#painter reader

[bella-boos]

Hi! Can I ask for Otis with an artist!reader that at first was a victim, but found beauty in his "art" and actually listened to his ramblings? Reader can be anyone: writer/painter/photographer/etc

Of course!! i’ve missed writing for Otis, he’s one of my favs!

Otis Driftwood x Reader

Artist/painter reader Masterlist

It was supposed to be a fun road trip with your friends across the country. You were hoping that getting out and seeing new and beautiful places will help your art block go away. Maybe you could even see new nature that will inspire you to put paint on your canvas. But, oh boy, did it turn into something way different from that.

You’re not sure where your friends are, nor if they’re even alive. You doubt they are. Sometimes, you will hear a scream or two but you can’t tell who it is. Is it even one of your friends? You’re sure none of them survived this nightmare house. You’re not even sure how you managed to survive yourself!

At first, you were in Baby’s room. She did you makeup in all different ways as you were tied to a chair. She also did your hair…though, you think she also cut a bit off too. She seemed fun. You’d probably hang out with her if you weren’t in this situation. She had you there for the first few days before she got bored of you.

Now, you’re here. Art work covers every inch of the walls, most are disturbing but beautifully so. You’re not sure the meaning behind each one but you want to. You’ve never seen anything like it!

Otis was just gonna kill you. He was gonna use you in a few ways but the end goal was the same. You were supposed to be dead. That is… until he saw how you looked at him as he rambled about his work.

Most people seem scared or disgusted when they see his art. Not you. You seem almost fascinated. It shocks him at first. No one has ever seemed interested in what he does, mostly just disturbed. Then, he becomes intrigued. He learns you’re an artist yourself. Though, your art isn’t exactly like his or is it as disturbing. But your art does have deep meaning, like his. It looks so innocent at first glance, but there’s always a darker meaning to your art. He’s more than engrossed with you.

When you ask questions and ask the meanings behind his art, he’s more than glad to ramble for hours to you. And you listen. You don’t look bored, no. You actually listen and even ask follow up questions. A small bound starts to form from the common interest you both have.

At first, there was a hint of doubt in him. People in the past have tried to get on his good side and listen to him to try and convince him to let them go. But he always could read right through those people. You haven’t asked once to be untied or begged for your life. Maybe you are actually interested in him…

You help his art block go away. You're the muse for many of his art pieces. He also listens when you give advice or takes. You bring him ideas that he’s never even thought of in the first place!

You listen to all his conspiracy theories, all his insane takes. Surprisingly, you even agree with some! Finally! Somebody like him! He’ll save off from killing you for now, you can be quite useful for him.

[fallen-angel2470]

Your male reader gave me ideas. 👀👀👀

Sooo how about a soul painter make reader. Soul painter are like people who can see one’s soul and their painting is creation itself. They give their paintings life, a soul. You can hear what they draw, if they drew the forest, you can hear birdsongs and such.

So why a male? Because I feel it would hit harder. Captain America reader? Well the batfam disliked him cause he was weak right? So I thought soul painter reader would be disliked because he was unmanly. And him painting doesn’t help. (This was before Damian. They never held affection for reader so they won’t be loved like Damian)

Well maybe this reader seemed out their affection as a child but as they grew older (14 or something) they decide money is more important and start stealing a little every day. (Who would notice $100 disappear every day from a billionaires house?)

Well $100 every day would be a crazy amount in like a year or two. ($36 500 a year). They would run off with a scholarship to an art school in Paris with the money and flourish. (of course he’s the main character)

Well Damian arrives at the mansion and he likes art so they mention reader likes art and he can talk to them about it. Damian would have already spent some time w the batfam and mellowed out so tries to find reader to talk about his fav artist (reader of course lol). He doesn’t find reader and asks the batfam about it.

Panic. MUAHAHAHAHHA anyways as they try to find reader, Damian mentions his fav artist (reader) and they go- oh my god so this is where he went???

They called him soft.

Delicate. Too emotional. Too quiet. A boy who painted when he should’ve trained. A dreamer in a world of soldiers.

He was born into the Batfamily, adopted with distant nods and cold shoulders. Bruce took him in, but never really saw him—saw the paint under his fingernails and thought waste of potential. Dick was busy, Jason didn’t care, Tim thought he was weird, and the girls? Distant. Dismissive. Not cruel, but not kind either.

