#She was an artist; her talent was painting. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

genshinluvr · 2 months ago

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The Traveling Artist's Ailment

Pairings: Zhongli x fem!reader x Neuvillette

Summary: As a renowned traveling artist from Mondstadt, you travel the world to paint and draw various things. Your lovers, Zhongli and Neuvillette, are supportive of your dreams of becoming a traveling artist. However, during one of your work trips to Sumeru, you stumble across a sickly floating anemo fungus (well, technically, it came to you). You nursed the floating anemo fungus back to health, only to fall ill yourself.

Note: One of my followers and close friends commissioned this fanfic! To read her commissioned version, I will link it at the very end of this fanfic. This is the longest fanfic I have typed out ever since I came out of my hiatus. I hope my friend likes her commission (she has read most of it so far but hasn't read the newer parts I have added). Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None that I know of 🤔 However, since this is a commissioned fic, there will be some things that trace back to the commissioner— there will be she/her/hers pronouns used throughout this fic when referring to the reader.

Word Count: 6.8k

Sumeru, the nation ruled by the God of Wisdom. The scenery is beautiful— everywhere you look is a land of luscious greenery. You stand in front of the statue of the seven in the Avidya Forest, admiring the view before you. As a traveling artist, you have the privilege of witnessing the beautiful scenery of every nation in Teyvat.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ᨐฅ ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

When you first began your career as a renowned traveling artist, you started in your home nation—the beautiful nation ruled by the Anemo Archon Barbatos. Before becoming a traveling artist, you weren’t satisfied with your career. And as cheesy as it sounds, you wanted to find your purpose, and the only thing that kept you going was your love for drawing and traveling.

“You’re incredibly talented. Have you thought of becoming a traveling artist?” Albedo asked, analyzing the canvas while stroking his chin.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, mimicking Albedo’s actions. “I’ll have to be honest with you, Albedo. I have not! And even if I did, I don’t think a certain someone would approve of my ambitions.”

Albedo raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Are you implying that your boyfriends will not approve of your goals?”

Your face becomes hot at the mention of your, ahem, “boyfriends.” You wouldn’t say that you, Zhongli, and Neuvillette were dating per se, but you wouldn’t say that you three weren’t seeing each other romantically. You would often travel to Liyue and Fontaine to visit the men on separate occasions. Sometimes, when they had the chance, Zhongli and Neuvillette would visit Mondstadt to spend time with you. There were lingering touches and longing stares thrown around, but anything above that had yet to happen. Wait, what was Albedo saying again? Oh, right!

You cleared your throat, looking back at the canvas. “It’s not like they’ll disapprove of my choice of wanting to become a traveling artist. They worry, Albedo. And can you blame them?” You muttered, finishing up your painting of the Stormterror’s Lair.

The day you sat down with Neuvillette and Zhongli to talk about your decision to become a traveling artist, you three were sitting outside Good Hunter in Mondstadt. You sat between the two men, eating your food. Children were laughing and running around the area while the adults were going on with their day, enjoying the simple life in Mondstadt.

“Dear, are you alright? You seem distracted,” Neuvillette said, breaking you out of your daydream.

You didn’t realize you were poking at your Sticky Honey Roast until Neuvillette brought you out of your thoughts. You nodded, giving Neuvillette a reassuring smile before proceeding to eat your lunch. While you weren’t looking, Neuvillette and Zhongli looked at one another, not saying a word.

Zhongli cleared his throat, placing his hand over yours. “Are you sure you’re alright? If there’s anything you want to talk about with us, you’re always welcome to,” Zhongli murmured, gazing at you with his warm amber eyes.

You placed your fork on the plate and took a deep breath. “I am thinking of becoming a traveling artist. What do you two think?” You looked at Neuvillette and Zhongli anxiously, worried they were going to discourage you from pursuing such a career.

Zhongli’s eyes lit up, the corners of his lips curving up. “Oh, I think that would be a lovely idea. I believe in doing things you love, and you are an incredibly talented artist.” Zhongli took a sip of his drink. I don’t see why not.”

After hearing Zhongli’s approval, your eyes lit up with excitement and hope. You turned to Neuvillette only to see the hesitation on his face. Neuvillette didn’t seem to agree with Zhongli. Neuvillette had always encouraged you to do what you love, but with this new career path, the Iudex was rather hesitant about the idea.

You blinked, reaching for Neuvillette’s hand, and gently squeezed it. “Neuvillette, are you alright?”

Neuvillette lets out a long exhale before meeting your gaze, smiling weakly. “[Y/N], dear, as much as I would love to see you pursue your dreams of becoming a traveling artist…” Neuvillette trails off, sighing again, “I can’t help but worry about your safety and the potential dangers of you getting into while you’re traveling alone.”

You couldn’t help but feel offended but also giddy over the fact that the oh-so-powerful Iudex of Fontaine worrying over little ole you. You couldn’t help but giggle, tucking your hair behind your ears while blushing madly. Neuvillette gazed at you, confused. You could hear Zhongli chuckling behind you while proceeding to finish his lunch.

You cleared your throat and placed both hands over Neuvillette’s. “Neuvi, I understand where you’re coming from, and,” you paused to squeal, reaching up to pinch his cheeks, “I would be much happier as a traveling artist than my current career path. Not only do I get to travel the world, but that means I can visit you and Zhongli more often!”

Neuvillette mulled over the idea of you getting the chance to visit Fontaine and Liyue more often and longer than in the past. Right as you were about to take a bite of the Sticky Honey Roast, a thin arm wrapped around your shoulders startled you and caused you to drop the metal fork. Zhongli and Neuvillette’s heads snapped in your direction to see the familiar bumbling drunkard draped over you.

Zhongli scoffed, his nose wrinkled with disgust after catching a whiff of alcohol from the Anemo Archon. “Venti, please refrain from touching [Y/N] without her consent,” Zhongli said, narrowing his eyes at the bard.

Venti giggled and released you. “Hey, blockhead— I mean Zhongli and…” Venti froze when his eyes locked with Neuvillette. “O-Oh! It’s you!” Venti squeaked.

Neuvillette smiled at Venti before sipping water from his chalice and placing it on the table. “Greetings, Venti. I see that you are acquaintances with my beloved [Y/N].”

Zhongli furrowed his eyebrows at Neuvillette’s comment and cleared his throat, “Our beloved [Y/N]. What am I? Chopped liver?” Zhongli rolled his eyes.

Neuvillette ignored Zhongli’s comment, proceeding to stare down the Anemo Archon. Venti cleared his throat before walking around the table to face the three of you. The bard propped his hands on his hips. You, Neuvillette, and Zhongli stared back at Venti, unsure what he had in mind.

Venti sniffed dramatically, wiping away nonexistent tears with his index finger. “Oh, [Y/N]! Hearing your departure from Mondstadt breaks my heart. But hearing your love for the arts and wanting to share your exquisite talents with the world is inspiring!” Venti said dramatically, his lyre materializing in his hands, and he started to strum the instrument. “I would like to dedicate this song to you~!” Venti winked at you.

While Venti was serenading the three of you, Neuvillette mulled over the idea of you traveling the world and sharing your talent with people from every nation on Teyvat.

Neuvillette turned to you, whispering into your ears, “If that is what you wish to pursue, then I shall not intervene with your desires. As long as you are safe and happy, that is all that matters to me.”

Your eyes lit up once again. “Really!?” You squeaked, gazing at Neuvillette with stars in your eyes.

Neuvillette’s cheeks slowly turned pink the longer you stared at him with awe and happiness. The Iudex cleared his throat, nodding. You squealed and threw yourself at your beloved Neuvillette, arms wrapped around his shoulders while pressing your cheek against his. Zhongli chuckled, shaking his head as he continued to listen to Venti sing, admiring you and Neuvillette from his seat.

You turned to Zhongli and beckoned him over. Zhongli hesitated for a moment, only to give in when you gave him puppy-dog eyes. Who could say no to that sweet face of yours? Zhongli stood from his seat and walked over to where you and Neuvillette were sitting before leaning over to wrap his arms around you and Neuvillette. Zhongli made sure to kiss the side of your head, ignoring the stares shot in your direction.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ᨐฅ ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

“Sumeru is so beautiful,” You whisper, setting down your art supplies. You have been traveling for a few months now, and you’re loving every bit of it! You met so many nice people, and many people have commissioned you to paint certain landscapes from other regions! Your being in Sumeru is for your customer’s commission, and you cannot wait for them to receive the painting soon.

Usually, you would travel to your customer to personally deliver their commission. However, this time is different because your customer will be picking up their commission in Sumeru. After all, according to them, they will be on a work trip to Sumeru in a few weeks. When it comes to your paintings, it doesn’t take you long to complete them. You work quite fast on your paintings, and that is what your customers love about working with you— you get things done in a timely manner, or you complete the commission way before the deadline.

You scan your surroundings, trying to find the perfect image to capture onto your canvas. The customer was quite vague with what they wanted you to paint. The only instruction that was given to you was to paint a scenery in Sumeru. Did you ask them to clarify for you? Yes, you did! However, this person didn’t have an idea in mind.

“You have free range, Miss Renowned Artist! I would like for it to be a surprise! Any scenery will do as long as it’s in Sumeru!” The customer said, smiling smugly as if they were doing you a huge favor.

You exhale and scratch your head. “This is going to be more complicated than I thought,” You mutter.

Sumeru has a lot to offer, and it is hard for an artist like yourself to capture a specific landscape onto one canvas. You see, you want to capture the current landscape before you, but at the same time, you also want to capture the breathtaking deserts of Sumeru. You pull out a single Mora from your bag, choosing to do heads or tails to make the decision for you. Easy, right? You’re indecisive, so the Mora will pick what you paint for your customer! Before flipping the Mora, you make sure to mark one side of the Mora with white paint because both sides have the same engraving.

The side with white paint will be the desert (heads), while the side without paint will be the current luscious green landscape before you (tails).

You place the Mora between your thumb and index finger with the side with white paint facing upward. Using your thumb, you flick the Mora in the air before catching it and placing it on the back of your other hand without revealing the results. When you move your hand, you see the decision the Mora has made.

The side of the Mora facing upward isn’t marked with white paint; therefore, you will be painting the luscious green landscape! You wipe the white paint off the other side of the Mora before tossing it back into your bag. You pull out the canvas and place it on the easel before digging into your bag for your palette, paints, and brushes.

Once you have set up your materials, you start sketching out the landscape with a pencil. You hum softly, engrossed in your work, as you listen to the birds sing around you. It’s relatively cloudy today in Sumeru; it’s not too hot or too cold, and the weather is just right. You peek from your canvas to double-check to make sure everything is in the correct spot, and nothing is missing.

After an hour passes by, your sketch of the landscape is completed, and you can now start painting the beautiful scenery after your lunch break. In the medium-sized container, you pack rice with Honey Char Siu on top, and in the smaller container, it contains seven rainbow macarons.

Every time when you go on your trip, you make sure to pack food that reminds you of your beloveds on the first day of your arrival to a new nation. From then on, you will eat food from the nation you’re currently visiting. There’s no easy way to contact Zhongli and Neuvillette while you’re traveling the world, so the only way for you to feel connected to the two men is through food that you pack for yourself!

Being a traveling artist does get lonely from time to time. You have no one to talk to aside from locals in that region, but it’s nice to have some alone time. You enjoy the peace and quiet, but you love being able to interact with those around you. Your wanderlust drives you insane. What can you do about it? You choose to become a traveling artist to be able to do what you love: traveling and showing the world your amazing art skills.

“Your gift needs to be shared with the world, [Y/N]. I’m baffled that you’re not a renowned artist yet. If you want a head start in your career, you can always let me know, and I will gladly help you make your dreams come true.” Zhongli’s words echo in your head as you happily munch on your lunch.

You couldn’t help but tear up at the thought of how incredibly supportive both Zhongli and Neuvillette are. Growing up, you didn’t have much of a support system in your life, but as you grew older, you ended up meeting amazing people who loved and supported you. You’re grateful for everyone in your life, and you will make them proud as you continue to work hard as a traveling artist.

After finishing your lunch, you immediately start on your customer’s commission. You mix a few paints to create a specific color for the sky as the sun is peeking from the cloudy skies. Each brush stroke brings the canvas to life, almost as if you used a Kamera instead of paints to create the masterpiece before you.

Just as you’re a little over halfway done with the painting, you hear something strange coming from behind you. You freeze in your spot, hoping that it’s not a vicious creature behind you, planning on making you its dinner. You slowly turn your head to see something you weren’t expecting. The small creature looks sickly, struggling to stay afloat, only to tumble to the ground. You can’t help but pity the poor thing.

You continue to watch the floating (well, not anymore) anemo fungus waddle and stumble in your direction. Judging by its appearance, it’s most likely ill. You place your paintbrush and palette on the ground before cautiously walking towards the sickly floating anemo fungus. You kneel and hold your hands out, catching the anemo fungus before it can fall on its face.

You cradle it in your arms and wince when it lets out a small sneeze. Well, small is an understatement. When the anemo fungus sneezed, it let out a strong gust of wind, causing the items around you to rattle in their spot. You chuckle and take your apron off, laying it on the rock nearby.

The floating anemo fungus shivers in your arms, sniffling here and there, and its eyes are glazed over. You’re unsure whether there is a doctor that specializes in caring for mystical beasts such as this anemo fungus. You glance at your unfinished painting, unsure whether you should temporarily abandon your painting to care for the sick floating anemo fungus or proceed as usual before caring for the creature.

“Hold on, little guy. Let me finish this painting, and then I’ll get you some help,” you coo to the floating anemo fungus.

You walk to where your apron lies and place the floating anemo fungus on the rock before draping it with your jacket. It won’t do much, but it will provide some warmth for the poor creature. You pick up your paintbrush and palette, continuing where you left off with the customer’s commission.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ᨐฅ ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

A few days into your trip to Sumeru as a traveling artist, you end up renting out a quaint home in Gandharva Ville close to your painting site. Initially, you did plan on staying in Sumeru City during your stay, but due to some unforeseeable circumstances, you decided to remain in Gandharva Ville for the remainder of your trip.

