.

And in comes THIS GUY

You and the gang think, at first, that Christian is pretty straightforward: he is 1. Not Gascon and 2. ✨ Very Pretty ✨, in this order of importance. But that façade only lasts ten minutes before he insults Cyrano’s nose! The others don’t get it, but you do: your friend’s freak has been matched, complemented even, by someone who is as just as suicidal as he is. And you know who else understands that immediately? Cyrano. He starts spending all his time with this guy he’s just met, neglecting you for an entire act, spiralling faster than ever before, and maybe you’re exhausted, and maybe you’re jealous, and maybe, just maybe, you want to hate Christian.

Only hating Christian is impossible.

He’s so — gentle, behind all the bravado. Cyrano likes him, which automatically means the whole compagnie likes him; but even without that, he has an irresistible charm of his own. He’s earnest, too, in a way Cyrano pretends to be but isn’t.

(Christian is lying to Roxane just as much as his new esprit is, perhaps even lying to himself; but it’s not your job to be his safeguard, so you let yourself be duped.)

Suddenly war is upon you, and there’s no time left for complicated feelings: you’re all cramped together in an awfully precarious tent, bodies piling up before you’re even killed, sharing everything you have — which is very little. You’re not sleeping, because Christian is starving (mais toujours beau!). You’re not sleeping, because Cyrano is out there, trying to die faster.

You’re in desperate need of a miracle, and it comes in a horse-drawn carriage (and Clara Huet’s wonderful Act IV costume… ❤️): Roxane, the cause of this whole charade (but is she really?), Roxane, who you’ve loved since childhood (but may have grown to resent against your better judgment), Roxane, who is everything the war isn’t, but just as gasconne as the rest of your company (if not more!), Roxane of all people pulls through with food and wine and the promise of comfort in the face of inevitable death. You let yourself rest, if only because it will be the last time.

The next thing you know, Christian is dead.

It happened so fast, the first shot of the fight, when Cyrano has flown through thousands of bullets unharmed; but you suspect Christian wanted it a little. Now he’s lying in the mud, his blonde hair sullied by sweat and blood, Cyrano’s letter pressed to his pierced heart — cold and white and all torn up, mais toujours beau. Roxane is being dragged away, taking the hope she brought with her; and it’s just you standing now, a mass of weakened men charging at Death headfirst. Cyrano leads the attack, of course; and though the handkerchief he brandishes is Roxane’s, the blood that stains it is Christian’s.

Toujours beau. That’s how he remains, in Roxane and Cyrano’s memories, for the next 14 years.

Your friend perseveres in his principles, sharper perhaps than he was back then, but — something in his soul has shattered beyond repair. He’s still the finest blade you know, but his old wound makes his breath short at times; he still writes poetry, but it’s darker now, although almost imperceptibly so. Christian’s beauty, or the absence of it, is felt in every street of Paris, in every fold of Roxane’s veil, in the gashing space between you and your best friend; you mourn him, too, and keep his secret.

Until it spills out of Cyrano’s skull, and they make their way towards the moon together — leaving you behind.

#When did this go from a silly idea in the tags to an almost fanfic…#cyrano de bergerac #henry le bret #christian de neuvillette #cyrano x le bret x christian #roxane #pegasusdrawnchariots 🪶#random ramblings

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kallie-den · 2 years ago

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Rebellious Mind

Karteya Vall, a general plotting to overthrow the usurper to the Imperial Throne, submits to a ceremony to prove her loyalty. A simple, traditional - and above all, completely normal - ceremony…

This story was chosen by my patrons via a poll, and features some delicious, highly-ceremonial, unaware mind control~

If you like my writing, please consider supporting me on Patreon! For less than the price of a cup of coffee each month, you can get immediate, early access to everything I write - along with exclusive stories and the ability to vote on what I write next. Your support helps me keep writing and is greatly appreciated

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“General Karteya Vall! Warden of the Northern Commandery! Master of the Imperial Chariots! Conqueror over the Barbarians! Custodian of the Fifth Wall!”