So he tried to earn it—their affection. Little scribbles left on their desks, small paintings he poured his soul into. They were beautiful, too. Breathtaking. Magical. You could hear the laughter in the park scenes, feel the warmth of the sun in his golden brushstrokes. He thought maybe they’d see the beauty in him.

They didn’t.

So, at fourteen, he stopped trying.

He started stealing instead.

$100 a day. Nothing too noticeable, not in a mansion where money leaked from the walls. He found a scholarship—an elite art school in Paris. And with his stolen savings and heart packed in a sketchbook, he left Gotham behind.

No goodbyes.

Years pass.

Damian Wayne arrives at the manor, blade-sharp and broken in all the ways a child assassin is. The family braces for impact—but then he picks up a paintbrush.

He loves art. Finds peace in it. And one day, over tea, Alfred mentions, “You know… you might’ve liked the boy who used to live here.”

Damian pauses. “Used to?”

“Your brother. He was an artist too.”

“…Was?”

The family stiffens.

Damian, curious and persistent as always, asks more questions. He’s been mellowed by the manor, by Alfred’s warmth and Dick’s guidance. And now he’s hunting down an artist he’s obsessed with—the anonymous painter whose work is taking the Parisian underground by storm. His name? Just one word.

Réalité.

His paintings aren’t just seen—they’re experienced. Forests where you can hear birdsong, oceans with crashing waves, lullabies captured on canvas. They don’t just evoke emotion—they are emotion. Damian wants to meet him. Wants to learn from him.

And then—he shows them the painting.

And Bruce goes still.

The Batfamily stares at the canvas, the way the golden light bleeds through the leaves, how the laughter echoes from unseen mouths. A childhood. A home. Something warm, distant, aching. Familiar.

Tim whispers, “That’s… the treehouse from the manor…”

Jason mutters, “That’s our old living room. The crack in the fireplace tile—he painted that.”

Dick’s face crumples.

Damian just blinks. “You know him?”

And Bruce finally says it.

“…That’s him.”

The one they left behind.

Meanwhile, in Paris…

He’s twenty now. Sharp jaw, quiet eyes, and a presence that hums with power. They call him a genius. A visionary. His soul paintings hang in hidden galleries, and people travel continents just to weep beneath them.

He doesn’t talk much. But he paints constantly.

And lately?

He’s been painting Gotham.

Not the skyline. Not the grime.

But memories. A treehouse in summer. A boy with black hair holding a sword. A father figure watching from the shadows. A cold manor that’s started to look a little warmer in the colors he uses.

He paints them not as they were, but as he wished they’d been.

Because maybe, just maybe, part of him still wants to be found.

And the Batfamily? Oh, they’re running. A/N: Tbh this b my typa man bc I know his fingers are goood hehehe

[wellsblvd]

Merry Belated Christmas ✮ Harrison Wells (EoWells)

Synopsis: You refuse to let Dr. Wells have a solitary Christmas. So you show up and give him a Christmas gift!

Warnings: fluff! Painter reader, romantic thoughts, tension.

Author’s Introspective Musings: wheb i say i have thought about tom cavanagh for the past 72837 hours, understand and believe this statement to be true. I NEED HIM!!

“I know you don’t want company on Christmas,” you greeted quickly, “so… I’m here on Christmas because I don’t want you to not have company on Christmas.”

In front of you, in his wheelchair, Dr. Wells blinked. His lips twitched. He wasn’t expecting this—you: taking initiative to disregard his previous statement in the hopes of being a positive moment in the blur of other moments. “I- That’s… certainly kind of you.”

You nodded briefly before rummaging through your bag (a very vintage thing, an accessory Wells had never seen you without). “I’m going to be completely honest, I wasn’t entirely sure what to get you, so I made you something with the human hope that you understand I made this with the intention that you would see I put in effort, therefore the item should hold at least a miniscule amount of sentimental value to you-“

“Y/n,” Dr. Wells cut in, a gentle firmness in his voice he unconsciously reserved for your interactions. “I see sentiment in almost everything you do for people. I can assure you this is no different. Please come inside. There’s no reason to be standing outside and catching cold.”

You finally retrieved your wrapped package from your bag, following Dr. Wells as he led you into his home. Truthfully you were in awe at the size and layout of his house. You knew Wells had wealth but seeing it up close in a tangible fashion was different. He led you to the kitchen and motioned his head to a chair by his counter. “Uh… here.” You handed your boss the package.