Your customer’s commission is about ninety-eight percent completed, and since you’re almost done with the painting, you decide to take a few days off to nurse the floating anemo fungus back to health.

Needless to say, caring for a sick fungus is more complicated than you expected it to be. You’re never sure what to feed the fungus, aside from giving it plenty of water to drink. Are Liyuen dishes too spicy? Would Fontainian food be too bland for it? What about Sumeru dishes? There are many times when you question your sanity because you don’t have someone to consult about this issue. You were on your own.

Did you consult specialists or scientists about this issue? No, you did not because they would not take you seriously because why would you care about a creature that wreaks havoc on civilization if it gets the chance?

After the fifth day of being in Sumeru (and nursing the poor floating anemo fungus back to health), you wake up feeling horrendous. Your head is pounding, one nostril is stuffed while the other is runny, your entire body feels incredibly hot, and your throat feels swollen. Dear Barbatos, is it possible that the floating anemo fungus passed its sickness onto you? Despite feeling like a mitachurl has whacked you with its wooden shield, you continue to push on and finish the commission. After all, you do have to meet with your customer in Sumeru City in a few hours.

Standing at the site, you put the finishing touches on the painting while trying to act like you’re fine and healthy. The floating anemo fungus hangs out beside you, happily floating while looking as healthy as ever.

“And we’re done!” You sigh in relief, clearing your throat and putting your paintbrush on the palette.

You take a step back and admire your now-completed artwork. The floating anemo fungus squeaks with joy and twirls around. You gently pet the creature, watching it nuzzle into the palm of your hand. Just when you assumed you were going to spend time in Sumeru alone, a (formerly) sickly little fungus ended up keeping you company.

You smile and pet the floating anemo fungus, “Thank you for keeping me company, little guy.”

The floating anemo fungus squeaks with joy, nuzzling its face against yours as if it’s thanking you for nursing it back to health. As much as you’re hesitant to release the floating anemo fungus back into the wild, you have no other choice but to do so. You watch the floating anemo fungus slowly disappear off into the wild, your heart feeling heavy after realizing that you’re now alone.

You muster up the strength and start packing your things to return to the house you rented. At least you finally completed the commission and can relax in Sumeru before going to your next destination. However, you’re not sure when you can set off on your next journey due to your sickness.

After dropping your items off at your temporary home, you set off to Sumeru City to meet with your customer. The city is bustling, and the smell of delicious Sumeru dishes wafts in the air, making your stomach rumble with hunger.

A voice brings you out of your thoughts, “Ah! Miss Renowned Artist!”

You turn to see your customer waltzing towards you with guests behind them— their business partners, you presume? The customer’s eyes light up with excitement upon laying their eyes on the large canvas in your hands.

“You have completed my commission, I see!” The customer states, standing before you with an expectant gaze.

You smile, nodding. “Yes! I have completed your commission! Please let me know your thoughts on it!” You say, turning the canvas around for the customer to see.

The customer, their business partners, and citizens of Sumeru passing by gasped in awe. The painting looked beautiful and breathtaking—not only breathtaking but very vivid. People around you started whispering and pointing at the painting. Some even pulled their Cameras out to snap a picture of you and the painting.

The customer places their right hand over their heart while covering their mouth with the other, “Miss [Y/N], this art piece is absolutely beautiful! You really outdone yourself!” The customer praises, eyes gleaming with joy. “Is it too soon to commission you again?” The customer giggles.

The people around you two chuckle as they continue to admire the painting in the customer’s hand. After a few minutes of admiring the painting, the customer pays you a handsome amount of Mora before walking off with their business partners. You place the bag of Mora in your travel-sized bag before walking to the nearest bench in Sumeru City, sighing. Archons above, you feel so exhausted, and you have a long way back to your rented house on the outskirts of the city. You don’t know how much longer you can handle this.

“[Y/N]! Is that you!?” A high-pitched voice pulls you out of your inner turmoil.

You look up to see Aether and Paimon approach you. The white-haired floating girl waves her hands at you ecstatically while barreling in your direction. Before she can smack you in the face with her entire body, Aether quickly grabs her by her clothes and holds her back— Paimon squirms in Aether’s hands, huffing and protesting.

Aether shakes his head, smiling at you apologetically. “Sorry, [Y/N]. Paimon’s just excited to see you again after not seeing you in months.”

You smile at Aether and Paimon, standing up from the bench while dusting your clothes off. “There’s no need to apologize, Aether! I’m happy to see you both again!” You say, ignoring the shivers going down your spine.

Aether releases Paimon, and she immediately hugs your face, resting her cheek on your head while petting your hair happily. “It’s good to see you again, [Y/N]! How’s the life of being a traveling artist?”

You laugh and pat the top of her head, watching Aether pull Paimon off you with another apologetic smile. “It’s great! I get to do what I love: travel the world, paint, and draw. I get to visit Liyue and Fontaine much longer compared to when I was still working at my previous job.”

You start to recount your traveling experiences as a traveling artist to Aether and Paimon. You tell them about your commissions, answer their questions regarding your career as a traveling artist, and more. While the three of you are catching up, a huge wave of dizziness hits you like a mitachurl. You clutch your head and close your eyes, your body breaking into cold sweat as you shiver under the warm sunlight. Aether places his hand on your shoulders, steadying you.

Paimon hovers in front of you, looking at you worriedly. “Are you okay, [Y/N]? Paimon’s worried about you.”

You crack your eyes open and smile at her. “I’m not feeling well, actually,” you reply. You tell Aether and Paimon the gist of what caused you to fall ill ever since you step foot into Sumeru: a sickly floating anemo fungus coming to you for help, you putting your customer’s commission to the side to nurse the fungus back to health, and here you are. Sick. The sickness isn’t anything deadly (you hope), but you’re in desperate need of rest, or else you will collapse, and the trip to Sumeru will last longer than you planned.

Paimon tugs on your shirt, ushering you to stand up. “We gotta take you back to your rented house! You need to rest!”

Aether wraps his arms around your waist and has you wrap your arm around his shoulders as he walks you out of Sumeru City. Your legs feel like jelly, making it nearly impossible for you to take more than twenty steps. Aether ends up giving you a piggyback ride back to the house you rented in Gandharva Ville, with Paimon occasionally making sure you’re still alive and breathing.

One minute, you’re on Aether’s back, being carried back to your rental house; the next, you find yourself lying on the bed with Paimon and Aether’s face hovering over yours. The two stare down at you worriedly, wondering what’s the next step.

Paimon snaps her fingers when an idea pops into her head. “We should contact Mister Zhongli and Monsieur Neuvillette to inform them of their lover’s ailment!”

Before Aether can do that, you sit up and quickly grab Aether’s wrist, startling both outlanders. You shake your head, looking at them pleadingly. Neuvillette and Zhongli cannot see you like this! Sure, you never hide things from the two people you hold near and dear to your heart, but you don’t want them to worry about you! Besides, it’s not like you’re dying! What you have is most likely a minor cold and should pass within a few days. Right?

Aether lets out a shaky sigh, gently pushing you back to lie on the bed. “Okay, okay! I won’t tell Mister Zhongli and Monsieur Neuvillette about your sickness.”

You sigh in relief, feeling the tension leaving your body after hearing Aether’s promise not to tell Neuvillette and Zhongli about your situation. Despite never hiding anything from the two men you care deeply about, this is the only time you will hide something from them. Not because you don’t trust them but because you don’t want them to see this as an opportunity to pull you away from this career path. While they may not do that, you’re worried they’re going to try to coax you out of this career. Aether and Paimon exit the room after tucking you into bed; they close the door and trade looks.

“We are going to tell Mister Zhongli and Monsieur Neuvillette about this, right? We can’t hide this from them!” Paimon loudly whispers.

Aether runs his hands through his hair, shrugging. “I guess we’ll try to nurse [Y/N] back to health ourselves and see from there. If they don’t improve within two days, we’ll have to inform both of them about [Y/N]’s situation.”

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ᨐฅ ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

A day has passed, and there aren’t any signs that you are getting better. In fact, it seems like you have gotten worse than the day before. Your temperature is worse than before; you’re barely eating, barely awake, and sweating through your clothes, but your hands feel ice cold. Paimon flies to your bed and switches out the wet rag on your forehead with another cold, damp towel. You shudder in your sleep, sighing with contentment when the cool rag touches your scorching hot forehead.

“How is she doing?” Aether asks, peeking into the room.

Paimon shakes her head, her shoulders slumping. “If her illness persists, we’re going to have to take her to see a doctor.”

Thunder cracks outside, startling both Aether and Paimon. Aether peeks from behind the curtains to see rain pouring down outside. If it rained any harder, Sumeru might as well be underwater. Great. Even if Aether were to take you to the doctor, there’s no way he would be able to get you there without you getting soaked.

The rain will worsen your illness, and who knows what will happen? The thunder cracking in the distance and the pouring rain are loud enough to drown out Aether and Paimon’s racing thoughts, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the sound of panicked knocks at the front door of the rental house.

Aether and Paimon freeze, looking over in your direction. You barely react to the sounds around you— too exhausted and ill to have the energy to react. Paimon nudges Aether towards the door, gesturing to Aether to check to see who’s at the door knocking like a madman. Aether puts on a brave face and marches toward the front door.

The knocking persists, and there seems to be another person assisting the person who knocked the first time. Great, more than one person to deal with! It’s not the person who rented the house out to you, is it? Archons, Aether sure hope it isn’t. Aether grabs the door handle and swings the door open to face the guests head-on.

Aether clears his throat, “Can I help you— Oh, Archons.” Aether feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach.

“Where is she?” Neuvillette demands, glaring down at Aether as raindrops pelt him.

Zhongli doesn’t look too pleased either, soaked to the bone. Aether gulps and takes a step back to let Zhongli and Neuvillette enter the rental house. How the hell did Neuvillette and Zhongli find this place? He and Paimon certainly didn’t inform the two refined men of your situation, so why are they here?

Aether closes the door after Zhongli and Neuvillette step into the house. Aether clears his throat, watching the two men wring their clothes, creating a puddle beneath their feet. Aside from the cracking thunder and raindrops viciously pitter-patter on the roof, all Aether can hear is his heart drumming in his ears.

“Aether? Who’s at the door?” Paimon calls out.

Aether, Neuvillette, and Zhongli turn to where Paimon’s voice comes from, only to see the white-haired girl floating out of a bedroom. Paimon shrieks upon laying her eyes on two draconic men standing at the entrance of the wooden house.

Zhongli sighs, brushing his wet bangs from his forehead and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s a pleasure to see you two again under this unpleasant circumstance,” Zhongli says, giving Aether and Paimon a fake smile.

Paimon floats over to where the three men are standing and scratches the back of her head. Paimon doesn’t remember informing anyone of your situation, nor does she remember if Aether informed the two intimidating men anything regarding your ailment. The floating girl looks at Aether, only to see him shrug his shoulders in response to her questioning stare.

Neuvillette’s eyes scan the quaint house and clear his throat. “Apologies for showing up unannounced and uninvited. However, Deus Auri and I had a bad feeling, and we had to show up,” Neuvillette said, adjusting his cravat.

“That doesn’t explain how you two are able to find the house [Y/N] rented out in Gandharva Ville,” Aether states, crossing his arms over his chest.

Zhongli and Neuvillette stare at Aether, not saying a word. The silence in the house is nearly unsettling but not as unsettling as the thunder continuously getting louder. Aether and Paimon are well aware that any form of precipitation ties to the Iudex’s emotions. The traveling duo isn’t sure if they should lead the two draconic men to where you’re sleeping or try to lie to the men that they got the wrong house and that you left for Natlan yesterday.

The deafening silence is broken by the sound of glass shattering in the next room. Everyone in the room freezes for a moment before running towards where the sound comes from. Neuvillette pushes the door open to see a glass pitcher in shards, and beside the pile of glass shards is you, lying on the ground, unconscious. Paimon shrieks, flying towards your unconscious body; she kneels beside your head and gently shakes you.

Aether loudly whispers, “Paimon, let them get through.”

Paimon’s bottom lip quivers as she backs away from your unconscious body, watching Neuvillette and Zhongli kneel over you. Aether and Paimon quietly leave the room, knowing their presence will not be needed as of now. Neuvillette pulls you into his arms and cradles you, caressing your head while watching Zhongli clean the mess.

You let out a weak cough, body shivering when the cool air of the house fans your skin. Your skin is hot enough for Neuvillette to feel it through his coat. The storm outside worsens as he carries you to the bed, tucking you in. Zhongli pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering what to do next.

Neuvillette continues to stare at you, assessing you from head to toe. “You briefly mentioned Doctor Baizhu while we were on our way to this rental house. Is there a way for you to get in contact with Doctor Baizhu regarding [Y/N]’s situation?”

Zhongli nods, now standing beside the Iudex. “Doctor Baizhu is enroute. He should be here very soon.”

Zhongli removes his gloves and places his hand over your forehead, letting out a long exhale. He slowly removes his hands from your forehead and glances at the discarded rag on the wooden nightstand. Zhongli excuses himself and leaves your and Neuvillette’s side for a moment before returning with a cool, wet rag. Zhongli brushes your hair to the side and places the rag on your forehead. The two men can see you visibly relax and sigh with contentment.

Neuvillette looks at Zhongli after the Liyuen man places his hand on Neuvillette’s shoulders. “[Y/N] is a strong woman. She’ll be okay. If [Y/N] can scare a mitachurl away, she can fight this illness.” Zhongli winces internally. Perhaps that’s not the best pep talk, but he’s trying his best to quell Neuvillette’s worries.

Neuvillette places his hand over Zhongli’s hand, giving them a gentle squeeze. “[Y/N] is something else. I just hope this illness passes by without causing any damage,” Neuvillette murmurs.

About an hour later, Doctor Baizhu arrives with his little helper, Qiqi. Neuvillette and Zhongli stand to the side to let the green-haired doctor treat you. Doctor Baizhu rouses you from your sleep for a check-up and medication. Qiqi sits beside you, letting you lean against her as the green-haired Doctor checks your vitals.