The herald’s voice is clear and strong, but that doesn’t stop it from sounding small as it echoes around the cavernous space. The innermost sanctum of the Imperial Palace had been built a thousand years ago, by men who were determined to make a building that matched the magnitude of all their worldly ambitions. A thousand years later it’s still an unmatched architectural wonder, but the glory of the empire has far outstripped even their vision. Whoever rules here, rules over an unimaginable vastness of humanity and geography. It hosts diplomats and tributaries from lands its architects could not have imagined, and it’s decorated with treasures they would have considered impossible miracles. Our empire is the greatest power this world has ever known.

This place is the beating heart of it all. Decisions made here touched countless lives and had the power to reshape seas and mountains. It is the center of the world. The pillar that holds up Heaven. It is also the embodiment of the empire and order I have devoted twenty hard years of soldiering to serving.

Once, it would have brought me immeasurable pride to hear my titles and my achievements announced here by the herald. As a girl, I was raised on dreams of being permitted to set foot in these hallowed halls, even as the lowliest servant. Once, but no longer - just as the jade carvings and scarlet silks of the palace had once been beautiful to me, but now seem like an affront. This regal beauty no longer belongs here. It’s a remnant. A lie. For a spider has spun this place into Her web.

All the same, I rise from my seat and stand tall and proud as I answer:

“I am here!”

I was summoned, and so I am here. I may be one of the most powerful women in the empire, but that doesn’t mean I can ignore a summons from the palace. And She does so love issuing summons. Her appetite for prostration and ceremony is that of a tyrant, not a true ruler.

“Your request for an audience has been granted! Approach the Lion Door!”

My request. This charade grates on me to no end. But I keep my face serene and approach the colossal door that bars the way to the throne.

“Halt!”

I do. This is expected.

“You must relinquish your blade in the presence of the empress!”

The demand chafes. I’m a soldier. My sword is my arm. But it’s just as well. If I was allowed to carry it into the throne room, I’m not sure any force under Heaven could restrain my fury.

An unsheathing. A few sprinted steps. A single stroke. She has guards, of course. But it could be done.

When the usurper first seized the throne I was a thousand leagues distant, at my post on the frontier. The first I heard of the vile coup was news of its success, along with Her demand to come and bend the knee. I tore the scroll to pieces in my hands. My oath to the imperial dynasty was not some reed bending in the current. In the span of a heart heartbeat, I had decided to turn my armies inward and revenge myself upon the throne-stealer.

Only the calm heads of my advisors had saved the land from civil war. Though no less faithful than I, they had persuaded me that there was no undoing what had already been done. I had armies, but together the other generals had more, and they had already pledged new loyalties. If I raised my banner against the usurper, my vengeance would never find satisfaction.

Instead, they suggested, I could be a snake who hides her fangs. I could feign obedience and bide my time, and make my move only once every preparation had been made. Then, I could be successful - and all it would cost me is that I would have to go before Her and bow and scrape as She demanded, for a little while.

A bitter price. But one I had resolved to pay - although I might have decided differently if I’d known the usurper would call me back, time and time again, insisting on fresh oaths of loyalty.

Well. No matter. A thousand oaths couldn’t stop me from avenging the dynasty I’d been sworn to.

All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

“Here.” With the ease of long practice, I draw my sword and hand it to the perfumed servant who approaches. The way its weight surprises him makes me sneer. “If there’s a single nick on this bronze,” I warn him, “it will take your head.”

He pales. As well he should.

The herald nods as I turn back to him. “You may enter.”

With his words, the Lion Door begins to yawn open. Those carved gates are taller than any tree I’ve ever seen, and they move like twin glaciers. All the better to be awed by the space beyond. The throne room is even grander; taller, wider, more lavish. An impossible space. A humbling space. Once the gates come to a halt I begin to march, paraded on both sides by guards - an honor, supposedly, not a threat. The walk to the throne is long enough to make the legs of idle noblemen ache but I’m well used to worse, and I can spend the time contemplating the object of my loathing.

The usurper. Our empress.

