𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐊 ✧.*༄ no. five x reader [ongoing/editing]

𝐈.𝐢𝐢𝐢. Paintbrushes and Violins

✎ mads' note !
is it bonding time with Viktor? I think it's bonding time with Viktor :))

✎ info !
1K words
published on apr 11, 2019
edited jul 19, 2022

꒰  CHAPTER I.III.  ꒱

KEPT AT HOME during missions, you and Viktor were allowed to study together. This normally went well, assuming you always kept on-task, until Viktor took Hargreeves's violin with him for music studies one day. His determination was inspiring, but you just didn't take interest in it in the same way that he did.

He learned and practiced plenty in the next week, leaving you to study alone for the time being. That is until Hargreeves presented you with an armful of paints and canvases.

While Viktor was able to continue practicing his music, you were urged into pursuing art. You had an impressive aptitude for it since you were young and your father had no problem buying the best supplies for you, especially if it was to keep you occupied. Art to you was like music was to Viktor. You honed your crafts together throughout many years— both of you possessed innate talent.

You improved at a rapid pace, quickly mastering color theory and painting techniques and eventually branching out to new mediums. You still kept mainly to painting, though, as your father requested that you create the family portraits. You were told explicitly that you and Viktor were not to be included in them.

Viktor would visit you a lot in your bedroom to practice playing or watch you paint. It turns out his violin music was just what you needed to concentrate. However, you felt awful painting the portraits with him watching.

"Why can't we be in it? We're a part of the family, too," he would say sadly, making you wince.

You would let out a deep breath. "I was... told not to put us in it. I wish I could, I really do. Dad's stupid orders."

He pleaded the same thing every time he saw the family portraits in progress. You most definitely agreed with him, hating to turn him down, but these paintings were the only things Hargreeves asked of you (along with his own portraits, which you dislike even more).

To make it up to him, though, you had your own side project of painting the two of you together. By the time he found out about it, the single painting had turned into a whole collection of them, delighting him to no end. He hung up as many of them as he could fit on his bedroom's small walls.

In turn, Viktor would play for you. He told you often that he dedicated his work to you. You loved hearing the melodious notes, and you could notice his improvement in the increasing difficulty of the songs he showed to you. Your mutual supportiveness made your bond even stronger.

Grace was also very interested in your work, and you were glad to have her as another supporter. She frequently stopped by your room to see what you were painting, and if you lacked inspiration, she'd invite you to make another landscape painting for the wall in front of her charging station. Those gave you a nice break from portraits, and her compliments and suggestions were refreshing. She normally stocked your supplies, too.

"Another draft of a portrait for Viktor?" she would ask, placing a hand on your shoulder as she peered at your sketchpad.

You'd smile up at her and tilt the paper so she could see it straight on. "Yeah! What do you think?"

"It'll be beautiful, (Y/N). I'd just consider moving the figures a smidge this way—" she pointed, showing the direction she meant— "and angling Viktor's shoulders a little bit more to make an interesting perspective."

Nodding, you would contemplate her advice, fixing your draft soon after. "Oh, yeah, I see. Thanks, Mom!"

"Of course, Dear. I also hung up your latest landscape on the wall with the others. They're all absolutely lovely."

Your father, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. After a long while of convincing, you became the only one permitted to go into his office.

"A portrait of you?"

"Yes."

"But— I barely ever see you," you said with perplexity. "I'd have to base it on observation."

"It doesn't matter to me how you do it, Number Eight, I just want it done."

"I guess I could move my easel into your—"

"No."

"You said it didn't matter how!"

He eventually gave in. You assumed it was because he grew tired of the empty space on the wall behind his desk. As long as you were utterly silent, he let you sit in the corner of his office to work on it. You would never admit that his portraits were the most rushed of all your pieces, for you hated being in that room despite how much you asked. It was only for your convenience.

And, even though you were aware that your father never regarded you otherwise, you would sometimes develop applications for your siblings' powers. You loved seeing them fight on missions; Grace had found a pair of binoculars for you to use so you could watch with him.

You had a sketchbook dedicated to your siblings, filled with drawings and ideas for tactical and combative strategies listed on the sides. They just never gave you the chance to show it to them.

This sketchbook had been teeming with more and more mindless sketches of Five lately. You hadn't noticed how many of them you had until he popped into your room to visit one time.

With the radio playing in the background, your hand moved across the paper as you daydreamed. You were so lost in thought that you hadn't realized Five appeared until he spoke.

"You're drawing me?" he asked, looking over your shoulder with a grin.

You looked up at him, surprised, before glancing back at your sketchbook to confirm. "Yep."

"Are those hearts?"

You glanced down again. Had those always been there? You closed your book with an innocent smile up at him. "Nope."