After your checkup, Doctor Baizhu hands Zhongli a bottle of medication. “Make sure [Y/N] takes her medications every six hours. Do not let her take it on an empty stomach, as it may cause nausea. I do not recommend traveling while in such conditions; she can start traveling within a week as long as her illness subsides.”

Neuvillette raises his hand. “If you don’t mind me asking, Doctor Baizhu, do you know when [Y/N] will regain consciousness?”

Doctor Baizhu pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and strokes his chin. “That, I do not know. I want you to remember, Mister Neuvillette, that [Y/N]’s symptoms are quite severe. She needs all of the rest she can get.”

If Neuvillette had ears, they would be drooping. Zhongli squeezes Neuvillette’s hands, giving him a reassuring smile. Qiqi waddles up to the two men, handing them a piece of paper. Zhongli blinks and unfolds the paper to see a list of items you’re allowed and not allowed to eat.

Qiqi returns to your side and gently pats your head, saying, “Get well soon, [Y/N].”

Doctor Baizhu and Qiqi bid the two men farewell before exiting the rental house. Doctor Baizhu and Qiqi stop in their tracks. The green-haired Doctor chuckles and looks at Zhongli and Neuvillette, who look at them quizzically.

“It looks like [Y/N] has a visitor,” Doctor Baizhu gestures to the floating anemo fungus.

The floating anemo fungus nervously floats towards Zhongli and Neuvillette, drenched in the rain. Zhongli and Neuvillette can’t tell whether the floating anemo fungus is shivering due to being soaked or because they intimidate the creature.

After bidding Doctor Baizhu and Qiqi goodbye, Neuvillette and Zhongli close the front door. The shivering floating anemo fungus squeaks, looking at Zhongli and Neuvillette. Zhongli and Neuvillette return to your room with the floating anemo fungus close behind. When they open the door, the floating anemo fungus makes its way to your bed.

It squeaks, gently nudging at your face. Zhongli steps forward, ready to snatch the floating anemo fungus away from you to prevent it from disturbing your very much-needed sleep, but Neuvillette stops Zhongli. The (now dry) floating anemo fungus makes its way under the blanket to snuggle up against you, providing comfort. Just when Zhongli and Neuvillette assume they’re going to be the ones to snuggle you as you sleep, a floating anemo fungus decides to take their spot instead.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ᨐฅ ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

The very next day, you wake up to be sandwiched between Zhongli and Neuvillette with the floating anemo fungus you nursed back to health lying on your chest. While you’re still sick, you are feeling much better compared to the day before. However, that doesn’t stop Zhongli and Neuvillette from being your temporary caretakers.

“Dearest, you must drink this ginger tea. It’ll soothe your sore throat,” Zhongli says, placing the cup of hot ginger tea in front of you.

You scrunch your face, hesitant to drink the tea Zhongli brewed for you. It’s not like you don’t appreciate Zhongli brewing tea for your sore throat! It’s the taste that you can’t handle! You have tried ginger tea in the past (yes, also brewed by Zhongli), and it ended up not being your cup of tea.

“I don’t like the taste…” You mumble, hugging the floating anemo fungus to your chest.

Neuvillette sighs, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Would you like to drink warm water instead?”

Your eyes light up, immediately agreeing to drink warm water over ginger tea. Zhongli sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. You give Zhongli a sympathetic look and then at Neuvillette, who tucks your hair behind your ears.

“I’ll drink both the warm water and ginger tea if it’ll make you two feel better,” you suggest.

Neuvillette shakes his head, “No, no. If you prefer to drink warm water to soothe your sore throat, then that is what you will be drinking. Do not force yourself to drink something you can’t stomach.”

Zhongli sighs in defeat. “Alright, if that is what you wish, I will make Bamboo Shoot Soup for you to eat.”

Neuvillette looks at Zhongli, confused. Before Zhongli can leave the room, Neuvillette gets up from the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. Zhongli raises his eyebrows at Neuvillette, who approaches him. You and the floating anemo fungus awkwardly sit there, watching Neuvillete and Zhongli have a stare-down. They’re not going to start arguing with each other, are they? You’re not in the mood to deal with any quarrels.

“I was going to make Consomme Purete for her to eat,” Neuvillette mutters to Zhongli.

Zhongli raises an eyebrow at the Chief Justice of Fontaine. “Oh? She’s going to be drinking warm water, as you have suggested. [Y/N] loves my signature dish, and I believe the soup will fill her stomach and give her plenty of nutrients.”

Neuvillette frowns. “Are you implying my Consomme Purete lacks nutrients and won’t fill her stomach?” Neuvillette props his hands on his hips.

Oh, dear Archons.

“Neuvillette, that is not what I’m implying.”

“Oh, really? Then what are you implying then?”

Zhongli hands the paper over to Neuvillette. “I’m following Doctor Baizhu and Miss Qiqi’s orders. Miss Qiqi specifically said to feed [Y/N] food with plenty of nutrients.”

Neuvillette takes the paper but doesn’t read it. “You are still implying that my Consomme Purete doesn’t contain enough nutrients for her to eat.”

“Dear Archons.” Zhongli sighs, rubbing his temples.

You cough to grab their attention, only to cough up phlegm, nearly choking on it. Neuvillette and Zhongli are by your side almost immediately, making sure you’re okay and not choking on the phlegm.

You slump in your spot and hug the floating anemo fungus to your chest, sighing. “I will eat both the Bamboo Shoot Soup and Consomme Purete. I haven’t been eating well, and I believe both of your dishes will not only fill up my appetite but also provide me with copious amounts of nutrients.”

Thankfully, that is something both Zhongli and Neuvillette end up agreeing on. You managed to finish the Bamboo Shoot Soup and Consomme Purete, making both your lovers proud and relieved. Zhongli makes sure you take your medication, and Neuvillette provides more warm water to drink with your medication. Your stomach didn’t churn when you took the medication, thankfully.

By the time it’s nightfall, both Zhongli and Neuvillette are in their dragon forms, taking up all the space on the bed. Zhongli and Neuvillette are curled into a half circle with you between them. You close your eyes and rest your head on Zhongli’s body, feeling Zhongli and Neuvillette curling and wrapping around you.

As you slowly doze off, you hug the floating anemo fungus tightly while Zhongli and Neuvillette each take turns pressing their nose against your head— kissing your head but in their dragon forms.

“Thank you three for being here.” You whisper, shivering.

Neuvillette flicks his tail, draping the blanket over your and their bodies before resting his head beside Zhongli. Zhongli and Neuvillette close their eyes, drifting off to the sound of your quiet snores.

Note: I had this commission delayed due to being busy with my university and other things happening in my life. I actually like how this fic turned out! While I was on hiatus, I had this mental drawing board for this commission and have changed a lot of things in this fic. I'm happy with the outcome of the fic itself. Tama/Kacie, if you see this, I hope you love this fic as much as I loved typing it out :) Anyway, To all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Link to the commissioned version: The Traveling Artist's Ailment (Commissioned Ver.)

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 / Short Fics and Others Masterlist | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

#Genshin impact x reader #Genshin Impact fanfiction #Genshin Impact fanfics #Zhongli x fem!reader #Neuvillette x fem!reader #Zhongli x reader #Neuvillette x reader #Zhongli x reader x Neuvillette #genshinluvr #genshinluvr commissioned fics

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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months ago

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Tattoos IV

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You design Mami a tattoo

You sit crosslegged in front of Mr Pina's enclosure, drawing furiously on your notepad. It's a new piece for your best friend Pequeñita and you want to make it perfect.

Mr Pina helps with your inspiration sometimes so you sit with him as you draw.

"Hola, teeny."

Mami comes up behind you and pulls you into her lap. She looks over your shoulder to see what you're drawing and she smiles.

"That looks great!"

"Mumma says when I'm done we can frame it before giving it to Pequeñita!" You say," So I'm working very hard!"

"I'm sure Pequeñita is going to love it," Mami says," But, hey, can I have some help with something?"

You look away from your paper to look at Mami, humming your confirmation.

"I was thinking about getting another tattoo," She says," And I want it to be extra special."

You nod along. "Mumma says tattoos are permanent and you must be very careful what you put on your body."

"Your Mumma is very smart," Mami says," That's exactly right."

"What are you getting?"

"Well," Mami says, moving you so you're facing her," I was thinking my favourite little artist could design me one."

"Really?!"

"Really!"

You think for a moment. "After Pequeñita's drawing is done. We have a playdate next week and it has to be finished by then."

"Alright, teeny. I can wait."

Mapi finds that she doesn't have to wait long because you come running into the bedroom very early a few days later with your sketchpad and pen covering your hands.

"Oh, teeny," Ingrid laughs as she pulls you up onto the bed," You've gotten very messy."

"I made Mami's tattoo!" You say, crawling over Ingrid to settle between them," It's Bagheera!"

It's a black blob, in truth but it's got a tail and little cat ears and it's outlined with a dash of gold because Bagheera is one of the queens of the house and she makes you extra happy-happy.

She makes Mami happy too.

You explain it all to her and Mami smiles.

"Thank you, teeny," She says, giving lots of kisses all over your face," This is perfect."

"Did you hear, Mumma? Mami called my drawing perfect!"

"Of course she did!" Ingrid pulls you into a big hug," Our favourite artist never produces anything that isn't perfect."

You giggle as Mumma layers kisses on your cheek.

"We'll take a trip to the tattoo parlour later," Mumma says," And you can see Mami get her new tattoo."

"Of course! I can't have it done without my favourite artist being there to see!"

Mapi can't stop smiling at her new tattoo as she goes into training the day after it's finished. It looks absolutely perfect on her arm and the smile never falls.

You run off pretty quickly to go and see Alexia's Pequeñita with your little backpack of art supplies and Mapi watches you from afar.

"That one's new," Alexia says, pointing at the Bagheera blob.

"Teeny designed it," Mapi boasts," I got it done a few days ago."

You've gotten out your skin pens again, drawing over your arms as Pequeñita attempts a portrait of you.

"Is it meant to be Bagheera?"

"It is! She's so talented!"

Alexia laughs. "She's coming back to mine tonight, right?"

Mapi nods. "She's got a picture for Pequeñita in the car. She worked on it all weekend."

"Pequeñita's got one at home for her as well."

"Mami!" You call, running over to her," Look! I'm you!"

You show off your pen covered arms, pointing out which ones are crude depictions of Mapi's own tattoos. You point at you shoulder and beam, showing off your own Bagheera blob.

"Tia Ale! Do you see? Me and Mami match!"

"Very nice, teeny," Alexia laughs," I was just saying how cool Mapi's new tattoo is. You'll have to design me one soon."

You nod seriously. "Soon," You promise," But not now because me and Pequeñita are drawing each other now."

"Okay, teeny," She says," Are you excited to come over tonight?"

You nod. "Pequeñita says she got new paints and we can paint together!"

"You can only paint with Pequeñita," Ingrid says as she approaches," If you have clean hands and arms. It's nice that you want to match with your Mami but you also need to be clean, teeny. Come on, let's go and wash it off so you can draw some more."

You sigh. "But Mumma-"

"You can be like Mami later," Mumma promises you," But right now, I need clean arms or I can't put these on."

She waves a packet of temporary tattoos in your face and you gasp.

"I'll wash my arms!"

You take off for the toilets.

"Take someone with you!"

You grab Pequeñita's hand.

"An adult, teeny!"

You grab Pina's hand too, dragging her and Pequeñita with you.

"Where did you get those?" Mapi laughs.

"Corner store," Ingrid replies," I used to love these things. She can't get ink poisoning from these. It's the safe solution if she wants to be like you."

"But she won't be like me if we don't match!" Mapi complains and Alexia grins.

"I think there's a site where you can design your own."

Ingrid groans as Mapi's eyes light up.

#woso x reader #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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opiazapine · 2 years ago

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A relative of mine's mentally ill (out of treatment) ex created a YouTube channel with her real name and all her weird shenanigans uploaded for the world to see and aside from a video labeled "goldilocks sex" where she waves around a dildo while naked or perhaps another video where she basically just doxxes my relative right there on youtube - this video of her painting the worst ever portrait of Elon musk is my favorite thing she has done and that I have found so far. I'm fucking rolling staring at this screenshot for the last 15 minutes. This is True Art. Oh the places you will go, the people you will meet... (let's not meet again. Ever.)

#it looks like him tbf #her artistic talent is beginning to shine thru her simp paintings for elon #she a real weirdo not even dropping her yt name because shes my personal goldmine of genuinely ridiculous content #and nobody should ever have to suffer what I suffered watching that goldilocks video

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luvsupa · 3 months ago

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001 | WORK OF ART

tags: sugardaddy!nanami x fem!reader, smut, public sex-ish, toys used, age gap (nanamis late 30s and readers early/ mid 20s), petnames, nanami is in love with reader and her art, mdni.

w.c: 2.6k

a/n: UHMM GUYS THANK U SOSO MUCH FOR 600 FOLLOWERS?! EEKKK ILY GUYSSS 🤍🤍

+ likes and reblogs are appreciated!

the convention center quickly fills up at eight o’clock as hundreds and hundreds of rich people eagerly gather to see and purchase the artworks displayed by you and your fellow artists.

you’re already over the fact that it’s art display season, as obnoxious rich patrons approach your work only to mock it and its price. your coordinator has repeatedly stated that your specific artwork isn’t as eye-catching as the others in your group.

“your art can only sell for one thousand, and that’s pushing it,” your coordinator once said.

one thousand is quite a lot of money, but everyone else’s pieces are selling for five thousand and more! their bland artwork compared to yours shouldn’t be sold for that much—now i’m just sounding jealous.

all the artists stand at their assigned sections in front of their artwork as the paid guests slowly walk in, drawn to whatever catches their attention. you glance at your friend beside you as she wishes you good luck.

the room is brightly lit with led lights, giving it a clean and modern feel. soft, instrumental music plays over the speakers, barely audible over the hum of conversations. waiters weave through the crowd, offering glasses of champagne that clink as guests accept them.

you stand awkwardly, already expecting the nasty glares at your canvas. this year, you went for an erotic art piece titled “a woman’s high.” the painting depicts a woman in an abstract way, in the moment of climax, as a blurred-out male figure gives her oral sex, with the focus solely on the female.