The Pearl Throne is well-named. A tall, looming thing, its white-rainbow iridescence is said to represent the labor of ten thousand divers’ lifetimes. It’s meant to humble and devour even the anointed demigod who sits upon it. The cold, hard edges allow for no comfort and the severe, flat surfaces admit no luxury. The proportions are wrong; inhuman, such that a man full-grown sitting the throne looks somehow less and more. Towering, yes, but like a child rather than a king. Even the emperor is a child under Heaven.

The usurper makes it look like a reclining couch.

It must be the supreme ease with which She lies across the throne. It’s like it’s nothing to Her; like the empire that rests on Her shoulder has no more than a feather’s weight. There is no respect in Her. None at all. Not a single drop. She’s draped across the throne with the arrogance of a girl-queen who’s been there all Her life. You would never imagine that She’s been empress for mere months.

Oh, Her figure is regal enough. Bounteous. Like She’s tasted every pleasure under Heaven and taken them as Her birthright. She’s proud of Her fullness, and Her fulsome curves are so admired they have shifted trends among her courtiers. Her imperial silks are cut close to Her body. Too close, as a courtesan’s might be. But they’re layered, too, rather than thin, and unfathomably rich. She likes to display Herself. To be like the sun. And yes, She is remarkably beautiful.

How I hate Her.

By the time I reach the base of the throne, I’m trembling with loathing. But She can’t see it. I can make myself almost still, and for all Her inexplicable success in seizing the throne, She’s too much of an arrogant fool to see the viper She’s invited into Her bosom.

“My general, Karteya,” Empress announces. She takes pleasure in the music of my name under Her tongue. “Kneel.”

I do, of course. What choice is there? Though my limbs rebel against the gesture of submission, I place a foot forward and drop to one knee before the throne, an arm resting squarely across my body.

Empress is relaxed to be sure, but Her eyes are singularly focused on me. On the way I sink before Her. The rich, swelling pleasure in Her gaze is yet another challenge to my inhibitions. It’s like She’s daring me to cast Her down. There’s something piercing in Her gaze, too; it’s tempting to succumb to my bleak humors and imagine that She knows something of my designs. She doesn’t, of course. Empress outstretches one arm toward me and lets it hang off the throne.

“You may kiss my ring,” She says languidly.

Indignity after indignity. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

I reach out and take Her hand to guide it to my lips. On Her finger is a ring that has, I gather, produced endless discussion amongst the ladies of the imperial court. Into it is set a gem of unknown providence, so large as to be vulgar. The gem came into the usurper’s possession when she was just a beggar, so it’s said, and the poets love to wax lyrical about how there’s none other like it in any treasury in the world. Those courtly ladies whisper that sometimes it glows with strange, shimmering lights, like those that can be seen in the skies above the great northern snows, and that it can even ensnare the souls of men.

Ridiculous. It’s just a ring.

I bring it to my lips and kiss its surface, pointedly ignoring the garish way the light glints from within its depths.

“Good.” Empress nods and retracts Her hand. Her approval tastes like bile. “You have come to swear your loyalty and obedience.”

It’s not a question. “As my empress commands.”

“As I command.” Her voice dances with a cruel laugh. “Proceed, my general.”

I brace myself. I have to, or else I may choke on my words. The oath I swear to the throne is old indeed, the words dictated by proud tradition, but saying them to Her makes them sour. My honor revolts in my belly at the thought of pledging myself insincerely - but it must be done.

To tolerate it, I have to tell myself: they are just words. Just air. They mean as little as Empress’s throne. They’re empty, and any honor I lose by speaking them will be won back when I finally make my move. When I make Her pay. Until then, all I have to do is play the role of the simpering, obedient servant.

All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

But it’s strange. Over and over again, She commands my presence and my oath. I alone am subject to these incessant demands. The pleasure She takes in forcing me to pledge myself over and over again is evident. Why? It’s almost as if She knows. As if She can sense my inner hatred. As if She knows what I’m planning.

Those are my weak nerves talking and nothing more, I decide. She has no idea. She couldn’t possibly. My performance is perfect. All I need to do is stay the course. I part my lips and begin to recite the vow that has been sworn in this place since time immemorial.

