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insomniasymphony · 3 months ago

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Pokémon One-Shots - Voltorb

So, since I'm currently working on a few requests, I decided to start up a new one-shot collection with it. Every work will be found collected here!

Off we go for the first one!

Pokémon: Voltorb Tags: A tiny bit of hurt and a lot of comfort, slice of life, humour Audience: General

The flickering screen captivated its attention. Part of it felt the crowd’s excitement, hearing the people’s noises, the shouts of all those who hoped for more of what the Pokémon could give them. The speakers next to the television vibrated whenever astonished murmurs crept through the audience. The magic on the stage came to life.

In its mind, Voltorb sat among the others. Watched. Observed. Absorbed the graceful movements of someone else. It focused on a Sylveon, whose wondrous body bows whipped up and down whenever it dared to take a step forwards. Its chest puffed out and its head raised high, it exuded the desire for more. It longed for glory no one else could give it, and Voltorb knew that feeling. It knew how the longing for fame and honour and love could penetrate one’s body. A kind of tightness that otherwise seemed light and free. And beneath this, the pressure to please a trainer.

For a moment, Voltorb no longer dared to sway gently from side to side. Instead, it followed the performance on screen.

Paws danced over the stage. A trainer in a light-coloured dress whirled in lively turns on her fixed position, giving commands to draw a picture of beauty. Swift chased starlike across the stage, causing Sylveon to leap effortlessly between the bright energy. Simultaneously, it wrapped its ribbons around scattered stars, keeping a firm grip to lift them over its head and crush them until they trickled down onto the Pokémon like fairy dust. Underneath, its body rose until it stood on its hind legs and raised its paws to direct everyone’s gaze up towards the artificial light, where a moonblast shimmered faintly.

It looked as if it wanted to throw the moon itself into the crowd – with no escape. And it seemed as if nobody wanted to get up and run away. They were all mesmerised. All willing to watch this spectacle unfold. As if there was nothing that could break the silence while the show on stage shattered into thousands of shiny grains and Sylveon found its way back to all four paws. Arms outstretched to either side, its trainer bowed to her audience, thanked them, savoured the attention and smiled brightly.

Quite unlike Voltorb’s trainer, who took part in these competitions as well, but usually looked exhausted when a show was over. She had never smiled like that girl on the screen. Probably because she had never won before.

Its eyes narrowed a little. These never-ending defeats of its trainer would soon change. For sure. After all, it had been watching these performances on television for a while now. It followed how they moved, how they performed and what they did to make people smile. Maybe it didn’t have the prettiest attacks, but it had the coolest! And one of them, coming up for the grand finale, would be the one that would lead them to victory.

Briefly, Voltorb wobbled forwards slightly, then back again. For weeks, it had spent its time in the garden when its trainer used her time in gyms to train the other members of the team to give their best performance. She didn’t take Voltorb with her. After all, it was a Pokémon whose major strength lay in battle. Lacklustre and unattractive and unremarkable. But enough to put a smile on its trainer’s face from time to time.

If she gave it just one chance, just one moment to prove itself in a contest, the tired look on her face would be history. It was certain of that. It would lead her to victory, as it had so often in regular matches. On top, it hadn’t absorbed all those little cylinders for nothing. With them, Voltorb could show her something special if she ever chose it instead of Torchic or Espeon.

They would reach the top.

They would show people that a Voltorb was at least as great as any other Pokémon out there.

And when it heard the door slam shut, it couldn’t help but roll backwards and rush towards the corridor like the ball it was. To where its trainer had just put down a bag of groceries, only to take a deep breath and smile before greeting Voltorb. “Did you have a nice day?”

It couldn’t nod, so it spun around at lightning speed and enjoyed the bell-like laughter she made. She was wondrous when she did it. Unlike anything it had ever seen, and the reason it had chosen her in the end – back when Voltorb had still been wild and she had just been a travelling girl.

“Lively as ever!” She grinned. “Give me some of that energy when I perform tomorrow.” Her shoulders slumped. “Torchic’s feeling ill, and if I have to compete alone with Espeon ... I don’t know if we have a chance of winning.”

Voltorb moved closer so she could carefully place a hand on its body. Her fingers rested so gently on the shell that it automatically remembered its first contact with her – and the following explosion because she had stroked it a little too hard and something inside it had expanded. They had both been in the Pokémon Center afterwards.

“Our opponents are really strong,” she continued. “I think ... this will be our last show. These performances... We’re just not cut out for it. And I wouldn’t have to exclude you when we’re training for something anymore. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

Slowly, Voltorb shook off her hand and rolled backwards to gain some distance. Its trainer watched it with raised brows. Then it spun in circles once more, feeling the tension inside and letting a gentle thunder wave slide over the walls.

When it came to a halt, it widened its eyes as much as it could. Someone on television had once mentioned that people understood someone better if they could look them in the eye. That way, its trainer would probably realise it was ready to captivate the audience.

“I thought you’d like the idea!”

Or maybe not.

Maybe its eyes were still too small. But opening them any wider would end in an explosion; Voltorb was sure of that.

There had to be another way to bring a human closer to its desires. It couldn’t let the chance go; it couldn’t let its trainer compete alone with Espeon. But she was already grabbing the groceries and taking off her shoes to devote herself to her own world.

Voltorb immediately rolled into the path, throwing its trainer off balance and causing her to make a strange sound it couldn’t interpret. She bumped into the wall holding the bags, then fell over her own feet and flat on her nose. The rumbling sound shook through Voltorb’s body, and perhaps it was a sign to show her how fascinating a real finale could be.

However, in a flash, she placed a hand on its body as if to calm any restlessness in it. Then she turned her head in its direction. “If you blow up now, we’ll be homeless. I haven’t found an insurance company yet that doesn’t already know about you and your ‘accidents’. Besides, our electricity bill has nearly killed me already...”

Voltorb didn’t understand much of what she was saying. Certainly, it was familiar with the power outlet because the electricity in it was delicious and reminded of a small waterfall full of energy. A bit like power plants, only less intense.

Immediately, it shook off the thought, withdrew from its trainer’s touch and stared at her again with wide eyes.

“What do you want?” Her mouth twisted.

Once again, Voltorb tried another thunder wave. Tiny veins of electricity danced across the walls while it spun around and then narrowed its eyes as much as it could. Maybe this way she would understand.

“Are you trying to ... talk about the competition?” She lifted her head.

A weary sound of agreement escaped the Pokémon. She was getting closer!

Briefly, she wiped her face with both hands before looking at it again. “You’re not really trying to suggest that you could enter the next contest.”

Bull’s eye! Voltorb couldn’t help but whirl around like a gyroscope. It would compete, make it big, and show everyone that it could win.

“No way,” she shattered the dream. “Voldi, you’re not cut out for this. Believe me.” Slowly, she sat up. “You ... are a great Pokémon. Really, you are. But you’re not very ... pretty. The audience wants to see graceful Pokémon. You’re cute, but you’re dangerous because you blow up quickly. That’s... You can’t do that. You could hurt people.”

It was polished and clean and looked like the perfect Poké Ball, inviting everyone to catch it. With that, it was beautiful, graceful and, of course, cute. Sure, it wasn’t perfect with its random explosions, but every Pokémon had flaws. Sylveon, for example, wasn’t round! Espeon’s tail was split in two like a wishbone, and Torchic was known to set curtains on fire when it coughed.

No matter how anyone looked at it, Voltorb was at least as good as the others. And so it was good enough for the contests!

If only it could have puffed out its chest! But this time, its trainer seemed to understand its stubborn gaze.