“don’t you think this is quite… inappropriate for an art exhibition?” the middle-aged woman clung to her husband’s arm, both looking disgusted at your erotic painting. she leaned in to read the card with your name, pricing, and title, her brows raising in amusement.

“hah! one thousand for this? oh dear, this is a mockery to all the other talented artists here,” she scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. the snobby rich couple found it hilarious, unable to control their laughter. “even i wouldn’t keep it if it were free!” she said as they walked away, still laughing as they moved on to the next pieces.

you stood there, their words stinging more than any you’d heard before. nearly five months spent on your painting, and this is how they treated you. damn that couple.

“your talent for oil painting is incredible,” a deep, husky voice said. you looked up to see a tall, middle-aged man with golden blonde hair slicked back, a few strands hanging in front of his beautifully sculpted face. he was looking at you—and complimenting your art?

you rarely got this stunned at one of your exhibitions, but wow. you shamelessly scanned his figure, muscles bulging from his white button-up shirt, a few buttons undone to show his toned chest. his black dress pants hugged his muscled thighs, and you gulped hard, eyes moving back to his-

“nanami! how great it is to finally see you!” your main coordinator appeared, twirling her hair awhile bombarding him with questions.

“there’s something i want to show you, but it requires us being alone,” she giggled, rubbing his arm up and down. you stood there awkwardly, not wanting to listen to their flirtatious conversation.

“i’m afraid i’ll pass. i’m more intrigued by this beautiful art.” he turned to look at you, making your eyes widen. no one had ever been this persistent about wanting to see your artwork. it made you feel giddy inside.

“oh nanami, this artist needs a lot of practice. i mean, look at the painting!” she pointed out, trying to embarrass you in front of this fine man.

“i wasn’t referring to the painting.”

oh.

“s-sir?” she stammered, both of you shocked at his words. he thinks i’m beautiful? he was very slick with that.

“and her skills are beyond amazing. the way she captures the perfect moment of the woman’s orgasm and highlights her expression—there’s no need for more practice,” he said, silencing your coordinator as he praised the parts of your art that he loved. you were still in shock at what had just occurred.

“however, there is one flaw about this,” nanami stated, and your smile slightly dropped. you were ready for him to treat you the same way everyone else had. your coordinator found an opportunity to bully you and your art even more.

“pfft, finally. i’ve noticed a lot wrong with her art—”

“the price,” he cut her off, pulling out a chequebook from his pocket and beginning to write. “how much?” you both gasped at his boldness.

“i-i…” you stuttered, at a loss for words for the first time, while your coordinator fumed. he chuckled at your reaction as he continued writing, then ripped the paper to hand it to you.

“i’d like for you to come see me later, beautiful,” he said, his smooth words leaving you hypnotized. and with that, he walked away as your coordinator followed him, trying to get his attention.

you stared down at the paper, your jaw dropping at the amount he was giving you.

10,000 dollars

holy fuck.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as the art exhibition continued on all night, you left your painting unattended- searching everywhere throughout the museum to find the mysterious man, nanami. hell, you even had to beg your annoying coordinator for his whereabouts. finally, she gave in.

“he’s going to his car, something about a gift for me!” she exclaimed. you didn’t buy it for a second, but you headed towards the elevator, stepping in to pressing‘P’ as the button illuminated. the doors closed, and the elevator descended to the parking lot.

the button stopped glowing as the doors opened, revealing the eerie parking lot filled with cars on every level. you walked out, your heels clicking against the cold concrete as you quickly rushed to see where he could be.

“are you following me?”

you stopped where you were, hearing his deep voice. you turned around to see his beautiful smirk plastered on his lips, holding his black jacket on his shoulder. fuck, he’s so hot.

“i just wanted to thank you so much for purchasing my art,” you nervously said as he eyed you down. you squeezed your thighs tight as the tension thickened.

“come with me,” he said, smiling as he formed a sinful idea in his mind. he honestly couldn’t control himself, thinking about how delicious you looked in your black mini skirt and white button-up shirt similar to his own.

cute, he thinks.

you wasted no time, immediately picking up your steps as he strode down the long parking lot to his car. finally, his car came into view—a luxurious sports car you’d only seen in movies and tv shows. how rich is he?

he unlocks the driver's door as you stand in front of his car, listening to the muffled chatter and honks of the city coming to life at night. from the corner of your eye, you see him pull out a box as he shuts the door, catching your attention.

"i want you to put this on," he says, walking closer and towering over you as he hands you the box. you carefully read it, and your jaw drops for the second time that night.

bluetooth vibrator.

"i-i can't, i have to be talking to people this whole night," you stammer, attempting to hand the box back, but he doesn't take it.

"that's the whole point, sweetheart. live a little- have fun." he coos, bringing his hands to cup your face, caressing it. "you always seem so serious. let me show you how to enjoy yourself." for the first time your body betrays you as you start feeling aroused by him.

shamelessly, you bring one of your free hands to pull his neck lower to your level, smashing him into a heated kiss. he smirks into the kiss as you suck harshly on his lips, smudging your lipstick onto his. nanami places you against the hood of his luxurious sports car as the box slips from your hand, making a loud thud on the ground.

"eager, aren't we?" he murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension and desire.

nanami parts your thighs with his knee, allowing you to grind on him. your hips move rhythmically as you whimper into the kiss, growing wetter by the second.

he snakes his hand down to your thighs, moving his knee, eliciting a needy whimper from you. wanting more. he replaces his knee with his thick fingers, easily reaching your clothed cunt through your short skirt. he rubs your leaky slit through your panties, and you moan into the kiss. he pulls away, chuckling at how quickly you became this wet.

"such a good girl," he teases, his tone both patronizing and seductive.

you look up at him with needy eyes, craving more of his touch—more of him. you need him.

“i’ll see you inside,” he says, pecking your lips and sliding his hand away from your heat. he walks away, wiping the smudged lipstick off his mouth, leaving you sprawled out on the hood of his car. how can he leave you like this? you’re contemplating on whether you should continue on or leave- oh fuck it.

“w-wait, i’ll put it on,” you say, rising from the hood of the car and wobbling towards him as you quickly pick up the box. he chuckles, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

“my sweet girl, i knew you’d give in,” he says, turning around to see you almost losing your balance. he holds you steady as you start unboxing the toy, wanting nothing more than a good release from him.

you stare at the oddly shaped vibrator, confused about how to put it on.

nanami grabs the pink toy from your hand as he kneels to the ground. “may i?” he asks, wanting to insert it for you. you eagerly nod as he bunches up your skirt to your waist, and you stare down at him, watching his every move like a hawk.

he places a soft kiss on your clothed clit, making you nearly fall over. nanami swiftly tugs down your panties, and you step out of them as he rises from the ground, standing tall as he shoves your wet panties into his pocket. how nasty he is.

“geez, you’re soaking,” he points out, swiping two of his fingers along your slit and watching your arousal coat his digits. he brings the toy to your hole, aligning it with the tip before slowly inserting it. you hiss at the stretch of the toy within your velvety walls, the girth painfully good as you bite your lip hard, clenching rapidly around the silicone toy.

you whimper as he positions the other half of the toy against your achy clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to ensure it’s perfectly aligned with your sensitive nub. he’s determined to see you crumble.

nanami smooths down your skirt, pulling it back into place so no one can see the lewd things happening between you two. he retrieves his phone from his pocket and connects to the app, pressing the power button. your knees buckle as the vibrator springs to life, the dual stimulation nearly making you roll your eyes back at the slow, teasing intensity.

“you did so good, baby,” he coos, his praise making you hum in pleasure as he steadies your balance, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your head. he increases the intensity, and broken moans slip from your lips. he finds your reactions amusing as he guides you back to the elevator, pressing the button and standing behind you, holding you in place.

“y-you clicked the wrong f-floor,” you manage to gasp, breathless. he chuckles darkly behind you, making your skin crawl. your eyes shoot up in horror as you realize he’s selected the floor where all the guests enter to get to the museum.

“oh, did I? silly me,” he says, a smirk evident in his voice. as the elevator doors open, you’re met with a small group of guests, including the middle-aged couple who had mocked you earlier. you feel a fleeting sense of relief as he finally turns off the vibrator, but the situation remains unbearably tense.

the elevator is packed with guests, and you’re pressed intimately close to nanami. the heat of his body against yours only heightens your need, as you’re unconsciously grinding against his bulge, desperate for release.

“nanami, i didn’t realize you were with her,” the familiar woman says, clinging to her husband. the bitch who flat out insulted me..

“mhm, yes, i am,” nanami replies smoothly, his hand slipping lower to discreetly control the vibrator. “have you seen her work? i think everyone should join. she’s got a beautiful speech prepared, don’t you?” he adds, his gaze shifting to you with a knowing smile. heads turn in your direction, intrigued by the fact that nanami kento is involved.

“oh, yes, i suppose i’ll prepare something as well—mmf,” you try to stifle a moan as nanami cranks the vibrator to its fullest intensity. you squeeze your thighs tightly, fighting to keep your arousal from dripping down your thighs.

“and what will it be about?” a businessman in the elevator asks curiously. you can barely focus on anything except the overwhelming pleasure of the vibrator thrusting in and out at a relentless pace, your poor clit being ruthlessly stimulated.

“haven’t—hahhh—i haven’t f-finished,” you stammer, casting a pleading look at nanami, desperate for the torture to end. he only smiles in response, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction.

ding!

you’ve never been so eager for the elevator’s arrival. the guests say their goodbyes, but just as nanami tries to guide you out, you stop him, hitting a random button.

“what happened to speaking to everyone the whole night, hmm?” he says, his voice dripping with mockery as he gazes down at your dazed expression.

“fuck them,” you mutter, reaching up to kiss him, but he pulls away, eliciting a pout from you.

“such a dirty mouth—do you expect me to kiss you?” he says, bringing a hand to your face. you melt into his touch as he slowly brings his thumb to your mouth, smudging your lipstick. he rests his thumb on your bottom lip, and you open your mouth, looking sultry into his hazel eyes.

you take his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and slightly bobbing your head as if giving a messy blowjob. nanami watches, his blood rushing to his growing bulge as he takes in your bratty attitude.

you release his thumb with a slight pop, leaving it glistening with your saliva. nanami, shocked by your filthy display, grabs your face and crashes his lips onto yours. this kiss is hungrier, more eager than the last.

ding!

the elevator’s arrival chimes, and the doors start to open. your coordinator, her face a mask of horror, sees you two and screams in shock. she’s so upset that storms off. the doors quickly close, leaving you and nanami in the privacy of the elevator.

you chuckle at her reaction. “i have to get back, nanami,” you say, your hands roaming his chest, a whimper escaping as you remember the toy still buried deep inside you.

“you’re really gonna leave me like this?” he growls, referring to his raging hard-on. you chuckle, feeling a thrill at his reaction. “hmm, you can still toy with me the entire night,” you purr.

nanami reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a business card, his name and phone number neatly printed. “call me when you’re ready to leave. i’m not done with you,” he promises, making you feel excited for what he has planned.

you give him a quick peck on the lips and press the ‘open’ button on the elevator. just as you’re about to step out, you feel a sharp sting on your ass cheek. you hear him hum behind you.

oh how he’s going to cause so much trouble..

#nanami x you #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk nanami #nanami kento x you #kento nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen x you

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storiesforallfandoms · 5 months ago

Text

by the lake ~ benedict bridgerton;bridgerton

word count: 2675

request?: no

description: in which she flees from a pushy suitor, only to find a lovely alternative painting by the lake

pairing: benedict bridgerton x female!reader

warnings: period accurate stuff, use of y/n

masterlist (one, two, three)

Whenever perpetual bachelors would moan about the courting season, I couldn't help but laugh. Sure, eager mamas trying to force a connection with their daughters could be tiring, but as a man it was fine to turn down potential wives and live a life of bachelordom. For women, that wasn't an option. The moment we come of age we are expected to find a husband and bare children. If we don't, we are spinsters that essentially become outcasted from society.

Not to mention that some male suitors can be just as pushy as the eager mamas.

One example of this was Lord Windsor, a middle aged Lord who had gone a number of seasons without finding a wife and had gotten noticeably desperate. Lord Windsor was okay on the eyes, but not overly handsome. He came from a prominent family, but was the youngest of the three brothers. And, the worst of all, he had the personality of a wet napkin. He was awkward and bored anyone he spoke to to tears.

And I was his current victim.

I was attending an event in town with my family when Lord Windsor's attention fell on me. He began talking to me - or rather at me - not noticing how desperately I was trying to escape him. I kept trying to make eye contact with anyone who passed by to try and silently ask for help. Some gave me a sympathetic look as they passed by, while others merely snickered at my misery.

I was becoming overwhelmed with his persistence. I would do anything to get away from him.

In a moment of desperation, I said, "Can you get me a drink? I am parched."

He seemed almost perturbed by my request, but went off to get me a drink anyways. Once he had mostly disappeared into the crowd, I turned and ran off. I had no idea where I was going, but I needed to get away. Not only from Lord Windsor, but from any other desperate and pushy suitor who would try and approach me.

I found myself stumbling down a trail and coming out by a lake. It was peaceful - the water bright blue and calm, and the area was empty. Well, almost empty. There was a gentleman sat facing the water, with a canvas set up in front of him, painting a lovely portrait of the calming lake. I gasped as he turned and I recognized who it was: Benedict Bridgerton.

"I-I am so sorry," I said. "I did not realize - "

"No need to apologize," he said, smiling at me. Oh my, his smile was so handsome. "This is a public place. I lay no claim to it. And I will not complain about the company of a beautiful lady."

I felt my cheeks light on fire at his compliment.

He glanced behind me, as if expecting someone else to be there. I realized then that by fleeing Lord Windsor, I had also left behind my mother, who was supposed to be my chaperon to the event. Now I was here, alone with a man, far away from the event. It would be a scandal if anyone found out, and the Bridgerton family had had enough scandals in the last year or so.