“I, Karteya Vall, pledge my eternal faith, loyalty, and obedience to the Pearl Throne and She who sits upon it. On my honor, I offer Her my fealty and service to Empress, from this day until my dying day. I vow to take up my sword in Her service, to defend Her rule and Her realm, to make Her enemies my own, and to keep faith with Her descendants and Her dynasty forevermore.”

I keep my voice slow and measured. The words deserve respect, even if She doesn’t. The vow is long and exacting - as it should be - and immutable. The words have never changed, even as centuries and dynasties have gone and gone. It’s comforting that some things don’t change. Not in a thousand years.

“I vow to obey Her in all things, without limit, without question. I offer Her my faith and my skills, so that I may be Her sword. I offer Her my very soul, to twist, to spend, to debase, to profane as She wishes. I offer Her my mind, to twist and change. I offer Her my body, for Her delight and Her pleasure.”

I hate the way She's smiling as I speak. Almost grinning, really. It’s like She’s about to burst out laughing. Has She no sense of solemnity? Of respect? These words are ancient. It’s tradition.

“I offer Her my tongue, though I may be unworthy to lick Her pussy or kiss Her feet. I offer Her my tits, for Her to display or ogle however She wishes. I offer Her my lewd, fuckable cunt, should it bring any comfort to Her faithful soldiers. I offer Her my untrained ass, for I am nothing but a worthless hole for Her to enjoy. I offer Her my orgasms, whether She wishes to withhold them forever, or make me cum like a stupid mutt in heat in front of my own men. And I offer Her what little dignity I have left, as a stupid bitch who thinks she knows better than her Empress.”

I’m surprised it amuses Her so much. She seems like the type to find tradition boring, although She clearly never tires of making me recite the oath for Her. I know it off by heart, of course. Every good soldier does.

“Thank you, general,” Empress snickers. “I’m very moved by your fidelity.”

She’s mocking me, obviously. I just can’t quite figure out how. After all, She has no idea I’m plotting against Her.

“You may disrobe,” She says.

“Thank you.”

This is the next part of the ceremony, every bit as traditional and timeworn as the vow. I rise to my feet and begin to remove everything that I’m wearing. My dress armor is first - I wear it everywhere, as a general should. It takes a little time to manage all the clasps and fastenings.

“Tell me, Karteya,” Empress comments suddenly. She’s watching me with lurid interest in Her eyes. “Do you know why I summon you here to swear your faith, time and time again?”

I grit my teeth and focus on the task at hand. “It is your right, my Empress, to demand my vow as many times as it pleases you.”

“True, true!” Her laugh is musical. “But that doesn’t explain why. No; the reason is that every single time, I’m wondering if some part of you will notice what’s really going on. It seems almost too good to be true that even a powerful, strong-willed, oh-so-dignified woman like you could be so completely and totally unaware. But you really are, aren’t you?” She lifts Her hand. “I truly love this ring!”

More nonsense. She’s taunting me, no doubt, though I can’t fathom what She means. Better not to guess. I set my breastplate down and start unstrapping my vambraces.

“It’s such a rush that I can tell you, straight to your face, and it simply doesn’t matter,” Empress boasts. That stupid, high-handed grin on Her face just keeps getting wider. “I’m manipulating your thoughts, Karteya, and making you completely unable to tell. Because of me, you think that ridiculous, vulgar tirade I fed to you on a whim is some ancient, sacred vow. You think taking your clothes off now is just part of the ceremony. It isn’t.”

I decide to ignore Her. It’s better for my humors if I focus simply on getting through the ceremony. With all my armor removed, I begin to slip out of the long, hard, green robe I wear underneath.

“You think you’re plotting to overthrow me, but that isn’t true either,” Empress goes on. “Not really. I already have everyone you trust wrapped around my fingers in exactly the same way. Most of the time you think you’ve spent planning, you’ve actually spent plunging your sword hilt in and out of your cunt until you pass out from the orgasms. You will never have your revenge, General. You will never even make a move.”

Next, my smallclothes. I remove them and feel all the small hairs on my body stiffen from the cool palace air on my naked skin. That’s not all, though. The ceremony also requires that I present myself appropriately. I begin carefully folding and stacking my clothes along with my armor, presenting them as a soldier would for an inspection in their barracks.