“You really want this? To compete?” She shook her head before sighing. It seemed she didn’t want to argue. The competitions had clearly sucked any joy out of her. “You know what? Whatever! It’s my last contest. So why not master the whole thing with a Voltorb? Just you and me.”

Just the two of them. No unwell Torchic, no Espeon.

Just them, on their way to victory.

►EXPLOSION◄

Four attacks were all it had memorised. But they were four little weapons for the audience, watching it with sharp eyes. They would notice and like every great inch of its body.

Voltorb’s gaze wandered briefly to its trainer. The colourful fabric on her body looked special. It sparkled brightly in some places under the artificial light and distracted from the beads of sweat on her forehead. It was probably warm in here.

Once again, its gaze travelled over the crowd streaming inside. They would watch it perform the piece of art it had created. It already had a programme in mind – a fixed sequence of attacks to make everything beautiful.

When its trainer suddenly lifted it, Voltorb felt the unease inside spill over. Maybe it was all the powder it had absorbed. Part of it wanted to burst; the rest of it pulled itself together to keep the surprise from revealing before the performance.

“You realise they’ll banish us if you blow up this building, right?” Its trainer’s groans filtered through to it. “Please, no explosions.”

It did take explosions to create something great. Maybe not every day, but whenever something important happened. A lesson it had understood over the last few years when people gathered to celebrate and paint pictures in the sky.

Something seemed to tingle like tiny Caterpies across its shell as its trainer entered the room behind the counter. From here, it was possible to go on stage when called. Voltorb would have loved to roll around to burn off some energy, but it would probably need every bit of it. So it remained motionless in the arms of its trainer.

Until her name was called, and the human behind the loud voice sounded almost a little stunned when he called “Voldi” as well.

Immediately, the girl at its side moved and carried them both out onto the stage – to the vast expanse of all the dreams Voltorb had ever felt. In this place, it would beat all the others and make its trainer proud. It would prove to everyone that it could do more than just be a burden and a nuisance.

Carefully, it was set down on the ground. The spectators were barely visible in the bright light. Only a few shadowy silhouettes could be made out, forcing the Pokémon to roll further into the centre. Silence weighed heavily on it. The desire to just blow up and get rid of all the tension bubbled up inside, but it didn’t gain the upper hand.

And then the contest started.

Barely audible music played in the background. Voltorb knew it was there to help determine how much time was left for the performance. A programme couldn’t be longer than ten minutes. In Voltorb’s case, only five were needed. For sure.

“Show them what you can do, Voldi!” Its trainer’s exclamation thundered behind it with confidence. Those seconds were all the courage Voltorb needed to begin.

The world inside its head came to life. Electricity surged around its body before it sent the thin veins flashing across the ground like a net. Thunder wave chased across the smooth surface, rising at the edge of the stage and distracting the shadows behind it, hopefully long enough for them to notice the bright energy stars of swift swirling through the air only at the last minute.

Voltorb watched briefly before attacking each star with spark, lighting them up and turning the once-bright lumps of energy into almost genuine stars.

They swept across the shadows, and their faces popped out as the light moved them into the foreground. Voltorb thought he detected fascination in them. Excitement and thrill that would make it famous as they all realised how wondrous a simple Pokémon of its kind could be.

For a moment, they watched the marvellous flood of lights that emitted an unusual rumble in the background. Long enough to elicit a sound of fright from some people, but not enough to lure anyone out of their seats.

Voltorb used the moment to send a few sparks into the air, to combine a renewed swift with electricity, and to lift itself into the air with magnet rise. No sooner had it turned most of everyone’s attention back to the stage than they caught on to its final pose – it could feel the eyes on its body.

Surrounded by twinkling electric stars which slowly lost shape and brightness, it probably looked like a small, round comet in the middle of the universe. Voltorb believed in it, convinced itself that its trainer would be proud of it right now and that the spectators wouldn’t forget a final like this.

This time, it didn’t push back the tension inside. It no longer cared about not making a mistake, because in those seconds, everything was perfect. Self-destruct was exactly what they needed.

Heat built up under its shell, the stars at its side faded, and magnet rise threatened to collapse–

And then it happened.

A resounding bang that engulfed the entire hall, giving Voltorb inner freedom and allowing it a brief glimpse of colourful lights. It only recognised the panicked screams in the background as a buzzing noise.

Immediately afterwards, deep blackness enveloped all consciousness in a pleasant embrace.

This time, it had shown everyone how much charm it contained.

►EXPLOSION◄

The image before its eyes only slowly became sharper and brighter. It took a few minutes before Voltorb was completely sure it wasn’t waking up somewhere unfamiliar.

The room it was sitting in was well known, as were the beds in it and perhaps the image of its trainer in one of them. Someone had put a band-aid on her cheek while she kept shaking her head – Rotom Phone firmly in her hand. Her mouth moved, but she couldn’t make a sound.

Voltorb tried to roll towards her to draw attention to itself, but someone had placed it on a base frame, fencing it in and making any escape impossible.

As a result, it made a complaining sound, causing its trainer to look up. “You’re awake!”

She quickly threw aside the duvet and pushed out of bed. “You gave me quite a fright when you blew up and everything became so colourful.” She dragged her body over to it. “I told you not to explode. Things like that cause ... problems.”

It would have liked to disagree. The humans had looked at Voltorb as if it were something special, and nobody seemed to be afraid of an explosion. But perhaps it had made a mistake and wanted too much with its performance. If its trainer said so, it must be true. It had created problems.

Perhaps it had dreamed too much.

“You put so much thought into it,” continued its trainer. “And ... I can hardly believe it myself, but we won!” Out of nowhere, she pulled a winning ribbon out of her dress pocket. “Nobody but me was hurt in your self-destruction, and ... it was so colourful and beautiful. Almost like a real fireworks display. However you did it ... you did something amazing.”

She carefully stuck the ribbon on Voltorb. It would get all tangled up if it rolled around, but she was probably prepared to put up with that.

It had won.

It had really, truly won!

“Besides, nothing was broken except two lamps, but they don’t count. And many people asked me after the performance how I came up with the idea of teaching you to blow up so colourfully. I didn’t have an answer, of course, but Nurse Joy said you must have stolen something from some fireworks.”

Her laughter echoed briefly through the room, and Voltorb felt itself growing. Only a few centimetres, but it was expanding. Inwardly.

“Anyway, many children and adults have taken a liking to you and wanted to ask experienced gym leaders to teach them how to treat a Voltorb.”

Its popularity grew with every word. Everything had gone exactly as it always had during its wildest dreams. Perhaps none of this was real and the fantasy held its mind captive until the fine dust inside was no longer in danger of being turned into a bomb by its electricity. Or this really was reality.

“Our only problem is the bill for the wall you perforated with your electric swift,” its trainer continued. “Probably ... we’ll have to sacrifice the prize money for that. Not all of it, but ... most of it.” She sighed. “But what am I talking about? It’s a small price to pay for proving me wrong.”

She nudged it with a fingertip, causing Voltorb’s body to sway slightly to the side. Then she smiled at it. “Thank you.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 author #ao3 writer #fanfiction writer #pokémon #pkmn #voltorb #pokemon fanfiction #request

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insomniasymphony · 3 months ago

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Trying to fight writer's block

I'm currently struggling a lot with writer's block. Like, I look at all my stories and just want to burn them down.

Stuff like that often happens to me because I haven't had the chance to write something new in quite a while. So, maybe, you guys could help me out to create some one-shots (fluffy ones or some in the hurt/comfort section) to get my mind a little bit less stuck?

What I mean by that is: I would like to write some Pokémon one-shots (Pokémon as the main characters). And you would help me a lot if you could maybe give me a little start in the form of a spark (idea-wise). So:

What Pokémon would you like to read about?