Harrison let his fingers brush against the cool-tempered wrapping paper—dark green background with snowflakes—and curled his pointer finger around the bow—light blue (to match the snowflakes)—before looking back up to see your face. Wells had observed you long enough to identify the quiet anticipation in your raised eyebrows and shy smile.

Inside the package was a canvas. Mildly small, approximately a 10x8 painting of the selfie Cisco had insisted on taking. On the left was Cisco, upper teeth showing as his face tilted up with excitement. Barry was in the middle, caught mid laugh at his idea of taking the picture and then zooming back to be in the picture. Caitlyn stood on the right with a rare smile with teeth that hadn’t been seen since the particle accelerator’s failure. On the bottom, between Cisco and Barry was Dr. Wells, a quirk of his lips hiding his white teeth. Beside him—on one knee with her arm resting against Wells’s arm—stood you: a side smile at the antics that you took for granted.

You worked your teeth against your tongue, anxiously observing the way Dr. Wells’s eyebrows went slack as he took in the painting. His fingertips brushed gently against the paint, feeling the smooth top coat. His tendons flexed under his skin, igniting the same fire that burned when you painted the pink of his lips. It wasn’t your best work, but it definitely was praiseworthy (your tutor approved for once, saying that she was impressed at the emotion you managed to capture in the eyes).

“Y/n, truly,” Wells began after swallowing thickly. “This is beautiful. I knew you had an ability with the arts but…” he shook his head, a thoughtful smirk playing on his lips as his brow quirked that signaled the contemplation crossing his mind, “this is truly wonderful. Thank you. Thank you. I apologize… I didn’t get you anything.”

The whooshing behind your ears dissipated as you exhaled with relief. “Thank you, Dr. Your approval is enough.” Your familiar crooked smile made Harrison want to hold your face in his hands and kiss you until you passed out.

“No, no. It’s not. Don’t worry, I will find you a belated Christmas gift.”

“Unnecessary,” you chortled, rising slowly. “I only wanted you to get your present and make sure you weren’t—I dunno, doing something irrational.”

Harrison watched the way you avoided his eye contact and knew then that he would protect you in a manor that surpassed his devotion to Barry’s future. “Let me escort you out.”

When you reached the door, Harrison paused. “Oil on canvas or acrylic?”

Your face lit up at his question. “Oil. It required patience my therapist says will be good for me. And I selfishly enjoy that I don’t have to be paranoid about making sure my paints are closed and won’t dry out if I walk away for five minutes,” you say.

Noted. “Understandable,” Wells nods. “Thank you for coming, y/n. It was… very nice to see you.”

Smiling, you didn’t mention the fact that you saw each other every day at S.T.A.R. “You too, Doc. Merry Christmas!”

Harrison waved, a true smile gracing his lips. “Merry Christmas, my dear,” he murmured as you got into your car.

——bonus. 💋

Your jaw dropped as you got a good luck at the box sitting on your desk. A brand of oil paints—foreign and expensive—sat waiting for your arrival. Shiny and new and calling your name. Excitement bloomed in your chest and head as you stepped forward closely.

Swallowing, you brushed your knuckle against the thin plastic layer around the box to secure it’s contents. Who would have…?

“Merry belated Christmas.”

Turning around, you saw Dr. Wells’s gleaming smile waiting for you. His eyes held a kind of light you didn’t frequently see. “This is-“

Wells offered “not enough” at the same time you stated “unnecessary”.

“Don’t think about returning it. I want to be the first person you show when you create another masterpiece.”

Nodding, your eyes flickered between Wells’s eyes, determination and finality etched into his retinas. “I understand, sir.”

His smile softened. “Good.”

[mortallyfuzzytyrant]

Hii! 💋💋🥰 I hope I'm not submitting too many requests, you're free to delay or save this one for later if you want.

I'm just thinking I would love if you did an artist/painter reader who has Alucard as their muse. Like I imagine they asked him to model for them at first, because he's endurant enough to keep in some difficult poses for longer (+ being beautiful certainly helps) but it develops into something deeper over time, both artistically and emotionally.

+ bonus points if they tease and flirt with him over the canvas, while he's stuck in some admirable poses.

Alucard with a Painter!Reader who has him as their muse

The moment you set your eyes on Alucard, you were awestruck.

The way he sat idly and gazed at the night sky, bathed in moonlight, made your hands practically have a mind of their own.