"I should go," I said, turning to leave.

"I don't mind some company," he said. "And perhaps a lady should not wander on her own."

"I suppose not."

Benedict gestured to a nearby bench. I sat down and watched as he returned to his painting. It was a truly beautiful creation. Better than some of the portraits mama had on her wall. It was a perfect recreation of the scene in front of him.

I had heard about Benedict's artistic abilities. The whole Ton had. It was quite the surprise when Benedict Bridgerton, one of the most sought after bachelors in the Ton, had decided to pursue art instead of a wife. Many hopeful debutantes thought that he would only do it for a short period of time before finally taking a wife. I could still hear mama ranting about it after reading that morning's Whistledown. But watching him now, I could see his talent and passion for the art. I didn't blame him for not wanting to give this up just to get married when he clearly had no desire to take a wife.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?"

I jumped when his voice broke the silence. He turned to smirk at me and I felt my face light on fire, as if he had caught me doing something wrong.

"I was attending the event in town but...I needed some space," I explained.

"Ah, I understand. Those events can be tiresome. Many people either gossiping or trying too hard to remain in some arbitrary social circles."

"You are one to speak when your family is part of the most respected social circle."

"I did call it arbitrary, did I not?"

I chuckled and nodded. "Yes, I suppose you are right. My biggest plight are the suitors, though."

Benedict paused with his hand raised to his canvas. He lowered the brush back into the paint to look at me again. "You are unmarried?"

I nodded. "Not for the lack of trying on my mother's part. I just haven't met anyone that I click with yet. Unfortunately, the marriage pool is becoming very shallow. I was being pursued by Lord Windsor today."

Benedict cringed. "Oh, I definitely understand your need to get away then. Lord Windsor is...a man...to say the least."

"That is one way to describe him."

He smiled. I watched him run his brush through the cup of water before drying it in a cloth and standing. I watched as he began to pack away his painting supplies. "What are you doing?"

"I have a carriage waiting by the road. I am going to bring my art supplied back there, then I will walk with you around the lake before returning you to your family in the town." I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off by saying, "I was finished with my painting anyways, and I must make an appearance there, no matter how brief it is. I would not mind arriving with such a beautiful lady on my arm."

He knew exactly how to shut me up and he had only met me moments prior. My mouth shut instantly and, for a third time in such a short period of time, I felt like I was blushing. Benedict smiled at me again, almost triumphant, before going to his carriage with his art supplies. I remained seated on the bench until his returned, in which he extended his arm to me and I took it.

Our sides were pressed firmly together as we began to walk. My arm, hip, nearly my legs if it were not for my dress, were pressed against his. The parts that were touching started to feel warm and fuzzy. I wondered for a moment if there was something wrong with me, until I looked up at Benedict and his eyes met mine, and suddenly that warm and fuzzy feeling was running through my entire body.

Of course I always knew Benedict Bridgerton was attractive. I had eyes that could see his beauty, and I had ears that could hear all the gossip from other mamas and debutantes about him. But being here, with my arm laced through his and our bodies so close together, was much different than observing him from afar.

"How many seasons have you been through?" he asked, breaking me from my thoughts.

"This is my third," I responded. He gave me a look that made me giggle. "What?"

"You were not married in your first season?"

"I believe that is what I said, yes. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, forgive me for sounding like a broken record, but you are incredibly beautiful. If I know anything from my years observing the marriage markets, it is that beautiful women usually have a very easy time finding a husband."

"I am flattered by your compliments, and you would be right that I had no shortage of suitors asking to court me, but the thing is is that I am looking for something that many seem to think is impossible: a love match."

Benedict scoffed. "Impossible? I have three siblings that would argue with you there."

"They are exceptions, not the rules. Of course there are people who marry for love, but there are still others who only believe in marrying for looks and for titles. And it seems there are very few suitors who are looking for a love match. Most of them just want a beautiful lady who they can take to bed and produce heirs with, and once that job is done they will return to the brothels."

"You would get along exceptionally with my sister, Eloise."

I smiled. I squeezed his arm a little as I asked, "Why have you not married then, Mr. Bridgerton?"

"Please, call me Benedict," he said. "Which reminds me, I have no caught your name yet."

"(Y/N)," I told him. "And do not avoid my question."

"I would never!" he said in mock offense. "My answer is just more selfish than yours."

"That does not make me want to hear it any less."

He chuckled. "I have just never had the desire to take a wife. My older brother, Anthony, is the Viscount, he was the one expected to find a wife and produce little Viscount heirs. Daphne was the first daughter to come of age to join the season, and her love match has made our mother much more intent on having similar experiences for my other sisters. Colin, Gregory, and I are not under the same pressure as our other siblings. Colin had his travels, Gregory is far too young to consider marriage as it is, and I have my art. I thought Colin and I were in agreement about our thoughts on marriage, but it seems he has changed his mind."

"Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Changed your mind?"

Benedict stopped walking a moment, pulling me to a halt next to him. He looked thoughtful for a moment before he said, "I have not decided."

We continued to walk in silence for a while. It was a beautiful day, and the lake was an ideal place to be. The water shimmered under the bright sun, still calm without a single ripple, and the sky was clear without a single cloud. It was a beautiful day, and I was walking with Benedict Bridgerton. It truly could not be a better day.

"Your painting was beautiful, by the way," I told him. "I understand why you would choose art. You have quite the talent for it."

"Thank you," he said. I could see a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. One that was genuine, maybe a bit flustered at the compliment.

"What do you do with your art? Do you sell it or hang it yourself?"

"Oh no, my mother usually takes whatever I paint and hangs it around the estate. I think most of the artwork in our house is all mine now. She loves to gush over what I have painted, almost embarrassingly so."

"Well, I would love to have one for my home, if you do not mind having another client."

He looked down at me. "Really?"

I nodded. "I believe your painting to be more beautiful than some of my own mama's choices of artwork. But keep that between us."

He smiled. "I will not tell a soul."

We began walking up a path that led back to the town, and suddenly I could heard the bustling of the event. The light and happy feeling I had since running into Benedict had slowly began to fade into dread as I realized what our arrival at the event meant. With any luck, my mother would want to leave the second she found me and I would not have to endure Lord Windsor for any longer.

I expected to be surrounded the second we came into view. I thought, for some reason, that mama would know of my disappearance and would be worried sick. I expected lots of questioning, and then for her to whisk me away quickly where she would likely continue to question me at home.

To my surprise, no one approached us at first. No one even noticed our arrival for a few moments, until one person glanced at Benedict and I as we walked past, and then did a double take to make sure they had seen correctly. Suddenly, there were dozens of prying eyes and hushed voices, with us at the centre of all their attention.

"I told you," Benedict whispered in my ear. "All gossiping."

"Seems we may find ourselves in the next issue of Whistledown," I said.

Benedict gave me a playful smile and said, "May as well make that count then."

He led me through the crowds of people, all whispering and watching us go. I was beginning to feel a little insecure under all their watchful eyes, until I noticed Lord Windsor as one of the many who was watching us. His face looked sullen as he watched us go by, holding two cups in his hand - he still had the drink I sent him to get. The thought of him standing around with it in his hand this whole time made me giggle to myself, and then I found myself standing up straighter and leaning into Benedict more. Lord Windsor seemed to have gotten the message loud and clear.

I found my mama with a group of other mothers, and when we began to approach they all fell silent. Mama looked at us and her eyes widened with shock.

"Mr. Bridgerton," she said, looking between myself and Benedict. "How lovely it is to see you."

"I hope you do not mind my borrowing of your daughter, my lady," Benedict said. "She was most excellent company for a walk around the lake nearby."

Mama looked to me like she was trying to figure out why I had left without telling her. I merely smiled at her, mentally willing her to leave that question until we returned home.

"Of course I do not mind at all, Mr. Bridgerton," mama said. "Although, next time I do hope there shall be a chaperone with you."

I opened my mouth to tell her there would be no next time, but Benedict cut me off by saying, "Of course. I was hoping to call on her tomorrow afternoon, if that is alright with you."

Mama seemed just as dazed as I was. She managed to stutter out an agreement, which amused Benedict to no end. She turned back to her friends as Benedict and I stepped away to speak once more.

"You are giving her some false hope," I told him.

"What do you mean?"

"You are making her believe that you are going to court me. She will be more heartbroken than I when she realizes that is not the case."

"Who said I do not intend to court you?"

It was my turn to be at a loss for words. I tried to form a coherent sentence, but I just stood there with my mouth open, no doubt looking tremendously stupid.

"You seem like a lovely lady, (Y/N)," Benedict said when I could not find the words to say. "I truly did enjoy our time together today. I would like to spend more time with you, if you would allow it. And I must bring that painting to you at some point, remember?"

I nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would very much like to spend more time with you as well."

His smile was bright and genuine once again. I couldn't help but smile back at him. "Perfect. I shall see you tomorrow afternoon then."

"Yes. I suppose you shall."

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #luke thompson #luke thompson imagine #luke thompson x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #netflix #imagine #one shot #fanfic #fanfiction #fandom

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aureatchi · 4 months ago

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ᝰ𓂃⊹ ִֶָ SHE PAINTED THE HIGH RENAISSANCE ONTO HER BLANK CANVAS. . .ft. fyodor dostoevsky & dazai osamu

৻ꪆ RIASSUNTO. fata viam invenient...you attend a ball, fated to stumble upon two demons in disguise. you don't know whether it is for better or worse that you somehow already know them, all masqueraded as angels, regardless of how laughably far off that would be.

◞ OR ROME WAS TRULY THE PROMISED LAND, and you sought the art of chaos, rivalry, and seduction.

SERIES MASTERLIST. → ii. | PLAYLIST ♫. | wc. 9.6k+

৻ꪆ a/n. it’s FINALLY HERE !! get ready because there’s A LOT. i’ve poured sm heart into this so i hope you enjoy it as much as i do :) THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who was patient + reached out telling me how excited they are for this. this series is also my entry for @kentopedia’s love through the ages historical!au collab. thank u sm for putting this together <3

৻ꪆ info. fem!reader. renaissance!au. drama & romance. cursing. some suggestive parts. love triangle. arranged engagement. slowburn. lowk touch-starved. a lot of story buildup/complex character. suicide attempt from dazai. historical inaccuracies. bad poetry. religious imagery/symbolism.

— THE MONA LISA WASN’T REAL. And Vincenzo Peruggia was not, in fact, the person who stole the piece, contributing to the boom of its fame to the general public, but was planned in a way to frame him so that the origins of the painting would be a secret gossip only a group of the most successful artists knew about.

The gendarmes were close. They were correct in assuming that another artist could’ve stolen the painting during the investigation. But they never suspected it could be the person the portrait was painted of herself—no, obviously not Francesco del Giocondo’s wife—but the original face who remained under the cover-up.

An artist’s face, who later went under the alias of “Raphael” to conceal her contentious image and entanglements from the public eye—you.

The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin amidst the summer air. The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders, and an unknown heart who vowed to drown you…

“My, miss, you’re already stirring up tons of drama, and you’ve only been here three days!”

The past couple of months had felt like a dream. It almost seemed like yesterday when you packed your things into suitcases and moved to one of the most famous centers of the art world, Florence.

Yet now, you entered through the gates of the ‘eternal city’ itself—Rome, a great privilege granted to you by the Pope himself. You almost cried when you received his invitation, commissioning you to paint the frescos in his private library. Of course, there were some strings pulled, like the person who recommended you…

“It’s all thanks to you, Ranpo,” you giggled mischievously. As the lead architect of the Vatican (but before that, your friend), he had told the Pope, “...she might as well become the best painter in all history. She may not be well known here in Rome, but say her name in Florence, and you’ll awaken the whole city. You’ll realize you’ve found a diamond among all the rubble. Trust me on this one; I’m never wrong.”

“It was nothing,” Ranpo replied with a smug smile. “His Holiness, Fukuzawa never doubts my word.” He tapped his head with his forefinger and winked. “Not only does he recognize my talent in the arts, he also acknowledges my outstanding intellect! I’d be a detective in another life.”

You chuckled before he continued. “The rest is all on you, princess. Again, you’re progressing quickly-” he pulled out a letter to summarize out loud.

“-His Holiness was so impressed that he’s giving you the rest of the rooms to paint,” Ranpo said while you stared at him with widened eyes. “He…fired everyone else who was working on them. On top of that, he invites you to a ball happening in a couple of days to make an announcement on new projects. Other than you, he’s invited only the most influential artisans to attend alongside the aristocrats.”

“No way!” You grabbed Ranpo’s hands in excitement.

“Yes, way.” He let you spin him around on the pavement in eagerness, your long dress following along. “Though, I feel like you’re going to have to explain to him how you painted the library’s frescos so quickly.”

Your turbulence of elation calmed. “Hm, you’re right.

“I hope the question slips his mind.”

You hadn’t actually told Ranpo, but it always seemed like he would figure out everything about you anyway. There was one reason why you had become so famous in Florence. You created masterpieces in what felt like seconds—it was almost like you were granted the touch of creation itself. No one had ever seen you paint, so the mystery of how you were able to produce your portraits in mere weeks—sometimes days remained a mystery to the entire world, no matter how fast science progressed.

You called it an ability. To be able to visualize—a mental image in your head you wanted to come to life in the form of a still painting on a canvas was what you did. You conjured the concept yourself, freezing daydream into textile.

You weren’t sure why you possessed something supernatural, or perhaps there were other artists you didn’t know who could also do the same thing, but firstly, you kept it a secret—it seemed almost inhuman to hold such a power. Yet secondly, it was even more the reason to follow in your father’s footsteps.

He, too, was a painter in the courts of Urbino and would’ve liked to become a famous artist as well. Now, that dream lived on through you—you had studied and trained under his teachers and other artists until you mastered their techniques from the foundations to geometry. Your father was no longer alive, but you were sure he’d be proud of you for getting this far.

“Oh, one more thing,” Ranpo said.

“The two angels of art are going to be there.” The brunette closed his eyes and rested his arms behind his head as if he already knew the shocked expression awaiting your face. “Your inspirations. Osamu Dazai of Milan and your fiancé, Fyodor Dostoevsky of Florence.”