Would you like it to be fluff or more on the painful side (with a happy ending)?

Bonus: Do you have a song fitting for the Pokémon or the scene in your head, or do you have a little scene you could describe to me in 2-3 sentences?

Thanks to everyone who throws something in! I'm seriously going slowly insane here. 😂

#fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 author #ao3 writer #fanfiction writer #pokémon #pokemon #pokemon games #pokemon fanfiction #pokemon explorers #pkmn #request

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insomniasymphony · 6 months ago

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My Stories - Masterlist!

1. Babanbaban Ban Vampire (1 Work. Pairings: Rihito x Mori - smut)

2. Blue Lock (1 Work. Pairings: Isagi x Bachira // Isagi x Chigiri)

3. Delico's Nursery (2 Works. Pairings: Dali x Gerhard)

4. Harry Potter (1 Work. Pairings: Reader x Snape - smut)

5. Hunter x Hunter (4 Works. Pairings: Various x Reader // Illumi x Killua // FOC x Chrollo)

6. Jujutsu Kaisen (1 Work. Pairings: Gojo x Geto - emotional smut)

7. Kemono Jihen (1 Work. Pairings: Kabane x Kon - fluff)

8. One Piece (1 Work. Pairings: Various x Reader)

9. Paripi Koumei (1 Work. Pairings: Kongming x Eiko - painful fluff)

10. Pokémon (all media types) (4 Works. Pairings: FOC x Amethio // Ilima x Plumeria // Friede x Natural)

11. Sk8 The Infinity (2 Works. Pairings: Ainosuke x Langa // Shadow x Flower Shop Manager)

12. Sousou no Frieren (1 Work. Pairings: Himmel x Frieren - sad fluff)

13. Tomo-chan Is A Girl (1 Work. Pairings: Tomo x Misuzu - sad one sided attraction)

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insomniasymphony · 6 months ago

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SK8 the Infinity

A Slaves Bell: Langa x Ainosuke. Finished at 70 chapters, 174K words. Be careful, this is a dark fic, full of depression, being abused, used and driven to the end. Romance is one-sided. Langa suffers. A lot.

The Lies He Dreams: Shadow x Flowershop Manager. Finished at 1 chapter, 3K words. A what-if scenario made by Shadow's brain. He isn't happy. But at least he had the chance to be in his dreams.

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insomniasymphony · 6 months ago

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Pokémon

Whispers: Amethio x Original Female Character. Currently in progress. If you're interested in a big journey full of adventures, mystery, drama, and a slow-building romance in a somewhat darker Pokémon-world, this is your jam.

Perfume: Plumeria x Ilima Finished at 1 chapter, 4K words. A one-shot about a little revenge, leading up to unexpected (at least for Plumeria and Ilima) smut.

Harmonia: Friede x Natural Currently in progress. The first side story of Whispers. A tragic romance between our sunnyboy Friede and emotional chaos Natural.

The Oddball Omnibus: No ship Currently in progress. A one shot collection of various Pokémon and their daily life out there. A little bit of pain and a lot of comfort and maybe even some humour!

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insomniasymphony · 6 months ago

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Hunter x Hunter

Deadly Sins: Various x Reader. Finished at 38 chapters, 61K words. In search for spicey romance and sadness? This one-shot collection may satisfy you.

Same Vibes: Illumi x Killua. Finished at 1 chapter, 11K words. For everyone who enjoyed the smexy taboo stuff between siblings.

Doll: Hisoka x Female Reader. On Hiatus due to editing. A story for girls who enjoy breaking taboos, rules, and bones. A steamy romance with some action and drama to enjoy.

The Ethical Misfit: Original Female Character x Adult Trio. Currently on hiatus because the fandom is a shitshow. A steamy, polyamorous romance, peppered with finding your true self while feeling like trash. Drama included.

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insomniasymphony · 6 months ago

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Delico's Nursery

A Touch Of Forgiveness: Dali Delico x Gerhard Fra Finished at 1 chapter, 2K words. A little pining from Gerhard's side, unable to understand Dali and his way of dealing with stuff.

The Embrace Of Flames: Dali Delico x Gerhard Fra Finished at 9 chapters, 32K words. A short story about the harsh consequences of drugs on a vampire's body, dotted with love and obsessive behaviour towards one person.

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insomniasymphony · 6 months ago

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Babanbabanban Vampire! Smut-Shot

Seriously, the anime is hella fun! I really enjoy the comedy in there. But, oh well, there was that one short idea for a little smut-shot. So here we are.

Please beware, I'll only post a little part of it here. If you want to read it in full, please consider visiting and reading it on AO3!

Rating: Explicit Warning: Dubcon, Underage smut Pairing: Mori x Rihito

If there was one thing Ranmaru understood in those seconds, sitting on the ground, Rihito on the run, it was the allure of innocent youth. To misunderstand a situation in which he had nearly killed Shinozuka Aoi in such a way was only befitting of untouched, naive souls like this boy’s. Three more years and his sweet purity would be the most precious flavour of all.

Only the thought tingled tantalisingly under his skin. Twitching settled in his loins, in his fingers, his legs. Watching Rihito run away from him awakened a hint of hunting desire in Mori. If he got up here and now, it would be impossible to resist this boy any longer. He would bite him, tear him, devour him like the dessert he was.

A soft gasp escaped his blood-red lips before he shook off the thought. There was something unique about using Rihito’s love as a rival to nurture and mature him. It was the first time he had cultivated a fruit with so much care. If he dripped more nutrients into the soil, it would perfect this boy. The taste of full-bodied affection, with a hint of longing and childish desire – it had to taste like honey.

For a breath, Mori thought he could savour Rihito. He slid his tongue over his mouth, trying to burn the flavour into his memory, but failed. So he got to his feet, brushed off his clothes and grabbed the bicycle that lay abandoned on the ground. Catching up with Rihito on these wheels would be too easy. So Ranmaru pushed it alongside him for a few metres, caught up in his thoughts.

Any idea regarding Rihito beguiled him. He could turn this boy into anything. At least, it was a consideration that sometimes slipped into his mind, while the truth was another. Every action had to be carefully thought through. One mistake and he would have waited all these years for nothing.

So was it really the best decision to let Rihito experience more love? Would it help his maturity to defeat his rival and win Aoi over?

A tremor coursed through Mori’s body. There was no way he was going to let it get that far! Even thinking about letting Rihito run into the arms of this girl made his chest tighten. A clear signal that the only right decision was to keep Rihito away from this troublemaker.

Most of the time.

A few brief encounters would keep Rihito’s longing alive until it became a permanent part of his body – like the seasoning in a long-prepared dish.

A satisfied smile formed on Mori’s lips. This way he could savour his fruit when it had reached the pinnacle of life – the perfection of human character. His fingers tightened their grip on the handlebars. Three more years. Almost 1,095 days. 26,280 hours. For a vampire, nothing more than two very long breaths, which he would spend with kind words and a watchful eye on Rihito.

However, he was already breathing in and out countless times on the way home without conquering a second. Knowing he wouldn’t exchange a single word with Rihito for the next few days turned the flow of time into a viscous mass that dragged on relentlessly.

This way, he would age forty centuries in those three years.

“Perhaps I should apologise...” He hung his head. An explained misunderstanding would repair the bond between them and push everything back into an orderly line that could be easily controlled.

Ranmaru’s pointed ears twitched. Not only would everything get better with an explanation, but there was also hope of improving Rihito’s taste despite everything. When their rivalry faded, joy would set in. Deep relief that gave a certain lightness to his sweet blood. That, in turn, would make a sip of Rihito’s seem like none and enhance the preciousness of his existence. First joy. Then relief. Trust and deep, honest remorse as a round finish.