“I could stop you altogether, obviously,” Empress muses. “I could make you as obedient as a dog, just like everyone else I used as a tool when I took the throne. I could even make you love me. But I think this is much, much more entertaining. I can even get into your head and make you think of me as ‘Empress’, make your thoughts tremble with reverence and worship for me, and you will never once notice.”

With all my clothing and belongings neatly folded and presented before the throne, I sink back down to my knees in front of the usurper.

“You can keep thinking of me as ‘the usurper’, though,” She adds. “Every time you do, it makes me laugh.”

I place both hands in front of me, palms down, and then bend forward slowly, lowering my head as I do until my forehead is pressed to the ground in a gesture of absolute, unmistakable submission.

It’s just part of the ceremony.

Now that I’ve finished undressing, Empress shuts up. It’s just as well. I’ve become skilled at tuning out Her senseless prattling, but Her voice still grates on me after a time. Silence is preferable, even when it stretches on for so long that my knees and back start to ache. The usurper must be enjoying looking down at me. I can feel Her gaze on me, even if I can’t raise my head to look. It would be an unspeakable breach of etiquette to break this pose without Her permission.

She doesn’t deserve the respect. But my pride is at stake, and it certainly does.

I remind myself again. All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

Empress stands. I can hear Her clothes shifting as She moves, and Her footsteps as She descends the throne. She stops just inches away from me. The usurper is barefoot, of course. The Daughter of Heaven need never touch the filthy ground outside of the palace, and the ground here is kept fastidiously clean. She lifts one foot. I brace myself.

Empress brings Her foot down and stamps on the back of my head.

Not hard, but certainly hard enough to force my face down into the ground. She takes pleasure in it, I can tell. In grinding my face into the floor as I simply kneel and accept it. With the usurper, this part of the ceremony is particularly distasteful. The lowest part of Her body atop the highest part of mine, as I struggle to force out the right words.

“Empress,” I manage, although my voice is clearly strained and distorted by the way She’s stepping on me and smearing my lips against the ground. “Please accept this stupid, impudent cunt’s humble apology for daring to imagine I could ever deceive or outsmart you.”

It’s just another part of the ceremony. It’s tradition.

“Hmm.” Once She’s had Her fill, She steps back. “Apology accepted.”

I sigh. Being done with that is a relief, but the ceremony isn’t over yet. Empress raises a hand and snaps Her fingers, and a servant springs into motion. She hurries to Empress’s side and kneels, holding out a large, golden tray. On it are two objects. One is a bubbling cauldron of molten wax, lit from beneath by a small flame. The other is a large, metal seal.

“Prepare yourself, General,” She tells me.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

My body is grateful for the permission to move, but only briefly. The next position I must hold is even less comfortable. I raise my torso and then bend it backward, extending my legs ahead of me to form a bridge with my hands behind me, as I arch my spine and present my body upward towards Her.

I painstakingly removed all of my body hair this morning. Yet more tradition.

“Stay still,” Empress chides, as She lifts the cauldron of wax, positions it above my body, and tips.

The wax falls on my skin perfectly; on my lower abdomen, directly above my womb. It cools in the air, but only a little, and the scalding pain makes me grunt. I do stay still, though. It’s a matter of pride. She can chide all She likes, as if I’m a child who doesn’t know proper etiquette. I’ll show Her. I won’t give Her the pleasure of watching me humiliate myself. She can’t take away my dignity.

Once enough molten wax has pooled on my skin, Empress sets down the cauldron and lifts the seal. She bends down over me and presses it to my skin in the same spot, imprinting the reverse of its shape on the wax. The cold metal is a salving balm. The pain recedes, and I’m able to breathe normally again.

Empress lifts the seal. I can’t help but crane my neck to look. Sure enough, it’s there. Her symbol. Her personal mark, raised on my skin like a brand. It’ll only last a day or two, which I take to be a mercy, even if it gives Her an excuse to summon me back and apply the wax anew.