Before you could even recall what you were doing, you were at your canvas to immortalize the essence of this strange man that appeared to be handcrafted to appear in art.

Who knows how long you were there coating every square inch of material with paint. But you supposed the way your bottom seared with pain and how you stumbled over your stool and fell was certainly an indicator.

Rather unfortunate. However, your fortune seemed to balance out when your good friend Richter introduced you to the very same man who you found yourself so engrossed with.

How did you, a creature of the night, get acquainted with a boy from a line of vampire hunters? Well, you knew Juste Belmont.

You may or may not have been the annoying friend type that Juste couldn't get rid of in his prime. So he asked you in a very roundabout way to look after his grandson.

You had been doing so in secret for ages. Until you inevitably had to talk with Richter directly. Imagine Richter's surprise when he discovered that there were vampires like you who sat on their ass with paint of all things and only occasionally went for blood when necessary. Hell, there were rations of it in your cabinet. You hardly hunted.

More to the point, you didn't suspect to be face to face with Alucard but here you were.

You introduced yourself as gracefully as you could. He was even more striking up close. Your eyes were trained to take in every detail of someone's person and you prayed this old habit of analyzing your surroundings wasn't rearing its head as you gazed at him.

"I can assure you that I didn't come here for battle.", Alucard smirks down at you.

Curses. You were.

You cleared your throat and got on with the conversation like a normal person.

You found Alucard to be pleasant company. He was mild mannered and kind, if a bit introverted. But considering your lifestyle, you two were a fine fit.

He was so pleasant, in fact, that you eventually found yourself bold enough to request him to model for you.

"Oh, you're actually interested in asking this time?", Alucard teased.

Your breath hitched. Wow. Okay. You didn't expect him to just call you out like that.

You huffed. "You could see me?"

Alucard chuckles. "No. I caught a glimpse of your gallery."

You nudged him. "Hey. That place is off limits."

"So is painting someone without their consent."

This little...

"Now, now. I didn't say no.", Alucard smiles, pinching your cheek., "I'm merely asking for a bit of courtesy this time."

You resisted the urge to break his hand and took his acceptance for what it was.

To say you were lost in your work would be a vast understatement.

You painted Alucard more than you drank blood. More than you slept.

Many pieces of Alucard depicted with white roses, consuming apples, mysteriously obscured by landscapes or old architecture, being an ethereal cosmic being. Really, it was endless.

You smile as Alucard posed for yet another piece. "You do realize I have a stake ready if you are daring to allow anyone else to paint you, right?"

"This from the one never bothering to ask if I'm taken.", Alucard quirks an eyebrow.

"I haven't and I refuse to."

"Shameful."

"As if you didn't literally crawl out of an empty cave. Now, hush. Models aren't meant to move."

Alucard laughed. "Oh. So I'm an object now?"

You smile. "Indeed. You don't find a gem like this every century."

Alucard's eyes soften in a way you couldn't possibly refuse to capture on canvas.

Though there were times Alucard insisted on distracting you and the pair of you found yourselves running around and soon covered in the spoils of your collection.

Luckily, none of your art was ruined. Otherwise, you would have made good on that stake promise.

Everything was so much fun.

Though, naturally, you had your off days. Days where you couldn't pick up a brush. Times where your hand was frozen on the canvas and you doubted you were doing Alucard's likeness justice.

Whenever you found yourself in this rut, Alucard would come up behind you and lean down with a whisper. "You give up on yourself far too easily, my friend. Try experimenting with different colors. The person who can line their galleries with the most honest versions of someone like myself isn't capable of an 'ugly' piece. Just an imperfect one."

He hushes any of your protests of pointing out the existence of imperfection. "That's where the charm comes from."

Alucard finished his statement with a kiss on your head and left you to your work.

You still had a bit of doubt.

But if you can receive a kiss from such an exquisite muse...

Surely, you were doing something right.

And surprisingly, you found these sessions actually improved Alucard's mood.

Alucard's smiles got wider the longer you painted. He found excuses to delay you or stay by your side.

Inevitably, it devolved to cuddling when you weren't painting and Alucard giving you massages after ages of lecturing you on your habit of staying with your art too long.

Others looked on at these exchanges with amusement and you could tell by Alucard occasionally side eyeing them that they were teasing him frequently whenever they were away.

Did you care? No. In fact, you got him to do things to increase this headache.

And you knew that Alucard was far too fond of you to do anything about it.