He had to swallow. The saliva on his tongue threatened to overflow. Perhaps it was wiser to calm down with a little tomato juice first. Some kind that was at least halfway close to the idea in his head.

In the distance, the bathhouse came into view. Lights were glowing downstairs. Rihito’s father was probably standing behind the reception desk, throwing warm greetings at every guest. It wouldn’t be long before they closed. By then, at the latest, it would be time to grab the cleaning tools and make sure everything shone until the next opening.

Another useless thought that haunted him until he reached the sliding door to the entrance and tiptoed inside. Dull light surrounded him. No one waited behind the reception desk. Without further ado, Mori took a step back to look at the “closed” sign hanging almost invisibly on the outside of the door.

With a sigh, he closed the sliding door behind him and dug the key out of a shelf under the reception desk. The click of the lock brought peace, drove the worries from his mind, and allowed him to take a deep breath. All he had to do was apologise to Rihito and make him realise that rivalry wasn’t quite what he was looking for. With the right words, the boy would forgive.

So Ranmaru left the reception area behind to stride into the adjacent living area. The darkness of the corridor settled kindly on his eyes, so he quietly took the stairs to the first floor. However, the wood creaked somewhere in the middle, stopping his smooth movements and luring Rihito’s father out of the living room all at once.

“Ah, you’re back!” The radiance on his face seemed to tease him – as it had so often in recent years. “Were you able to find Rihito? Because if not, I can comfort you. He came home earlier and immediately disappeared into his room. The girl he likes probably broke his heart.” A throaty laugh escaped the old man. “He’s probably asleep by now.”

“Then I’ll check on him. I’m sure he could use some advice,” Mori replied slowly.

Meanwhile, Rihito’s father braced his hands at his sides. “And here I thought you were going to go out for the night because everything is fine. Must be nice to party until the early hours at night, having a drink with your friends.”

“I spend most of my time hunting for edibles.” The wan smile on Mori’s features hurt. Some days, it seemed strangely exhausting to pretend that this man’s statements weren’t stale. The fact Rihito’s father didn’t believe in the supernatural was normal during this time. But the signs were so clear that Ranmaru sometimes wondered how blind this family was.

“As long as you don’t bite our guests, it’s all good!” The old man’s grin widened, as if he was expecting another tale of old days Mori had long since left behind. But he seemed to have run out of words as he gestured Ranmaru to go upstairs.

Mori nodded briefly in the old man’s direction before climbing the last few steps to the top. The wooden steps continued to creak under his weight and the upper floor’s darkness immediately enveloped his body in a haunting darkness he found almost non-existent. Not even the whispering of the shadows escaped the eyes of a vampire at night.

Until he reached Rihito’s door, Mori’s thoughts remained blank. Carelessness clung to his consciousness, making the hurdles so easy he could no longer suppress the honey-sweet smile on his lips before he knocked.

The answer was silence.

Quietly, Ranmaru opened the door. The knob turned agonisingly slowly in his hand and as the wood swung inwards, his body followed as if on command. The curtains closed, blackness overtook the room, more insistent here than in the corridor. Every breath tasted of Rihito, of restlessness and sweat.

The boy lay buried under his duvet, which rose and fell unevenly, as if he were lost in deep nightmares. Only his face peeked out on one side – marked by calm that didn’t match the scent of this room.

Mouth agape, Mori closed the door and leant against the wood. In those seconds, his favourite project rested, processing the day and, presumably, the anger from before. Trouble that would corrupt his mind and ruin his taste. The unspoken apology had to get out, had to reach Rihito before it was too late. He couldn’t think badly of the vampire. Not if they were to spend another three years together.

But instead of raising his voice and waking Rihito, Ranmaru waited in place. Unable to avert his gaze, his eyes drilled stealthy holes into the boy’s sleeping frame – caught in the face of mortal innocence, sliding coldly over his body and tightening his chest. Hunger loomed beneath. Discomfort shot through his veins.

He was supposed to turn around and leave.

His legs moved of their own will.

Tomorrow would be one more day to talk to him.

Without being asked, his feet carried him forward until the bed gave way under his weight. Clawing his sharp, blood-red nails into the wooden frame, Mori merely tried to position himself on the far edge of the bed, close to Rihito’s upper body, while his attention continued to glide over the boy’s face. Lips slightly parted, his warm breath reached Mori’s fingertips.

Or maybe he was just imagining it.

Still, the vampire leaned forward, down to Rihito’s neck, to breathe him in.

He smelled divine – warm skin, inviting him to feast. His fangs ached, and saliva gathered on his tongue. Half in thought, Ranmaru licked his lips, then the tips of his teeth. His upper body bent lower, only freezing when Rihito’s skin almost touched his lips. In this position, Mori felt the boy’s heat on his cheeks, heard the rush of blood beneath the surface, and forced himself to exhale shakily.

Just a small bite, it echoed in his mind. Just a single mouthful.

His teeth gritted as his jaw tightened. He couldn’t give in, couldn’t succumb to hunger. He had waited so long for Rihito to mature. Three years wasn’t a long time. Three years was a stone’s throw.

And yet, he was starving.

What harm could a quality test do?

[...]

#fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 author #ao3 writer #smut #fanfiction writer #baban baban ban vampire #Tatsuno rihito #Mori Ranmaru #anime and manga #m/m romance #m/m smut #m/m ship #dont like dont interact

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insomniasymphony · 7 months ago

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Harry Potter - Hot Severus Snape x Female Reader OS

Warning, there won't be too much spice here. This is just a snippet. If you want to read the full one-shot with all it's spice, please read "The Wolf's Lamb" on AO3!

You want him.

Whenever he bursts into the classroom, like a storm of parched deserts, you set your sights on him. His billowing cloak trails behind him like a shadow, full of secrets and unspoken truths he guards better than any potion. His footsteps echo, audible only to you; while everyone else sinks into their chairs, hoping not to disgrace their homes. They are sheltered, unable to recognise the seething hunger alongside the infinite possibilities of a single elixir. They all want something. Anyone.

You want Professor Severus Snape.

Today, too, he strides behind the teacher’s desk in the same manner, one of his worn books in his hands. Sometimes he runs a thumb over the covers like a man who favours quiet knowledge because it teaches him, nourishes him, tempts him, perhaps even pulls him into a world you’ll never be able to figure out.

The sight lures you, feeds the desire to sit up a little straighter and make him realise you exist. You want him to see you. Not as a schoolgirl, not as a potential plaything to feed his inhuman, nasty, ravenous side. You want him to see the woman in you. The blossom of a spring that will last twenty years before summer sets in and leaves marks on your skin of wasted hours and daring ideologies.

Severus’ voice hums in the room. A slightly nasal undertone burns into your memory, caresses your perception and tells you about potions, ingredients, magic, death – but not once about lust. Yet you know it.

You know the potions that scare even him. Liquids that can settle on his skin like fire, reminding him that he is still alive, even though the end of a long journey is part of who he is. Fluids, shiny as gold or black as night, that promise him nights of passion and heartache until dawn.

He never addresses even one of them. He prefers the closeness of death over the life of an ordinary person. Love, you are sure, is just a worn-out construct for him, which he possibly maintains because everyone has loved before, but not everyone has been loved.

Severus isn’t a man who finds affection in the walls of old castles. Not in your world. He merely finds the same thing here as everyone else: the feeling of love lurking deceptively in the cracks, waiting to find out if you want to live life broken or infatuated with a memory of days gone by.

He has chosen something in between. Bitter as black tea, dancing with another’s rejection; bathed in sweet-smelling rose petals in remembrance of a memory he wears heavily on his shoulders. Severus Snape isn’t broken, but he isn’t a fool either.