“Pardon me, Fyodor?”

…

A long time ago, your uncle—your now legal guardian—arranged your marriage to Fyodor Dostoevsky. However, the same would’ve happened even if your father had been in charge due to his family’s good societal position.

It was just meant to be, you guessed.

Coincidentally, Fyodor had also taken an interest in art the few times you two saw each other when you were younger, and you eventually saw him go on to become the most talented sculptor in Florence.

However, your path of similarities ran cold after that. You hadn’t seen him in years, and you weren’t even close. You were obligated to write to each other once a month, but each message almost seemed like business transactions rather than love letters. Fyodor was too aloof a person despite being well-educated and polite—though he checked off every other box (and you were sure any other woman would want him), you realized you would never be able to connect with him. He was just not interested.

You couldn’t do anything to change the engagement, but as long as there was no set wedding date to look (dread) forward to, you were content with life for now.

You didn’t necessarily like Fyodor, nor did you go to Rome to finally pursue him, but you admired him from a different standpoint.

He and Osamu Dazai were truly angels of art; even gods, if the Church was not one’s forte. Everyone across the country knew their names—patrons and civilians alike worshipped them at the feet. Even the powerful Medici family, sought by every artist to be commissioned, held close ties with both.

Clientages saved their money to have the two paint for them, upcoming artists aspired and envied their success, ladies came with their names rolling off their tongues to the horror of their husbands’ faces—they were rumored to be devilishly handsome, too. Self-portraits of the prodigies were yet to be made, but you didn’t doubt it one bit. If Dazai was anything like Fyodor, he had to be fanciable too.

They had the world and heavens as masterpieces in their hands; one could say their names traveled as far as the badlands. You arrived in Florence right after they departed for Rome, and you studied the creations left behind to figure out how they made crowds swoon and create such huge impressions on people.

And you found their pieces were indeed the pinnacle of the renascene summer. You silently made them your mentors, incorporating what was successful for them into your own works.

…

“And you’ll be there, right, Ranpo?”

“Of course, so don’t you worry your pretty head about a thing,” he tapped his head with a smile. “Though, I have some work to finish first, so I’ll leave thee to explore Rome.”

“Don’t take the wrong wagon this time,” you giggled. Ranpo was late to meet you on your first day because he kept taking the wrong passenger coach to get to you. For some reason, he was knowledgeable at everything but navigating transportation.

“I’m taking a horse this time,” Ranpo replied.

“Even worse! You better not fall off!”

There was a tailor you had been recommended to by your aunt before you departed. You decided to head to his shop first to find a dress to wear for the evening.

“Good day, my lady,” the couturier said with a kind smile. “I have multiple options of gowns for you tonight. Please do take your time selecting.”

“Gramercy,” you replied with a smile in turn. Your measurements had been sent to him a few weeks ago, so that you wouldn’t have to wait for your garments to be made.

He brought out at least four cioppas. You didn’t even care to figure out how many in total because among all the regal reds, greens, and royal blues stood out a silk, off-white dress with gold accents. Your eyes were immediately drawn in, though you couldn’t put your finger on why. It wasn’t the most showy in the bunch, but that didn’t matter to you. It was like a rare gem among common stones—though you would need a good eye to really appreciate its uniqueness.

You ran your fingertips across the fabric, closely observing its craftsmanship. You became fascinated with the opulent designs on the flowy skirt and the long sleeves. You guessed that if you didn’t take it, you’d instead dream of it for the rest of your days in regret and freeze it in one of your paintings for eternity.

“I think I’ll try this one first.”

Your first choice proved worthwhile when you tried on the gown in the separate dressing room. You exchanged the simple front-laced bodice and plain cotton attire for the new, elegant piece sewn just for you. The fabric hugged and complimented your curves in all the right places, creating the most flattering look as you turned in front of the mirror.

You imagined yourself with your hair styled and matching jewelry to accompany it—you felt like a princess. Perhaps this confidence was the only thing that would help you get through the ball this evening and perhaps your entire time here. You hadn’t been around so much aristocracy in years—though you grew up privileged, you preferred to live humbly and simply focus on your hobby (and you spared your change on those in need). You were lovely yourself, no doubt, and maybe that’s why you charmed many people of different social classes as you grew more popular.

You studied yourself through the mirror again, and it was like the polarity of your dresses reflected the fate of this new chapter of life set against the one you left behind.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and an unknown heart that vowed to drown you…you suddenly felt cold. You rushed to get out of the room.

“It’s perfect on you,” the tailor said, unable to disguise his awe when you asked him for his opinion and to ensure all the sizing was correct. You nodded in curiosity when he asked, “Now, would you like to know the inspiration behind the dress?” You always looked forward to seeing how your tailors incorporated your personality and family style into their design.

“It’s a play on a singular topic,” he said.

“Angels. A dual purpose signifying both the type of art you create and how you give off an entrancing allure—they will be curious about your enigmatic yet enchanting importance. That will be your statement tonight among the darker colors.”

The earlier thought of comparing your two inspirations to angels came to mind. You decided right then—you found no need to try on any of the others.

“I’ll have this one sent for me tonight,” you said. “Thank you again.”

Rome was alive and busy with action at every corner you turned. You strolled down the streets with no set destination, admiring the liveliness of the city. There were markets and shops everywhere and merchants with all sorts of foreign goods.

You discovered a ruella at the corner of one street, and the door was widely opened. You peered in to see a group of women inside, probably discussing various intellectual topics.

You decided to go inside and socialize, having nothing better to do. As you stepped into the salon, they all turned to greet you.

“Good day, miss,” a few of them said.

“Oh, aren’t you the Florentine artist?” one of them asked. She moved to the side so you’d have a spot to sit.

I got recognized, you thought, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“My husband was there awhile back,” she continued as you sat beside her. “He couldn’t stop talking about how enamored he was with your style and was sure you’d make it here next. Looks like he was correct!”

“I’m very flattered,” you responded, a warm tint in your cheeks.

“Did you recently arrive?” she asked. “I hope your journey here went smoothly.”

“Yes, it went alright!” you said. “The weather wasn’t too bad, and I enjoyed the views on the way. I even passed by some lakes…”

You felt it again. A shiver ran down your spine. The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin that stood perpendicular to summer’s balmy weather. The intense feeling to stay alive—to save yourself and the soul you did not know…

Your journey had gone smoothly up until you passed by one of the lakes near Rome. It had been a peaceful day, and your coach driver suggested that you look outside. You lifted the curtain and were received with one of nature’s blessings—verdant grass and plants that thrived around clear blue waters.

You could’ve painted it if you remembered the sight. You truly could have if the memory of the scene wasn’t tainted by what you saw seconds after.

“Hey, is that a person?” you asked your driver, squinting your eyes—unblemished, untouched picture shattering in your head. The land on one side of the lake was vastly elevated, creating a cliff on that end, and a figure stood in the distance.

A moment passed.

“…Yes, my lady.”

Your eyes weren’t betraying you—there was a man dangerously close to the cliff’s ledge, and you weren’t born yesterday to not know what he was thinking of doing.

“Stop the wagon,” you said, a slip of panic in your tone. Your driver looked back at you hesitantly, but you ordered once again.

“Please stop the wagon. Don’t come after me. And don’t tell anyone about this.”

The horses carrying you came to a halt, and you rushed out of the chaise. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you at that moment—there was a random person you happened to catch making more than a terrible decision, why get involved—but you couldn’t stop now as it was like your legs were carrying you themselves. You immediately took off east towards the cliff. It would take you a few minutes until you got to the man.

What would you even tell him? Would you try to talk him out of it? Gaslight him into stepping away from the edge? Offer to paint him a custom piece for free?—“Oh, I’m actually a famous artist in the country, I can paint you whatever you wish. But I can’t really do that if you kill yourself.” You dashed past grass and rocks as you hurried up the hill.

You would definitely have to change once you got back—the bottom of your dress was already soiled, and you were sweating.

Splash!

Your face was struck in complete horror at the loud sound. You peered over the edge to see huge ripples cascading across the surface of the lake.

Oh shit!

You ran back down and then towards the shore. You thanked God that you weren’t using any heavy layers under your dress that day and prayed you weren’t going to end up killing yourself as well. You knew how to swim, but the man was far from the bank.

Am I really going to do this?

This might’ve been the most spontaneous thing I’ve done. And the worst.

You liked to think that if you saved him, you would be rewarded in some other way. A good Samaritan—you thought. It had to be worth it. You couldn’t die before your new life even began.

You submerged yourself into what felt like frozen water, your clothing suddenly feeling uncomfortable around you. Still, you wasted no time swimming toward the man who jumped in.

He was already sinking—of course, this lake has to be deep. You immediately grabbed onto his waist when you got to him, but not before you took a good look at his face. He was probably of the working class because he only wore a simple white shirt. You also noticed he was covered by an absurd amount of bandages. Soft waves of brunette hair framed the man’s profile, and he looked far more content and at peace than he should’ve been. In any other situation, you would’ve thought he was taking a pleasant nap by the way his eyes were closed, and his lips were slightly parted.

You’d never seen anyone so pretty underwater. If you hadn’t seen him as a human above land, you would’ve thought he was a mermaid or some other foreign creature.

Your thoughts and observations were interrupted when you realized you couldn’t hold your breath any longer. Trying not to panic anymore, you first tried to drag the two of you up above the water, but you weren’t strong enough to battle the weight of it against the two of you.

You would have to swim to shore and didn’t know if you had enough air to return.

Well, I need to make it work anyway, you thought. You wouldn’t let this mysterious guy you didn’t know cut off everything you wanted to pursue.

You took ahold of one of the man’s loose arms and, with determination, tried to propel yourself the way you came from, kicking your legs through the water. You were more than correct in assuming it would be complicated—the energy in your body drained quickly.

You were only halfway from where you started when you accidentally choked. But that caused you to completely seize up—water poured into your lungs like open floodgates, and you were unable to breathe. You tried to push yourself up to get air, but you were already too weak to carry even yourself.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and trying to save an unknown heart that had led to you drown—you wondered if he was still alive. He would have to be resuscitated at this point, and you realized, you too. If anyone came in time to save you, that was. You shouldn’t have had ordered your driver to not follow after you. Or rushed into the lake unprepared.

Or involve yourself with this man. It was his decision to jump off the cliff…and now you had tied his own weight onto your life. Maybe it was all too heavy to carr—

“I’m happy to hear,” the woman replied, oblivious to and interrupting the encounter you were replaying in your head. “I wish you the most success here.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “You are very kind.”

“I am a bit nervous,” you whispered. “I’ll be meeting His Holiness for the first time and other artists. Do I even compare to them?”

It was evening now. You had spent the last couple of hours preparing for the ball after exploring town—you had on the classy cream-colored dress you selected earlier from the tailor, accompanied by a couple of necklaces. Your hair was put up in a complex style and fastened by a few pieces of jewelry.

Your mind utterly conflicted with your appearance, though. Your thoughts were in chaotic peril—you tried to hide the fact that you had been pacing around your room in anxiousness right up until Ranpo picked you up.

“Thou art second to none, miss,” Ranpo replied with a wink and a tight squeeze of your hand. It had only half the same effect as his bear hugs the viridescent-eyed would give you when you weren’t in public, but it was enough. “There’s no reason to be nervous. You fascinated him long ago—you might’ve even been his favorite if I wasn’t here!”

“Maybe so.” You giggled at his lighthearted smugness. “Well then, let’s get going.”

Ranpo nodded and led you through the large doors of the ballroom. Immediately, you were greeted with the celestial light from the chandeliers contrasting the dark evening sky outside.

Your eyes drifted in awe among the artigiani and aristocratici of Rome. It was almost chimerical—you hardly remembered you were still holding Ranpo’s hand. The scene looked like it came straight out of a painting.

“Appealing so far?” Ranpo asked, guiding you down the stairwell. “Can it stand against the Florentine carnivals?”

You slowly nodded, still focused on the liveliness surrounding you. “It feels divine.” It was more prestigious than any event you’d been to so far—most likely because this was held in one of the Pope’s courts itself.

“You haven’t even experienced it yet,” Ranpo laughed before leading you into the waltzing crowd. “Shall we dance?”

You and Ranpo followed the movements of the other couples. When you were sure of the pattern of the steps, your eyes wandered again to admire the setting. Everyone was dressed to the nines—although, as your tailor said, they all wore darker colors. You pretended to not notice the looks you received from strangers—however, they were not insulting. They were out of captivation and marvel.

Multiple pieces of artwork were hung around the hall, too, and you wondered if the chosen artists who created them were here now. You considered if they knew of your name too, just as you recognized theirs.

However, your heart almost stopped when you were reminded of a completely different topic. Ranpo noticed a moment of shock flash through your eyes but did not proceed to question you. (Thankfully, he knew when you would prefer him not to be nosy.)

You saw the back of a man’s head dressed in pure white—his brunette hair in slightly messy, soft waves.

There is no way.

However, you could not confirm your suspicions because he approached a lady in a beautiful, deep red gown to ask for a dance. His face and figure became completely hidden as he waltzed with her at the opposite side of the room.

“See someone you know?” you heard Ranpo ask.

Of course he didn’t need to be nosy, because he figured out everything about you anyway.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” you responded quietly, still trying to get a glimpse of him, but before you could say anything more, a guard standing next to the entrance silenced the entire crowd.

“Enter, His Holiness, Fukuzawa!”

You immediately turned around, and once more was someone dressed in white—the Pope, Yukichi Fukuzawa. You glanced at Ranpo, who gave you a nod of reassurance before politely applauding with everyone else.

“Thank you for attending this event today,” Fukuzawa started. “Our city has made much progress due to the collaboration and contribution of our artists, so I would like to take tonight to celebrate all of them. Ultimately, I want to reveal the next upcoming project.”

After a few more words, everyone applauded again, and the party resumed activity. You and Ranpo moved away from the dance, him deciding it was finally time to do the thing you were dreading.

“Look over there.” Ranpo urged his head towards two men in conversation standing a few feet away.

