Reader is Price's daughter in this, and I used og Makarov because you will never catch me writing about the new one.
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Price was out due to work again which left you home alone like usual, the silence of the house was always a normal factor in your life after your mother passed. Time always flew by alone; you were an adult now even if you lived with your father as he was never home the house was practically yours.
Your life consists of going to work then coming home and spending your time watching movies or making intricate art pieces. Maybe going to a store or a restaurant but those days were rare.
But here you are. At a bar, sitting next to a drop-dead gorgeous man. You couldn’t help but think it was fate for you to see such a man that would be a perfect muse for you to paint. His eyes were mismatched yet focused. A perfect match for his sharp face. If you could, you would take a picture of his face so you could transcribe his essence into a painting.
The idea of starting a conversation and possibly blundering the opportunity weighed in on your mind so subtle staring was fine.
You didn’t realize the staring was in fact not subtle until he spoke to you. “Are you continue staring or are you going to introduce yourself, дорогой?” (darling)
Your mouth opened yet no words came out. Taking a long swig of your Shirley Temple you finally respond. “Ah, yes sorry! You look so dashing I couldn’t help myself but stare. My name is __, what is your name?” His smile is sharp yet softly warm.
His focused eyes are all you could see as he responds to your question, “My name is Vladimir, дорогой.” (darling)
Your head tilts at the unfamiliar word that he has spoken twice. “May I ask what that means?” He shakes his head warmly, telling you it was something for you to learn a future day. You don’t understand what he means by that, but you take it as an answer.
The two of you talk, whether about your day or of what you paint, it was never about him. Only about you. Even if you attempt to ask him something he strikes back with something else to go back to you.
Time passed in the bar talking to him, a freeing feeling. Talking to a man who looked handsome but close to your father's age. You didn’t know his exact age. He wouldn’t let you probe. But he did drive you home, before leaving you to your own devices after kissing your cheek.
The next few days you attempted to paint him off memory, but they never seemed as dashing as he was. He plagued your mind for days each of the failed attempts made their way into the closet to be reused later.
Eventually you stopped, not due to the lack of want but the memory of his exact details faded every moment. Only remembering his perfect eyes was not enough to make him. The older art wasn’t fully reliable either many were imperfect. You wanted it to be perfect. If you got the chance to see him again you would but you doubted that possibility.
Now your father was home, even for a short time. You made the two of you dinner but he walked past you heading to his room to sleep instead. Leaving you alone in the dining room to eat alone. His portion was left in the fridge for whenever he woke up. You knew it would happen; it always did. But you wanted to pretend like one day he would eventually have dinner with you.
The next morning as he was still sleeping you slipped out to work like usual. Unaware that a painting was left out. One that was more detailed.
Your father saw it and quickly realized who it was meant to be. His scowl could be felt miles away.
The moment you got home he had the painting and his stare could pierce your skull as he utters the words “Why are you painting someone like this.”
You never seen him angry over anything before, you could only look back with a confused and scared expression. You didn’t know anything about him but his name, you didn’t know your father would be angry.
Silence wasn’t a valid answer for your father who tears it up and warns you that if you continue to paint the man you would be kicked out.
“No child of mine will live under my house and paint such a man.” were the last words he uttered before leaving the house shoulder bumping you as he left.
You turned to the torn painting and head to your room putting it into a box under your bed. You knew that if he found out about your closet it would end with you homeless.
You covered them up just in case before deciding to go out. After a long shift you were hungry and now sad. You didn’t want to be home right now. You walked to a nearby cafe to get your mind off your father.
You walked in sad to a booth, lost in thought. You didn’t notice the eyes on you. Not until you hear your name being called, you looked up to find Vladimir. You didn’t expect to see him, yet he seemed unbothered by your surprise.
“Might I be allowed to sit here?” He makes a loose gesture to the seat across you. You knew that if you said yes and your father saw you, he would lose his mind. But at same time, you wanted answers. So, you said yes.
He sits down with his familiar smile. You left no time to waste to question him.
“Are you a part of any sort of military group, more specifically a terrorist group.” Your blunt question left him stunned yet his smile grew wider at the question.
“How did you find out, дорогой?” He makes a pause before continuing, “was it your father?”
Your silence was deafening. How did he know? Did he know your dad? Did he already know you? Was this a ploy to fight your father? To get back at him for whatever reason?
Then your mind slipped deeper. Did he start off wanting to hurt him, but decided that you were entertaining? You shook your head at those thoughts. I mean who would ever love an abandoned child who was barely even loved by their own father.
Your thoughts were interrupted by Vladimir’s voice. “I mean you no harm. Do not worry. Just had a hunch. You vaguely mentioned your father being military. I mean I don’t know who your father is.” He says that in order to comfort your thoughts and even if you know he is probably lying you pretend as if it's the truth. You both know he is lying.
You just wanted the comfort of pretending he isn’t lying. He quickly turns the conversation about your paintings and how your day is going. You slowly open up and eventually tell him about how your dad threatened to kick you out. His eyes darkened before he decided to give you an offer.
“What if you moved out? He isn’t home often I imagine so what if you just, leave. Would he notice that you left?” His voice was sickly sweet in that moment.
Your thoughts soon dove into the thought of, would your father actually notice? You told yourself he would, but you knew you were lying to yourself. Then you answered his offer.
“Where would I even go?” You let out slowly. His eyes soften while he moves to hold your hands.
“Live with me. I can protect you; I will make sure you never have to work another day in your life. You can spend all the time in the world painting. You never have to lift a finger nor worry about eating dinner alone. You will always have me to have dinner with you, never be left alone to eat.”
You felt like crying but then you realized. How did he know about you eating dinner alone? You never mentioned it previously. He wasn’t telling you everything. But did you truly want to care anymore. Is he giving you the option now so I could go in easier? If you don’t accept, will he just take you by force?
You knew that whatever path you choose it would lead to the same outcome.
You were going home with him. Whether you wanted to or not.
“Ok.” Was all you could muster up. Agree and you won’t be in pain as he takes you.
You could only hope your father could save you in the future.