His lips are moving, giving instructions. Today you won’t be brewing a potion, instead, you’ll be indulging in various herbs, spices, and temptations, all of which will pass as static in the back of your mind. You rest your head in one hand, close your eyes and block it all out. Until the bell rings, you understand his every word without grasping the meaning, while everyone else shifts in their chairs, focussed on the idea of escape. As if the man in front of them is a Death Eater, ready to throw them into a cauldron for a meal.

You are the only one left behind. Your body doesn’t rise from the chair. The fascination sits too deep in your bones, licks across your marrow and awakens a shudder that wants to reach for him. Every cell in you knows Snape isn’t a hunter who knows how to tame a wolf. Instead, he is the stag whose antlers are for adornment, unable to protect him from the sharp claws of a predator. He doesn’t feel the tension, the desire, the will, the reverie that captivates you for just a moment.

Behind the blackness of your eyelids, you can be anything.

Today you are a spider sitting just a few metres away from your writhing prey – dewdrops as thousands of witnesses to your deeds.

You desire him.

Suddenly, getting up is easy and as Severus carefully sorts the jars of his wayward life onto shelves telling more about him than you dare to believe, you stride towards him. Your fingertips graze table surfaces; rough, worn wood. Bumps press against your skin, moistening your throat with fresh saliva, deeply devoted to the hunger within – until the prey notices its hunter.

His gaze shifts to you and the darkness of his expression blends with the sickly pallor of his skin, lending poetic features to graceful death in the icy moonlight. His appearance is a love song to all those whose steps are heavy and thoughts dark.

As your fingertips brush across the table like feathers, Severus raises his voice. He calls your name – firm and demanding and a little annoyed in the face of his well-protected solitude. You can only assure him you haven’t come to stay – for surely the lamb will only be torn once.

A smirk forms on your lips, for the thought of a stag realising in the glow of a light spell that it is only a lamb after all has the wit of shattered arrogance.

Snape doesn’t share this view; unable to look inside your head and always keen to preserve what little space he has for his own feelings. His furrowed brows match his slightly crooked nose. He could almost pass for the villain of conventional stories, where you are the victim and he sees no fault in his actions. But the roles don’t fit, are shifted and mixed, a bit divided between you, because he casts an unknowing look of disapproval while you tensely draw your wand.

All it takes is a quick flick of the wrist to bring Severus under your control. An immobility spell that Flitwick taught you under the pretence of trying to catch a rat. Immobulus; in a modified form. Like gentle resistance on your own lips as you breathe the last syllable.

He stands there stiffly, dressed in black and his eyes widened. His expression punishes you with a dark gleam, reprovingly telling you of lessons and consequences, because attacks on teachers aren’t tolerated. It is of low nature and perhaps that is part of you, at least as much as it is part of the man who stands before you and can no longer escape the wolf.

At first, your fingertips feel his chest through the fabric and though he seems closer to death than life, warmth nestles against your skin, a reminder that the blood inside him isn’t frozen yet. The scent of herbs clings to his clothes and you snuggle against his body to breathe him, Severus. Simultaneously, your hands run flat over his torso, up to his shoulders, where they slip under the light fabric of the cape you take from him.

Immediately afterwards, it falls like flowing black gold over the table behind which Snape usually keeps notes. The quill and ink disappear under a part of it. [...]

#harry potter #severus snape #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 author #ao3 writer #fanfiction writer #professor snape #snape fandom #smut #harry potter smut #teacher x student #purple prose

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insomniasymphony · 11 months ago

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Delico's Nursery And The Embrace Of Flames

Attention, this is a 9 chapter long story. This here is chapter 1. If you want to read the rest of this story, please consider bookmarking the story on AO3. Maybe leave Kudos there too!

Rating: For this Chapter: Teens and up audience. For the whole story: Explicit Warnings: This chapter - None ; This story - choose not to warn Pair: Dali x Gerhard!

Screams filled the streets. The carriage shook with loud neighing, stopped abruptly and while Angelico clutched the door with his small hands, whimpering, Gerhard pushed the other open with his foot – one hand on the hilt of his sword. He leapt out in a single movement, only hearing the dominant clacking of his boots on the stone floor in the background, and let his gaze wander.

Humans and vampires chased past him, throwing his senses into an unruly turmoil. Pressing his lips tightly together, Gerhard ventured a step forward – not too far from the carriage in which his son rested – and darted a glance at the coachman, whose wide-open eyes hung lifelessly on the horizon.

“Hey, what happened?” Still, Gerhard shouted over to his coachman as if there was a chance of an answer. A tingling sensation under his skin made his forehead sweat. Too much was happening between the panicked crowd and this motionless man.

Without further ado, he clicked his tongue. Then he took a step to the side and grabbed the first woman he passed by the upper arm. The shock travelling through her body reached into his bones as he asked, “What happened?”

He was probably too loud, too bossy, asking too much of a frightened figure who stared at him wide-eyed and wriggled, trying to escape his grip. She looked over her shoulder twice, then followed a few others with her eyes before tearing herself away from him. “Run, we all have to run away!”

“From what?!”

“There’s a monster,” she shouted back at him. “He’s murdered five ... humans or vampires ... I don’t know anymore!” Her sounds resembled the desperate screeching of an animal. “He’s going to kill us all!”

Before Gerhard could ask any more questions, she started moving again, following the other figures as they ran off, infecting other passers-by like a running fox. So he retreated to the carriage. Mouth twisted, he scrutinised each one as the picture in his head slowly came together.

If they were all running away, it had to be a vampire. In the end, his race was still stronger than humans with their fragile lives. They were faster, more merciless, more dangerous in every way – and yet, five victims remained remarkable.

For a moment, he associated the confusion with the TRUMP case; a daring attempt to draw attention in one direction to distract from something else. An absurd thought, considering the secretive movement of these maniacs under normal circumstances. What was going on here?

“You aristocrats are prettier up close.”

Whispers nestled against Gerhard’s ears, sending a shiver down his spine and spinning his body around almost automatically. Simultaneously, he swung his sword – almost blind to the overwhelming feeling of surging panic – and plunged the blade into the body of a crookedly grinning man. Sharp teeth dug into the stranger’s lower lip, blood trickled down his chin. The rest was covered by a black hood pulled down low.

For a second, not another muscle in Gerhard moved. Only the stranger’s grin burnt itself into his senses, blocking out the world. He realised too late when the stranger raised his hand, took a breath and in the next blink of an eye blew a handful of powder into his face with his bloody breath.

Surprised, Gerhard gasped for air, constricted by the sudden scratching of his throat. A cough overcame him, stabbing through his body. Meanwhile, the blade slipped out of the stranger’s waist, leaving nothing but billowing blackness – an ugly construct of viscous black water that refused to splash to the ground. His fingers trembled, detaching themselves from the handle. The steel thundered to the ground. Saliva collected and ran down his chin. Gerhard tried to swallow several times, but failed due to the tightness of his throat. In a flash, he put his hands to his neck, searching for stability, while a slightly bitter flavour spread across his tongue. Behind it was a strangely stale flavour combined with a gentle sweetness. A kind of sugar he thought he could smell.

He breathed through his open mouth for a few seconds until he thought he could swallow again. Then he ran the back of his hand over his mouth. Saliva seeped through the white gloves, leaving dark stains he stared down for a second. His head was spinning. Every thought he tried to grasp ran through his mind like sand, and when he raised his eyes, the stranger was gone. The panic of the crowd slowly subsided in the background.

“Father...?”