If the ballroom really represented the heavens, surely these two were the angels. Even without Ranpo telling you, you knew them to be Osamu Dazai and Fyodor Dostoevsky, standing side by side, white suits further proving their empyreal position.

But your eyes widened, and if you hadn’t been careful, your jaw would’ve dropped, too. Obviously, you recognized Fyodor—tall, jet-black hair—handsome and intimidating as ever, but you didn’t dwell on him for too long. Your eyes quickly scanned the room in search of a woman from earlier with dark curls, dressed in deep red, and when you found her, she was no longer dancing with the brunette dressed in white.

You looked back at the man beside Fyodor.

It’s him.

And as if hell—fate, whatever wanted to taunt you further, Osamu Dazai noticed you and Ranpo first, pausing his share of thoughts with the ravenette. You locked eyes with him, and you immediately became embarrassed.

What the hell? First, one of them is my fiancé, whom I don’t even say a word to, and then the second is…him?

Perhaps we shall meet again, were the brunette’s words to you by that lake. You truly didn’t believe him then, but it wasn’t the first time you choked on your assumptions.

In a split second, you pulled Ranpo out of sight. “Ranpo,” you pleaded. “I can’t meet them now!” Your fingers hastily ran through your hair, making sure everything was in place. “I’m not even sure what to say-”

“You’ll have to rip off the bandage sooner or later,” he said, tugging on you. “And I say the sooner, the better! I’ll introduce you to them!” You felt even more displaced at the fact that he offered to introduce you to your own fiancé. However, before you could even object (or say, “Ranpo, somehow I already fucking know both of them!”), he dragged you back—toward the two painters.

“Good evening, my lords,” Ranpo said as you approached them.

You didn’t miss how Dazai’s face lit up in a curt smile. Meanwhile, Fyodor had on a neutral expression—probably the only appearance you ever saw him wear.

“Good evening, Edogawa, the darling of His Holiness,” Fyodor said, the slightest spite in his tone. He did not glance at you at all.

“Still as cold-hearted as ever, Il Divino-Painter,” Ranpo replied with a chuckle, but it was apparent that he did not like the man.

“I am a sculptor,” Fyodor corrected, a bogus smile still plastered on his face.

“Don’t mind him,” Dazai said, patting your friend’s shoulder. “He’s just jealous you’re in charge of planning out the entire Vatican palace. And also at the fact His Holiness had to force him into a suit!” When Fyodor gave him a look, Dazai turned to you.

He had eyes of the sunset, paving the way of something between hell and earth—though in a perfect world, it should’ve been the other way around because he looked as if he had just come down from heaven. You felt your cheeks warm and an uncertain feeling in your stomach.

“Good evening, my lady,” Dazai said, knocking you out of your reverie. You blushed again as he knelt to take your hand and kiss it, bowing before you—the single minute felt longer than nox itself.

Was this the same man you met at the lake a few days ago?

He was the artist you admired all along?

“Apologies for not greeting you first,” he continued as he stood up. “I did see you earlier. How could anyone not notice the angel of Florence who creates masterpieces in days, especially when she looks like one tonight?” You became even more flustered by his sweet words.

He was familiar with my name all along.

“Ah, so you already recognize her?” Ranpo asked.

“Of course I do!” You suddenly tensed—half expecting him to reveal your previous encounter with him that you did not want anyone else to know. (If Ranpo knew, you hoped he would keep his mouth shut for your sake.) It would cause too much trouble if someone decided to spread it, and even worse if your uncle found out. He was very strict on image.

But to your relief, he did not.

“I am very fond of your style, my lady,” Dazai said, resting his hand under his chin. “Madonna del Granduca,” one of your paintings. “You capture human sentiment and emotion so well, even in the most simplistic pieces.”

Finally, you were able to respond to one of his compliments without becoming a mess. “Thank you.”

“...And sfumato, your technique,” Fyodor added. “Perhaps you like her style so much because she takes it from you.”

It was only now Fyodor finally acknowledged you.

He may just be the son of Nyx. His intentions were tucked away behind amethyst eyes, slumbering in the peaceful twilight he allowed mercy to while all else was caught up in chaotic darkness. Maybe no one else noticed that—if anyone did, Fyodor would not be as beloved as he was now—but you did. You saw through the three strands of malice that laced his following words.

“Good evening,” he said softly. He kneeled in front of you with your hand, tormenting you with eye contact.

“It’s an honor to see you again, miss. Though I must ask, was Florence not enough?

“Is grasping originality so tough?

“Are you here to copy more artistic concepts to boost your own depictions of seraph?”

He delivered a deadly kiss to your hand before you could respond, and before he could see the puzzlement on your face.

“Excuse me?”

But you did not falter before him as he stood back up. He did not intimidate you.

“I’m flattered.”

For once, the slightest sign of curiosity seeped onto Fyodor’s face.

You gave him a poisonous smile of your own.

“Sfumato—the blending of colors to create smooth transitions between them,” you explained, giving a nod toward Dazai. “I’m honored that you immersed yourself so much with my painting that you could observe such a detail.”

Ranpo pretended to look around the hall as if he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening, while Dazai couldn’t keep a snort from escaping his throat.

You kept your eyes fixed on your fiancé’s violet gaze, trying to figure out whether or not you’d be dead after the night was over. Actually—he seemed like the type that could seduce someone into death. Stygian black hair framed against his pallid complexion—ethereal, no doubt, yet you would not be surprised if he turned out to be the Grim Reaper’s right-hand man. (And you were supposed to marry him!)

“I’m here because His Holiness summoned me to paint the frescos in his house. I feel that if he sensed plagiarism in my work, he would’ve not trusted me with this project.

“What about you, my lord?”

There was a pause; he was thinking.

“I am simply searching for something important,” he replied. “An inspiration, if you want to call it. I need it to complete a piece I have been working on.”

“And you’re sure you can find it here?”

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

The foreign word rolled off of his tongue like honey. He dressed his voice to sound like a lullaby, and you remembered why you thought of him as an angel before he decided to insult you.

What a juxtaposition.

“What did you say?”

“Did you not hear me?”

He wasn’t going to tell you what he said, nor what he meant in entirety. “Nevermind. I did. Good luck trying to find it.”

…

“May I have this next dance, my lady?”

The charming brunette extended his left hand out to you. You had become irritated with Fyodor after his apparent distaste for you—So this is how you treat me after years of not seeing each other? You thought you could at least try becoming acquainted with him to make your inevitable fate a bit easier for both of you, but it seemed like that wasn’t happening anytime soon. You left the conversation at the nearest opportunity and moved to the other side of the room, unaware that your other dilemma was following you.

“Lord Dazai?”

You noticed something new about him as he stood in front of you. Those sunset orbs also harbored a concept as far as the sun. There was something distant in them that felt like half of his mind was immersed somewhere else. You wondered where.

“I don’t like Dostoevsky at all either,” Dazai chuckled. “Even though tonight’s given me another rival on my list, I like you way more.”

“Don’t speak so soon,” you scoffed. “You’re going to hate me when I take all your customers.”

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, bella.” You frowned at his attempt to flirt. “And besides, many of them are very loyal to me.”

You hesitantly took Dazai’s hand as he led you to the floor, joining the circle of couples who had already lined up to dance the almaine.

“I’m still annoyed with you,” you said quietly as the two of you lightly skipped across the floor on your toes, never breaking eye contact with his tawny eyes. That same look was there—it was like he was thinking of everything and nothing all at once. “I’m only agreeing to this so I could boost my status. You just caught me off guard back there. That’s why I acted nice.”

He dramatically pretended he was offended.

“Why, tesora?” Dazai took both of your hands. You circled around each other gracefully before reversing to step in the other direction. “I saved you! If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be dancing here tonight and finally knowing the name of the poor soul who jumped into the lake!”

“If it weren’t for you, I also wouldn’t have nearly drowned, idiota,” you glared.

“Keyword: nearly!”

You continued sulking at him while the dance went on, ignoring the rest of his defensive sentences and the friendly endearments he added to the end of them.

“Ow!”

Dazai had stepped on your foot during another turn.

“What was that for?” you asked, silently observing how he made sure he did not catch your dress along too, so it would not ruin.

“Hm? What do you mean?” Dazai spun you again; this time, he stepped on your other foot.

“Lor- Dazai!” You disliked how much fun he was having with this. Now, he wore a mischievous gleam in his eyes that coupled an unmistakable, playful grin.

He spun you one last time, and this time, you purposely stepped on his foot.

“Hey—why did you do that!?” he pouted.

“Thou did it first,” you replied dryly. “You’re a bad dancer, my lord. You can’t even keep up with the slow ballroom almain.”

He smirked as the number concluded, and then he brought you to the center of the floor.

You looked around to see at least half of the couples moving off, either to watch or go elsewhere.

“Let’s see if you can keep up with this one,” he chuckled lowly.

“What dance is this?” you asked.

“A galliard. The La Volta.”

Your lips slightly parted to say something, but you didn’t know what.

It made sense now why so many chose not to participate in this one. The La Volta was a bit obscene—first, the women were lifted up in springs and jumps, even though that was usually improper. It was also very fast—it would require skill to do it comfortably, especially with the long, heavy gowns you wore.

Finally, it required close contact between the couples, which was…scandalous. Like a forbidden fruit.

You had never danced it before. Nor had you planned to. You were engaged, after all.

I bet noone in this room, but Fyodor himself and Ranpo even know we’re to marry, though, you thought to yourself, even though you shouldn’t even be considering excuses. …And he probably couldn’t even care less.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dazai said, a bit more seriously, leaving it up to your decision, but his eyes alleged something else. Like he was pleading to let you indulge.

The forbidden fruit and its serpent. Why was this man always tempting you to things that could sabotage your name? It was as if his heart vowed to drown you to doom…

“No, I’ll do it,” you decided.

…yet you had let him, again and again. The descendants of Eve never learned.

“They call you the Renaissance Man, my lord? I’ll steal your title when I show everyone I can do more than paint…and outdo you in dance.”

“Dance is a form of art, too, y’know,” Dazai smiled before he parted from you. “How about instead, you think of it like we’re creating our own special piece together.”

“Competition,” you disagreed in one word, curtsying before him as the drums cued.

“Collaboration,” he bowed.

You two rose, and a new tension was ignited in the room. Your eyes locked with his again, but this time more determined—more passionate, as you gracefully swept to the left while the brunette the opposite way. You continued that movement while also gravitating closer.

Closer, until he was finally able to lay hands on your waist.

“Look up, miss,” Dazai softly reminded you. “Too flustered that you’ve forgotten etiquette?”

You didn’t even realize your eyes chased down to where he was holding you—no man had touched anywhere near your corset before. You felt nervous; it was supposed to be so wrong, so why did his hold feel so right? As if his fingers were always supposed to be wrapped around you, the final touches to a masterpiece of intimacy.

You were falling for it—the serpent’s art of seduction. This wasn’t supposed to be a collaboration.

“What happened to your confidence?” Dazai teased, whispering in your ear; you felt his breath tickling your skin.

Your eyes drifted back to his in embarrassment, but you couldn’t give your rival the entertainment of winning against you in something you proposed. Fighting against your nerves, you wrapped one of your arms around Dazai’s broad shoulder.

“Shut up.”

He lifted you by the hips to aid as you lept and turned around him, his left thigh pushing you upward, and that same nervous excitement returned to your stomach. It was as if pools conjoining both everything and oblivion at once lay physically on you. His gaze resembled hands—he caressed your shoulders; he traced your face like he wanted to paint every angle of you.

He was gentle with his actual hold on you, too; Dazai carried you as delicately as the brush strokes he made on canvas. He carefully set you down with ease after every jump while still treating you like a porcelain doll, and there you made the mistake of wandering your eyes down to his lips, lightly parted—you realized this was the second closest time this man had come near enough to kiss you.

His body was so warm, he could pull you flush against him if he wanted to. His breath was minty, the coolness of his mouth addicting, and if Eden smelled heavenly too, he had truly just slithered down, carrying the sweet, earthly scent along with him. All your senses were overloaded by the man standing before you like alcohol; you wondered if you’d even end up home by the end of the night.

“You’re enjoying this way more than to simply boost thy status.”

In that moment, you snapped out of your haze of dopamine, and the music faded into a new routine. You also realized that an entire audience had been watching you. That was not ideal.

You scooted back right after Dazai released his hold on you, looking down in coyness. “Maybe I’m just a good actor.”

“You’re a terrible one,” he chuckled, following you out of the crowd. “You can’t even look at me to sell your lie!”

You glared at the brunette once more. “I don’t have to look at you to tell you the truth.”

“So cold-hearted,” he sighed. “Even after a dance to loosen you up. Guess I need to work harder to ask you out.”

“For what, a double suicide?” You once again recalled some other things he had said during your weird, fated meet at the lake.

“Exactly! You remember!”

“Well, sorry, that’s not happening,” you responded. “Go find some other lady to ask. I’m sure you do this all the time anyway.”

Because how did he touch you so perfectly? How did he dim out every other person in the room to make it seem like it was just you two?

He paused. “No, I don’t. You’re the first person I danced this galliard with. You realize we were even in skill, right?”

“Didn’t seem like it. And I don’t understand why you chose me.”

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence,” Dazai said. “You did save me in a way. Sure, we’re rivals. But one day, I’ll paint you myself.

“You’re too beautiful to not.”

…

“I hope you all have had a lovely night,” Fukuzawa spoke over the room. “To conclude the gathering, I would like to announce what the Vatican’s next project will be.”

Artists all around you waited in anticipation, for good reason. You and Dazai looked at each other too. You’d already experienced it for yourself—a commission from the Pope himself guaranteed immediate, enormous success (and money; your job from him was your biggest pay so far). Whatever he proposed required another artist, and it could be anyone in the room.

“The Sistine Chapel,” Fukuzawa said. “The large crack that has formed along the ceiling is to be repaired in the upcoming year.”

There were a few chatters after that. The chapel was insanely impressive—the interior of the large building was covered in stunning frescos by some of the great artists who had come before you. Even though the Pope hadn’t even said what the job was to be, anyone working on things concerning it would have to be just as good as its predecessors.