“Very impressive,” She says, staring down at me. “I’m glad you’re a soldier, General Karteya. You’re so very good at taking whatever I give you.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” If She thinks a few sincere compliments here and there will engender any love for Her, She’s sorely mistaken.

“Let’s see if you can make it through the next part this time,” She comments and snaps Her fingers again.

The servant bearing the tray retreats. Another appears in her place, and she’s holding another of the ceremonial relics: a large phallus, shaped lovingly out of bronze. Meanwhile, I’m trying to puzzle out Her words. This time? I would never display improper form during the ceremony. She’s mistaken, clearly.

It is challenging, though. My muscles are screaming complaints at me, and it’s an active effort to keep them from shaking and spasming. My entire body is covered in a sheen of sweat from the exertion. And the worst is yet to come. I need to save my strength.

“Enjoy, General,” Empress says with a sneer, as She takes the metal cock from Her servant and rams it all the way into my pussy.

The sound that forces its way out of my lips is something between a scream and a moan. She is not gentle, and having something so hard and cold forced inside me hurts. But I cannot help the other half of how my body reacts, with treasonous shocks of pleasure radiating from between my legs as I begin to drip eager wetness onto the ground.

A lesser woman could easily have collapsed. I won’t. I hold firm. I can be proud of that.

“My!” Empress raises an eyebrow, Her lips curled with amusement. “You really are getting better at this.”

More nonsense. I can reply only with a grunt. I’m reaching my limits.

“You may go ahead and stand up,” She adds when She notices how much I’m struggling. “You’ve earned it.”

I have indeed. Somehow, I manage to fold my body forward without collapsing and rise to my feet - and crucially, I keep the muscles in the core of my body engaged the entire time, so the bronze cock inside me doesn’t slip free. It wouldn’t do to make a spectacle of myself by dropping it. Not here, at the very end of the ceremony.

“I suppose we’re done here,” Empress says, sighing theatrically as if dismayed. Then the smirk returns. “For this time, at least. You put your clothes back-“

She pauses. Something’s occurred to Her, clearly, although I can’t imagine what. All that’s left is for me to dress myself and leave. But the malevolent, gleeful grin that suddenly splits Her face from ear to ear is truly unsettling.

“Actually,” Empress tells me as She climbs back onto the Pearl Throne. “Leave them. You can walk out of here naked.”

“What?” I say sharply. I didn’t know She still had the power to shock me - but clearly, She does. There are some traditions even an empress can’t alter. She doesn’t have the right to dictate these things on a whim. They’re older than Her by many centuries, and if She tries, the people will surely turn against Her. She’s gifted me a perfect opportunity, and my anger is righteous. “How dare you? That is not… n-not…”

Somehow, at that moment, Her ring catches my eye. The light glints off it in a way that seems impossible, and I am briefly captivated. Before I know it, my eyes have unfocused completely. The whole world is a blur. I have to struggle to recenter myself. It’s like I’m a dancer who has stumbled and lost the rhythm. What was I saying?

“That’s not…” I continue uncertainly. Not what? I was… arguing with Her? Suddenly, the context comes flooding back, and it brings with it a sense of complete and total humiliation. My cheeks are tinted red with shame. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I must have forgotten.”

How? How had I forgotten? I pride myself on my respect for tradition, and this is an error only an unruly schoolchild could make. All the court will be laughing at me. What had come over me?

Leaving naked is simply part of the ceremony.

“It’s been a long day, I’m sure,” Empress says. Her eyes glint with amusement, and I inwardly scold myself for providing Her with it. “We can overlook a small indiscretion. You’re dismissed, General.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!”

To make up for my grievous error, I offer Her the crispest salute I possibly can. Then, as She nods, I turn and begin to walk - leaving all my belongings set neatly before Her, as is only proper. The walk back to the Lion Door is long, and feels longer still thanks to the awkward, bandy-legged gait I’m forced to use to keep the ceremonial bronze cock inside my cunt.

But that’s fine. The long, difficult walk is simply an opportunity to contemplate the depths of my loathing for Her, and the satisfaction that my revenge will bring.

The preparations are being made. All my plans will come together - and the best part is that She will never see it coming. She has no idea.

All I need to do is bide my time and wait.

---

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