The tearful question reaching him tore at his mind. Far too frantically, Gerhard jerked his head towards the carriage. Angelico stood at the door, ready to jump out or stumble back inside. The stranger had disappeared. Part of him wanted to hug that little blond mop of hair tightly to him. The rest took a stance and a deep breath.

“Get back in the carriage!” It was too dangerous to let his son out in this confusion – in the middle of an incident lying before him, both, finalised and unconquered.

There was nothing he could do.

Still, he dragged himself to the carriage door to close it before walking up to the coachman and grabbing him by the arm. With one pull, he tore the man from his seat, caught him, and set him down on the ground. The coldness of his skin, the lack of life in his eyes – he didn’t need to check to be sure of his death.

He carefully dragged the body over to the wall of a house – contrary to every honourable act of a nobleman. Bile bubbled up his throat. If he went to Dali now and sent word from there, someone else would take care of this body. Someone would take care of this forfeited life. Someone other than him.

Swaying, Gerhard heaved himself onto the coach seat. The reins lay light as a feather in his hands, a little like his sword, which he could no longer feel on his hip and whose relevance diminished with every breath he took. Immediately afterwards, he chased the horses ahead at a fast gallop along the road. The clatter of hooves thundered in his ears, reminiscent of thunderstorms and pouring rain – and somewhere in between, Gerhard thought he could taste drowsiness. A draining feeling that forced his soul out of his body, ready to fuel unknown pleasures.

He clung tighter to the leather straps, his gaze fixed on the brown stallions. For almost an eternity, the muscular movements of the animals burned themselves into his mind. Then the nausea spilled over. His stomach turned, the high died down, and clarity settled in. Lips tight, Gerhard swallowed the bile until the Delico estate came into view and the nausea faded as he passed through the heavy double gates.

However, progress didn’t get any easier. Gerhard’s legs wobbled as he dismounted and stumbled to the carriage door to let Angelico out. His son’s whimpering had still not subsided, and it didn’t stop even when he harshly urged him to follow and not dawdle. Meanwhile, the servants who hurriedly came to meet him gazed in silent astonishment, and it was only within Delico’s four walls that a hint of relief settled over Gerhard’s shoulders.

Weakness swept over him, paralysing the muscles in his body and casting reality in a new light. His breath rolled heavily over his lips as he bumped his shoulder against the wall. Sweat stood on his forehead, making him swallow drily; and if he hadn’t known better, he would have returned home. But there was nothing wrong with him. The powder punished him with after-effects, combined with lingering shock and unwanted surprise. Sensations that would pass as soon as he could rest for a few minutes.

“Father...” Angelico’s small hands plucked at his black coat and although he wanted to answer, his throat felt too parched to make a sound.

He had to swallow a few times before he found his voice again. “Bring Angelico to the others. I assume Dali is in the library?”

He always was, ever since they’d started looking into the TRUMP-related mission. He usually did the research there when Dino reviewed files and documents from past cases.

“But Father ... what about you?”

His gaze briefly wandered to Angelico. “I have work to do and now leave.”

It was strange. His voice always sounded too brash when he reprimanded Angelico, and yet in those seconds, it almost seemed as if he had added a gentle undertone. Even though he wasn’t allowed to show any weakness towards his son. He had to set an example of how a proud man of nobility should behave. Courageous and strong and determined, so that Angelico would one day be a boy who wouldn’t bring dishonour to the House of Fra.

“Master Delico is, as you mentioned, in the library, sir. Would you like someone to accompany you?”

Gerhard waved it off in a flash. “I’ll find the way.”

Since they had made this house their headquarters for this case, he knew almost every goddamn corridor by heart. That made the walk up to the heavy double swings almost short, and as Gerhard pushed powerlessly against the wood, it almost refused to open. It took nearly two breaths to get inside and discover Dali at first glance.

“Goldilocks! You’re ... late?” Dali’s humour turned to mischievous seriousness far too quickly. “What happened? Had a rough ride?”

Gerhard dragged his heavy feet to the red upholstered armchair, where he sat down with a gasp.

“I ran into a mass panic on the way here.” He ran a hand over his face, barely noticing.

“They said someone had killed five victims – of uncertain origin, probably vampires – and in a careless moment, someone blew a powder in my face.”

“A powder? Poison?”

He shook his head. “No poison. No big deal. It seems to have been a drug that makes its victims dizzy.”

“And the attacker?”

“I hit him with my sword. Then he disappeared.”

“That’s why it’s not in its sheath.”

A brief tension dug into the pit of Gerhard’s stomach before he glanced at his belt, where the sword and sheath usually hung. He must have left it there.

“Damn...” His fingertips ran over the empty leather. “Besides, my coachman is dead.”

“Then maybe you should pass this news on to the agency before any more panic breaks out.” Dali’s brows lifted. “You probably left him lying around, too.”

“I took care of it properly!” Gerhard countered sharply. “Shouldn’t you be wondering whether the whole thing is connected to the TRUMP case?”

“Ah, yes, certainly.” He lifted the book in his hands. “History lesson for today. I was actually going to get Henrique to do it, but his love of history is so immense he chose to play with the twins.” He sighed dramatically. “In the meantime, Dino’s files are growing over his head. So when you’re ready, you’re welcome to make yourself useful.”

Snorting, Gerhard averted his eyes. Dali didn’t bother to show any kind of tact. For him, gimmicks were at least as meaningless as extravagant words and useless game pieces. Sometimes Gerhard wanted to believe that he was a friend. But the murder of Dali’s wife – his blade in the body of this near stranger who was nothing more than a victim of circumstance – probably made him a pawn as well.

All too slowly, his gaze fixed once more on Dali – on the slender figure of a man whose pitch-black hair had a strange lustre. It seemed disorganised, a little jumbled, strangely wayward, and yet he could hardly imagine Dali any other way; different from all the years they had worked together. Gerhard swallowed. It had been years in which he had appreciated this man. His skill, his intelligence, his ability to overcome every obstacle as if it didn’t exist. Just like then – just like the day when Frieda had left with a smile on her lips and Gerhard had hoped to experience ridicule and hatred in order to smother the blossoming affection under the veil of a broken, even fickle friendship.

His gaze slid carefully over Dali’s bare forearms, over the slender fingers that were skilfully leafing through one book. Then, all at once, up to his thin lips, which had curled into a half-smile – deeply immersed in the writings of historical memories.

He had looked at Dali like this before. Two years ago, somewhere between doors and hinges of another mission that had made Dali laugh. Gerhard remembered how much he had shouted at him that day to take something seriously for once. But Dali had never given a damn about his opinion or his excessive temperament. Without further ado, Gerhard lowered his eyelids. He wasn’t quick-tempered. He just took things much more seriously than Dali would ever see them. And perhaps that was the reason, at some point, why he had begun to prefer being near his friend to his own home. Or even his wife.

He licked his lips gently before tearing himself away from Dali. Dwelling on past events wasn’t the answer. It shouldn’t matter. In the end, they had both walked down the aisle at some point – with women – and had brought children into the world. The Delicos and the Fras had gone their separate ways, hadn’t mixed or mingled, because there had been no way to turn rivals into a true unit. That also meant he was done with it. With his feelings, with that warmth in his chest whenever he saw Dali, and also with the thought of ever getting closer to those unknown lips.

Still, his hands clenched into fists. The hazy confusion in his head was gone, his body felt better, and he saw things clearly – undistorted and sharp, as he always did. And when he looked at Dali again, the former warmth of that time settled under his skin like a sea of flames.

Longing flared up, joined with the heat of the day when he had tried to confront Dali; when he had tried to find out whether Dali hated him for Frieda’s murder. It connected with the hunger he had suppressed for years and danced with the tingling of seconds gone by which he believed he had finally smothered. Somewhere between the sheets, his wife’s legs, and the damn paperwork of his missions. It seemed as if all those boundaries, all those temptations, would evaporate in a single breath. What remained was desire.