“Along with reparations, its panels shall be painted.”

There were a few gasps from the patrons. Was that even possible? How could someone even paint the ceiling without it being taken off of the roof? And it was so large, too, like a mega-sized canvas.

It was unheard of.

“I have already selected the person I would like to work on this,” Fukuzawa continued. There was silence again.

“It’s probably Dostoevsky,” Dazai said to you.

Fyodor? “Why do you think so?” you asked.

“He completely stole the spotlight with that statue of David he finished this year,” he dryly chuckled. “Well deserved, I’m afraid. You saw it too when you were in Florence, did you?”

“Yeah,” you replied. You had to acknowledge how impressive it was for yourself. It was like the man turned hard stone into pliable clay.

“But that’s sculpting, not painting.”

“Oh? Do you think you’d be a better candidate?”

He was smiling again. “No, I never said that,” you scoffed. “I was going to say maybe you’d have a chance-”

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” Fukuzawa said.

Oh.

You paused, scanning the room to see where he was.

He was on the other side, intently making his way to the Pope.

“I request you to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.”

Fyodor stood in front of him and then bowed.

“...I offer my sincerest gramercy for this opportunity, Your Holiness,” the artist said.

There was a pause.

“…I would like to discuss the rest of what this entails in private.”

Your brows furrowed. That was almost a bit…rude. Sure, he hadn’t declined the offer, but for whatever reason, he also didn’t accept it.

“Very well,” Fukuzawa replied without a change in his tone. “I adjourn this party. Bonam noctem.”

There was a final applause for him and the city’s next project, and then everyone began filing out.

However, you and Dazai stayed in place until Ranpo suddenly tugged on your arm.

“There you are! Let’s go!”

“W-Where?” you asked as he started to drag you away.

“Goodnight!” you heard Dazai say before disappearing into the crowd. His small smile remained in your memory, and a part of you wished you could give him a proper goodbye.

“To eavesdrop, duh,” Ranpo replied as he sifted you through everyone moving the opposite way. “Don’t you also want to hear what Fyodor has to say?”

“I don’t understand why he didn’t just accept the proposal,” you said. “Anyone else would do it in a heartbeat!” You were sort of jealous; that job was given to someone so ungrateful! If you were the one who recieved it, you would’ve put your entire effort into transforming the ceilings right away.

“I don’t know how he’s so beloved,” Ranpo continued. “Not even His Holiness likes him that much; he just doesn’t show bias when choosing people to paint his architecture. Did you know Fyodor was supposed to produce his tomb?”

“What happened with that? I thought it was being worked on by a few other artists.”

“He kept clashing with His Holiness about it,” he said. “Until the plans got so messed up, Fyodor called it a ‘tragedy’ and left Rome for a while. Quite literally abandoned it.”

What an asshole! Especially in front of His Holiness!

“I don’t like him at all,” Ranpo squeezed your arm. It had become quite apparent to you that Ranpo admired Fukuzawa—not just because he was his so-called favorite or because he was the Pope, but something else. You had seen them together during the party earlier, and you were reminded of father and son. “He has a nasty ego, and I can’t figure out his intentions. I feel off every time I meet with him.”

“Intentions? For what?”

“Don’t be stupid, miss,” Ranpo said. “He told you himself, he’s here for something. It’s just so annoying! He hides it all behind those stupid, purple eyes…”

You approached the entrance to a hallway at the very back of the room, and you heard two familiar voices outside.

“...I carve marble, not paint.”

“You discredit your skill with a brush too much.”

“Your Holiness, we had very different views during the last commission you gave me,” you overheard Fyodor say. “I simply don’t want to cause another commotion with this.”

You only peeked through the large doorway to hear more clearly, but Ranpo continued walking right in as if they wouldn’t notice.

“R-Ranpo!” you whispered harshly.

Immediately, Fukuzawa and Fyodor looked at you both, and you scrambled behind Ranpo.

“I’m so sorry, Your Holiness,” you replied, accidentally locking eyes with Fyodor, who looked at you unfazed as if he had already noticed you two a mile away. You couldn’t even think of an excuse to explain what you were doing there, but then Fukuzawa resumed the conversation without a care.

“I see then,” he replied and then gave it some thought. “I felt you were the only one who was fit for the matter, but perhaps I could just hand it to-”

Fukuzawa looked at you, and Fyodor looked at him before looking at you.

“Ah, what I said was just a concern,” Fyodor interrupted to your dismay. “I’ll accept your commission on one condition.”

The three of you waited.

“On the contract, it shall be stated that noone shall view the inside of the Chapel until it is completed,” Fyodor stated. “Including yourself, Your Highness.”

He thought for another moment.

“Very well, Fyodor. It will be arranged.”

What a rat!

It had been a few weeks since that eventful ball. You had started work on painting the rooms in the Pope’s chambers—there were sketches of concepts scattered all over your desk. Coupled with your thoughts—thoughts reliving all the situations you were thrown into that night.

You hadn’t seen the two angels since then. Well…would you even call them that anymore?

Knock, knock, knock!

“Hey! Let me in!” You heard Ranpo’s voice from outside your house. You were still half-asleep, trying to make breakfast, but you immediately rushed to open the door.

“Ranpo!” You were startled. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Stop complaining. You’re going to love this.”

He stuck his hand into his pocket and then revealed a set of shiny keys.

“Sitting in my palm are the keys to the Sistine Chapel.”

“No way.” It was like the sight fully awakened you, like caffeine. “Ranpo…how?!”

“Hmph!” He shook his head. “You underestimate me so much when you quite literally depend on me!” When you laughed, he continued. “Lord Fyodor’s on a business trip until next week. Do with that info as you wish.”

“You’re a genius,” you replied with a mischievous grin as he threw you the keys.

“Of course I am! I despise him, but I’m too lazy to mess with him right now, so I’ll just leave it up to you. After all, he didn’t want to do it initially because he thought you set it up.”

“By me?” you asked, shocked. “He hates painting so much that he thought I had a hand in it? Imagine giving away the Sistine Chapel.”

He was really something else. Was dead set on declining the offer right until His Holiness debated giving it to me…

…

Ranpo sat at the dining table eating the remaining tarts left over while you finished washing the dishes in the kitchen after your meal. Your move had gone smoothly, and you were pleased with the home you created for yourself—the windows in front of the sink were opened, letting air and the sounds of nature in as you looked outside.

“His Holiness instructed me to paint over the previous works in the Palace when I first walked inside because he deemed what I could produce more important than what was already up there,” you told him with your own dash of pride. You couldn’t contain the bright smile that flashed on your face.

“Just as I suspected,” he replied, pleased.

“...But social-wise, I think I dug a hole for myself.”

“Definitely!” Ranpo said with no hesitation, popping another dessert into his mouth. He already knew what you were going to talk about. You gave him a look before sighing, realizing that he probably was right.

“A few days ago, I overheard people in the salons saying that…I have a special thing going on with Lord Dazai. It’s not true! I don’t know why he was being so friendly with me!”

You hadn’t even seen him after that night. Maybe you were a little disappointed, but you should’ve seen that coming anyway. He was known as a charmer, but he hadn’t committed to anyone. And regardless, you were to marry Fyodor one day.

Ugh, Fyodor.

“And you were friendly to him in return,” Ranpo replied. “You could’ve shrugged him off like normal rivals do. But it looked like you were completely enraptured with him.”

Enraptured?! He was completely enraptured with me! However, you couldn’t describe to Ranpo how exactly he was—how the brunette’s eyes pleaded with yours to follow him into the eventide, how he made you feel like the only person that existed in the large crowd of people…maybe Ranpo would have his point proven.

“Well, other than that, I’ve got thee settled in Rome well enough. I’ll be here for the rest of the unwise decisions you’re going to make, but from here on out is on you, princess.”

“Thanks, Ranpo,” you sarcastically replied. “Seriously? Unwise decisions? Rome is just different from everywhere I’ve been to before. I’m learning.”

“Exactly, there are arts of everything,” he said. “Thou better grasp them quick or fall behind.”

Dance.

Deceit.

Dreams.

Only a few you had discovered so far.

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence. You did save me in a way.”

You couldn’t even grasp,

Dazai.

You didn’t know how long you were out. All sense of time was lost when you gained consciousness again, and you realized you had been washed up on land.

Did God stay true to your pleas? Did an angel really come down to rescue you?

That was certainly what it seemed like in the first few seconds because you were blinded by light when you opened your eyes. You heard insects buzzing off in the distance and maybe even a bird chirping as you lay on lush grass. Perhaps you were in heaven instead, and this was your first taste of peaceful paradise.

But all was ruined when your eyes finally focused, and a face obstructed your view. (Why was he always ruining your flawless moments?) He hovered on top of you, and the first thing you became aware of was that his mouth was dangerously close to yours.

You immediately coughed—out of both shock and the need to. Lake water gushed out of your mouth, causing you to sit up without warning. The brunette was flung off of you, landing harshly on his bottom.

“Ow!”

You paid no mind to him as you coughed again. And again.

When all the water was finally out of your lungs, you looked at him in utter confusion.

“Why the puzzled look?” he asked as if he wasn’t the one who was drowning and you weren’t the one saving him (and less importantly, it hadn’t looked like he was about to kiss you).

Now he sat beside you, almost perfectly fine if it weren’t for his clothes that were soaked.

“But…you—we were drowning?” You turned to see if anyone else was in the distance because who was it that saved both of you?

“Yeah, I was drowning,” the man replied, and you now noticed the honey color of his eyes that had been shielded behind closed eyelids and pretty eyelashes earlier. “And this time, it almost worked! Until you decided to rescue me!”

“Um, what?” You asked sharply, even more bewildered at the way he tried to make your efforts sound negative.

“At first, I thought maybe thou were a lovely lady who wanted to commit double suicide with me! But I realized that wasn’t the case when you started fighting to get some air…”

“Are you crazy?” you asked, not caring whether you were speaking impolitely or not. “Double suicide? Why else would I dive into a cold lake to join a stranger? And you were aware of what was happening all along?”

“Maybe! Women have done a lot to try to get close to me.” You didn’t believe him. “And, well, yeah! Obviously, I couldn’t continue because of two things. The first was you because I couldn’t let an innocent involved be harmed along with me! I had to save you, of course.”

You became even more irritated. “You wouldn’t have had to if you didn’t pretend you were drowning! I had to use all my strength to rescue you, y’know! I could’ve died as well!”

“But you didn’t!” the brunette replied. “There was no way I was going to let someone so beautiful drown.”

You scowled at him before you stood up. “You’re ridiculous. What’s your second reason?”

“Drowning in a lake ended up becoming uncomfortable.” You wanted to punch him in the face—uncomfortable was an obvious understatement. “I didn’t like the feeling of suffocation that set in, so I just decided to give up.”

“It didn’t even look like you had any air left in you,” you muttered, facing your back towards him, remembering his placid expression earlier. “How were you conscious if you weren’t even holding your breath?”

“Party trick,” he responded, and when you dared to glance back, he wore a smug grin.

“Oh…are you leaving me then?” he asked as you started walking away, saying no more.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you scoffed, not stopping. “I’m completely soaked, and I don’t know about you, but I have important things to get to.”

You heard a chuckle from him. “Is that so?” he asked. His voice was getting farther, meaning he was no longer following you. “Where are you headed?”

“Rome.”

“I live there. Perhaps we shall meet again. And then, I could ask you—properly—if you would like to commit a double suicide with me.”

“I doubt it,” you replied, assured you were never going to see this man whose face looked kissed by Aphrodite herself again. Perhaps you would’ve found him handsome if he was in a less disheveled state.

As if you did not already.

“Why do you seem so sure? Anything can happen.” He chuckled once again.

Well, I am a painter, and you don’t look like someone who would even have an eye for art, is what you wanted to say. But you didn’t want to open more doors to curiosity and stay there even longer.

“Maybe you’re right,” you stopped. “Okay, then.

“If you think you’re going to see me again, can you promise to not kill yourself until then? Until I agree to you?”

You figured you would just give him some hope so that your efforts to save him would not be in vain. If he would actually keep your word, anyway.

When you turned around, the brunette was still standing on the shore, and he had a smile on his face.

He really did carry the setting sun in his gaze. It was still midday, but the man’s soul seemed to prefer the softer shades of light that appeared just before the cool shades of night.

And you felt his eyes tenderly cupping your face, even though you were feet away from each other. You weren’t sure if you were so lost that you were imagining things—but he looked at you as if he’d known you a hundred lifetimes, longing to touch your soul once again.

“I pinkie promise,” he said.

You thought that finally ended the conversation, but he asked one more thing.

“Your name?” he asked.

“Do you really need it?” It was unlikely, but you didn’t know if he would recognize your name. You didn’t want to risk anyone knowing about this encounter.

“I saved you,” he said. “I almost thought you were done for. You still weren’t breathing when I performed chest compressions, so I had to—”

“Okay, stop right there!” you interrupted, becoming flustered. You didn’t need to hear the rest. You imagined the stranger’s mouth on yours—trying to give you oxygen, of course, but his mouth on yours regardless.

You told him your name. “Don’t bother with yours. I’ll figure it out if we run into each other again.”

His grin was smug. “Fare thee well, mia belladonna.

“Until we meet again.”

…

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

ur man of choice (or both if u’d like) dances with u during the ball if u rb; reblogs are incredibly cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

WE DID ITT !! i hope this was decent, tbh i’m rly nervous HAHA ᡣ𐭩 dazai rly got most of the love here, but i promise there’s waay more to come.

+ check THIS FOR EXTRA INFO/LORE, it’s cool ;) comment on the masterlist to be added to the tagslist !! & ilu if you made it this far, thank you so so much for reading ᰔ

TERMS & DEFINITIONS:

CIOPPA - outermost layer of a dress

RUELLA - salons/social gatherings

ALMAINE - slow court dance; GALLIARD - fast court dance (in the renaissance)

TRANSLATIONS: (not all bcz they wanna be mysterious)

gramercy - “thank you”

artigiani; aristocratici - artisans; aristocrats (italian)

bonam noctem - “good night” (latin)

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