Everything in Gerhard wanted to get up and embrace Dali. His black hair would probably glide through his fingers like silk and his body would replace the shallow coldness of his skin with barely perceptible warmth after a few minutes. His breath would flit over Gerhard’s lips and perhaps they would kiss. The only thing he had to do was reach out and grab the white fabric on his body. He just had to-

“Gerhard?”

Blinking several times, Gerhard’s gaze fell on his gloved fingers, which had stretched out in Dali’s direction. The armchair was a few steps behind him and Dali’s proximity was no longer just an idea in the middle of confused thoughts.

“Is everything all right?” Raising his brows, Dali tilted his head.

“If you’re feeling better, you could take over here. Ul will surely wake up in a minute and-“

A rumble coursed through the shelf as Gerhard slammed his hand against the wood, trapping Dali between himself and the writings of days gone by. His friend’s eyes widened. His delicate mouth opened, but there were no words. Only a disorganised silence forced its way between them – so oppressive that Gerhard heard himself swallow.

“I want you.” A simple statement. Not a question. Almost a command.

“Are you sure you’re all right? Or have you taken to making poor jokes lately?” Restrained laughter overcame Dali, emanating from his body like a sweet hum that, for the first time in all these years, didn’t drive Gerhard mad. Not directly.

Instead, he grabbed the book in the other man’s hands, removed the leather cover from his grip and threw it over his shoulder straight onto the round table, on which at least another twenty books were piled. Then he pressed his other hand against the shelf next to Dali’s head and leant down slightly towards him. Those few centimetres separating them seemed like the last hurdle between affection and forbidden touches.

Meanwhile, Dali’s eyelids drooped slightly, making his dark eyes appear even darker. “Gerhard, stop that.”

Was there a gentle tremor in his voice, a sound of pleasure that lured Gerhard without making it clear? He didn’t know. His body automatically took a stance, ready to let Dali go. For just a moment, his arms lowered and his friend threatened to disappear. Dali’s narrow sideways glance, a demanding, light-coloured expression, however, conveyed something else. Just at shoulder height, resistance twitched through Gerhard’s body. In a flash, he grabbed Dali by the arm, pushed him back against the shelf – books thundered to the floor – and leant forward.

The sweet smell of blood entered Gerhard’s nose, played around his senses, swept them clean, inviting him to savour it, so he opened his mouth. In the background, he heard Dali’s protest, his hands against his chest, but not enough force to push him away. But Gerhard let go, put his head back far enough to look at Dali and drowned in the other man’s grey-black eyes.

“It’s against the rules to bite someone,” Dali hissed. “You know that. Unless you’re planning to control me. Since when are you a rule-breaker? Usually, you’re practically the ultimate lapdog of your superiors.”

An amused snort escaped Gerhard’s lips. In the next blink, he brought a hand to his mouth, gently bit into a corner of the fabric, and pulled off the glove. He gave up. For once, he wanted to give up, surrender to the warmth and fulfil his desire. Maybe then it would stop burning. Maybe then he could finally breathe more freely without having to worry every other time he met Dali about what might have been if he had found the courage to break the rules long before they had both walked down the aisle.

As he placed a hand on Dali’s chest and carefully ran it along the fabric, Gerhard thought he was losing himself for the first time. “It’s a single rule. A single law that forbids me to be close to a man.” He leaned forward again, burying his nose in Dali’s black hair and inhaling the smell of warm milk and caramel.

“A law to keep our race alive because we have become mortal and weak.”

Dali’s chest rose and fell under Gerhard’s hand; a life that coloured this moment strangely real, so he lowered his head, the dark strands down to Dali’s neck.

“Gerhard!” This time Dali twitched noticeably, pushing so hard against Gerhard’s chest that his breath squeezed forcedly over his lips. “You’re no longer free!”

One second.

A single moment in which Gerhard grabbed him by the wrists and squeezed the soft flesh to the bone. A gasp came over the other; pleasure in Gerhard’s ears. He pressed him harder against the shelf, his mouth wide open.

In the next breath, he tasted blood. He even thought he could taste it long before he had penetrated Dali’s skin. A metallic sweetness spread across his tongue, eliciting a choked sound from his partner. Perhaps it was pleasure; a hint of understanding causing Dali’s resistance to collapse.

Without further ado, Gerhard removed his teeth from Dali’s flesh and licked over the injury, leaving a trail of saliva that he ran up to his ear. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re no longer free either.”

The answer was silence. Calm in which Gerhard rested his forehead against the wood of the shelf and closed his eyes. “Only until this mission is over. After that ... I’ll let you go.”

“What’s got into you? It can’t be reason...”

Soundless laughter rolled off Gerhard’s tongue, unheard, lost in the skirmish between them. Dali was right. What had come over him? Why was he overcome by everything he had buried so fiercely? Why today? Why at all?

Why?

“I ... want to know what it’s like.” His hand slid down Dali’s chest until it rested on his hip.

“Ever since then, I’ve wanted-“

“I was told to bring this here.”

With a leap, Gerhard put distance between himself and Dali – his friend’s flushed cheeks conveying shame, perhaps even favour between stress and distress – before whirling around. Theodore stood in the doorway, one door barely open. His gaze was fixed on them. A bit as if he’d been there all along.

“Documents that will help us on our mission?” Slowly, Dali pushed himself off the shelf.

Theodore nodded. “Father said there’s a consistent pattern here of vampires suddenly losing their minds after coming into contact with someone strange.” He placed the files on the table, not giving Gerhard a glance. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Dali. “Do you want me to give him a message?”

A gentle shake of the head on Dali’s part ended the conversation between them and yet he accompanied Theodore out of the door, leading him into the corridor like a small child. He would probably devote himself to his own children now – he would feed Ul and give Raphael his attention. In between, he would forget about Gerhard. Probably.

Clenching his teeth, he savoured the taste of blood on his tongue a little longer before swallowing and balling his hands into fists.

Dali wouldn’t forget him. He would replay the seconds he had experienced constantly in his head and remember where the gentle pain in his neck had come from. After all, he had enjoyed it despite all the resistance.

Gerhard wasn’t imagining any of this.

He surely wasn’t.

#fanfiction #fanfic #anime #romance #ao3 author #ao3 writer #slash fanfiction #delico's nursery #dali delico #gerhard fra #unreliable narrators #angst #no happy ending #tragedy #lovers

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insomniasymphony · 1 year ago

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Delico's Nursery And A Touch Of Forgiveness

Little one-shot because ... why not? You can give this story a read or a Kudos on AO3 as well!

Rating: General Audience Pair: Dali Delico/Gerhard Fra No warnings needed.

Screams filled the room. Lamentable, bitter wailing not meant for the ears of a man of his status. Crying of a child he usually shoved into the arms of the nanny before attending to the important matters of life. The really important ones.

The ones that had got him into all this in the first place.

Gerhard narrowed his eyes briefly before raising his voice. “Now shut up already! Don’t you realise you’re a nuisance?”

And as expected, the crying subsided for a breath before it tripled in volume and ripped through his marrow and bones. Ever since Raphael had taken away his toy, Angelico had been unable to calm down and whenever Gerhard raised his voice, his son’s wailing grew in volume and strength.

“What do I have to do to make you stop fussing?” Raising his arms, he stared down at Angelico’s blond mop of hair, but only heard the usual muddled sounds. It was unbelievable that this child was his and, above all, of noble birth.

Then again, he had never bothered with his son until now. After all, he had work to do and children were for the bloodline, not to spend the last of his mental resources. The others’ children were already packing up, ready to go home, and he was the only one still standing in the same spot, unable to get his son out of this terrible wailing.

With shaking fingers, Gerhard ran a hand over his face. If he could, he would rewind time and wipe Dali’s rejection of the mission away faster – long before he would drive them all into this hell of a mess. Better yet, he’d rewind to the day before and come up with a war plan against this idiot at breakfast.

“Daddy...”

Angelico’s drawn-out whimper snapped him out of his thoughts, so he opened his mouth again, ready to issue more orders as he looked into the red, watery eyes staring at him like he was the only help in this room. Just like back then. Just like the day he’d thought the only solution was to go solo against suspected TRUMP-members just to kill Dali’s wife.

He gently placed a hand on his son’s soft mop of hair. Angelico’s crying stopped immediately, bringing with it a silence that dragged Gerhard into the abyss.

He remembered what had happened as if it had occurred only yesterday. It was one of those endless dreams haunting him on some nights. In a matter of seconds, he relived it all. The moment he had broken into the house and seen this woman, beautiful as ever, ready to taste his blade without offering resistance. Somewhere in between, he thought he remembered fire. And bloodstained floors. And the numb feeling in his entire body, knowing he’d lose Dali for good that way.

Had he felt relief then? Had the knowledge he might no longer be working so closely with Delico made him happy?

He pressed his lips together. Back then, when he had turned to Dali, who had appeared and stormed over to his wife, he had only watched out of the corner of his eye – his posture upright and unwavering, hoping Dali would recognise him as an enemy. Just for a moment, so that the shallow feeling of affection would burst before it grew. But Dali hadn’t looked at him that day. His gaze had wandered to his children, then back to his wife, and before Gerhard knew it, the incident had ended and Dali hadn’t exchanged a single word with him.

In all that time, not a single thing had been said about the incident between them and yet he had brought it up today, out of heat from a stupid argument he had lost. Somehow. Dali’s rejection had been clear and yet his warm breath had sent tingles all over Gerhard’s body.

A sigh escaped him. “Let’s go, Angelico.”

“But... my toy...” Round cheeks puffed out, his son’s gaze pierced him unyieldingly. But looking for a child’s toy was anything but fitting for a nobleman. Or a man in general.

“I’ll buy you a new one on the way home.”

“But I want this one!”

“What difference does it make?” His voice rose. “It’s just a piece of wood.”

He should have seen it coming. He should have known better after all the other defeats between him and his son. But as the tears welled up again and Angelico drew in his breath, Gerhard felt a desperate twitching in his bones. Should he raise his hands and press them to his ears to at least muffle the screeching that was about to follow?

His body succumbed to indecision and just as he was thinking about offering Angelico something else, Dali appeared behind him. His shoulder pressed against Gerhard’s and the shudder running through his body made him swallow. Simultaneously, he heard Dali’s voice much too close to his ear. “Look what I’ve got!”

Before Angelico could burst into tears again, Dali brought a gleam to his eyes with his toy, which even Gerhard found strangely warming. Affection settled in his chest and didn’t disappear even when he looked into his friend’s endlessly dark eyes.

Part of Gerhard opened his mouth silently, unable to find words. The way Dali treated the children, the way he stopped them from screaming and how much warmth and amusement there was in his actions – was it wrong to want all that for himself? The rest of him knew better, feeling the hot pinpricks in his chest and flooding the inner torment with angry behaviour and a raised nose.

“I hope you’ll fulfil the mission properly!” Gerhard stubbornly tried to look down at him – to no avail. “We can’t afford to half-ass things!”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” Elated, Dali took a step forward, handed Angelico his toy and took a quick look at the baby in his arms. “It’s just another challenge for me to master. I’m much more interested in whether you and the others are up to the task.” A grin formed on his thin lips. “Child raising is a fascinating field once you get the chance to get into it.”

Dali hated him. He certainly did. After everything that had happened, it seemed impossible to believe otherwise. It had been Gerhard who had put him in this position. It had been he who had deprived this family of a mother. The certainty turned his stomach.

“You loathe me, don’t you?” Clenching his hands into fists, Gerhard addressed the subject again. If they were going to work together on this mission, they needed to have a clear conversation. A few words that would bury any feelings of attraction in him so they could get on with their lives. So he could go on with his life.

“I already told you that you did me a favour. Now I get to take care of my kids-“

“Stop with that crap!” His voice grew louder as his gaze fixed on Dali. “You loathe me for what happened. For killing your wife. Go ahead and say it!”

“You seem to like dwelling on old things.”

“It was just a few months ago!”

The sudden tug on Gerhard’s trouser leg barely reached his awareness, but the whimper drew his gaze to Angelico. “Daddy ... don’t be angry...”

“Well said, Angelico!” Cheerfully, Dali gave the child a wink. “Your son already seems to be smarter than you.”

“Wha-“

“Be quiet.” In defence, Dali raised his free hand. “Sure, I could say I loathe you for what you did, but if I’m honest ... I’m over it. I know this day has been as hard on you as it has been on me, and instead of obsessing over my loss, it’s better to look at the positives of it all.”

“The ... positives?” The knot in Gerhard’s stomach tightened further. If Dali didn’t hate him, if he didn’t get a chance to carry this guilt heavily on his shoulders, he would succumb to this warmth in his chest. “What nonsensical talk.”

“Certainly, if you get hung up on ancient mannerisms and define your pride by your raised nose ... you’re undoubtedly right up there.” A confident nod came over Dali and Gerhard couldn’t deny the temptation of a hug was as strong as the desire to put his hands around this weirdo’s neck. “But I mean what I said. What happened ... it was hard ... for both of us. But it’s also given me something good. I get the chance here and now to experience my children completely differently than many other families do. I feel like I can be a real father, where I’m always there for them and don’t send them away just because their crying sometimes makes my head explode.”

“And you think I buy that?” Gerhard’s voice shook, wavering between anger and despair. Emotions he wasn’t allowed to indulge in. One of them would make Angelico cry. The other would make Dali laugh. Perhaps. Probably.

“You can do that, or you can not.” With a shrug, Dali let out a sigh. Then he smiled, almost mockingly, before grabbing a strand of Gerhard’s hair and bringing it to his lips. The shallow kiss he pressed on the blonde hair flashed through his whole body. “I’m sure you’ll realise that yourself one day, Goldilocks.”

Without further ado, Dali took two steps back as Gerhard’s hair ran through his fingers and the world stopped for a moment. Saliva pooled in the blond’s mouth, running dry down his throat as his heart pounded violently against his ribs. Heat built up in his body, but didn’t reach his face. His every fibre seemed stiff, clinging to an unimpressed expression, hoping his friend wouldn’t notice.

Not the gentle trembling of his hands, nor the convulsive posture, which no longer seemed aristocratic, but childish and awkward. Gerhard could imagine how he must have looked in Dali’s eyes in those breaths and yet, when his friend turned away from him – were they even friends? – he dared to raise a hand. Only briefly, before he lowered it again and glanced at Angelico, who was still hanging on to his trousers.

Maybe, for one day, this feeling was okay. If he believed Dali’s words just a little, just this once, then he would sleep better this night – lulled by the warmth in his heart. Surely, somewhere between here and his own home, he would realise that all this was nothing more than an illusion. A fragile concept that would fade when he looked into his wife’s face – as he did every day – and realised she wasn’t Dali.

And then, at the latest, he would come to his senses, get upset about this idiot, have dinner and go to bed, only to return the next day, believing he wouldn’t succumb to his heart again.

He knew how it would end.

The result was always the same.

#delico's nursery #gerhard fra #dali delico #anime #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 writer #slash fanfiction #general audiences #pining #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort

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