[freakywrites]

Aesthete Daemonium

Painter nb reader & Sebastian Michaelis

Summery : A desperate artist one night begs the gods for inspiration for their painting who was to answer but a demon.

Warnings : none

A/N: This is less a romance, read it as romance if you wish but I see it as obsessed with an idol more then one-sided love.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

"Just a little while longer.." You say as you add brush strokes to your canvas, tired eyes glance from the unfinished painting to the demon in front of you who smiled sitting with his legs crossed on a chair holding a prop delicately in his hand. "Take your time Painter." He spoke before going back to posing. That demon, is your muse without a name.

In a dark past your desperate attempts to perfect your art skills had you praying to whatever God to give you the drive and inspiration to paint again and instead of the bright light God you were answered with a black shadow spreading across your messy art studio and in the corner of the room, red eyes stared back at your desperate ones. Now that demon has became the soul and body of your art, your muse and model. No name was given to him but two words escaped your lips as he reached his hand out to you for the contract. "My Muse." And for the rest of your short painter life you will call him that.

"We must wait for this layer to dry, good work today My Muse." You say standing at your easel Your demon looming over you fixing his jacket as he looked at the unfinished painting. "How flattered I am to have my portrait done by a famous painter." He says with a charming ring to his voice and you nod looking at your other works. They were all him, different angles, places and clothes all paintings made with care and detail not even a eyelash or strands of hair missed. "It was all thanks to the Muse who gave me my inspiration." You say cleaning your mess before looking at the canvas again, pausing over your brushes. "I'm sleeping at the studio for tonight I need to make adjustments." You say tilting your head and frowning. Your Muse sighs "Must you? Don't overwork yourself, remember the state you were in when we met?" He says putting his hand on your shoulders gives you a light massage. "Relax, it can wait." His alluring voice tempts you but you shrug it off. " I must work- paint until our contract is done I feel my time is limited- I must work." You seem frantic honestly you aren't in your right mind and Your Muse knew of it. Your condition was worse in the beginning you would sleep on your studio floor and skip meals trying to perfect his portrait you would get nose bleeds as you sketch in your book, blood dripping onto your paper and you just draw right over it. Your Muse has to pry you out of the studio so you don't kill yourself before he takes your soul.

Your Muse spun you around holding you as if you were to start ballad at a ball. "Master I suggest you spending time with me, remember the paint needs drying let us walk out to watch the sunset I'm sure you will find your inspiration there." He suggested and you look up at him your dozed off eyes finally look at him not whatever your manic mind is trying to focus on. "You're... Yes you're right let us go." You say gently breaking away from his grasp. "Great, I'm sure fresh air will do you some good." He says grabbing your coat and walking to the door, his demon hearing notices you trying to quiet yourself as you russel through paper. "Leave the sketchbook." He demanded, his red eyes glaring at you giving you a rather mean side eye. Reluctantly you stumble away from your book kicking your feet. "So cruel of you, telling a painter not to paint. You wound me .." You pout as he helps you put on your coat. "I'm telling a painter that they must rest before their hands fall off." He jokes and you smile nodding in silent understanding.

It was beautiful outside, it's about autumn close to winter. The breeze was fresh and bearable with the leaves crushed below your shoes as you take a stroll through the sorta country side you live in. The sky is a bright orange and purple gradient and for a while you saw the outside not just as a background for a painting but as just the outdoors. "Beautiful." You whisper and the demon next to you smirked. "As I told you, you need to stop locking yourself in that room I'm sure the paint is getting to your head." He jokes looking down at you and you look back stopping in your tracks staring at him rather intensely. Eyes darting around at his features and before you knew it a gloved hand covers your face. "I know what you're doing Master stop thinking about painting." He sounded annoyed and you lay your weight in his hand for support letting out a laugh. "But the sun hitting your face was just perfect enough to show the glint of red in your eyes. I can't help it." You say, he could feel another rant coming along.

He swears he has figured every expression out on your face your blank stares and focused artist eyes even when you paint you make faces. Others might not see it but he pretty much knows you like the back of his hand. "Yes, yes painting is a nice hobby and passion but you must not drown yourself in it until your fainting from days and nights of work." He scolded his hand taking the weight of your head and swaying you around before letting go making you stumble into balance.

You pout and look back at him then to the ground in silence. "..Just a little more paintings? Five? Maybe three? How about two more? Till you take my soul?" You mumble your body shaking with fear. The demon laughs a laugh that makes you feel like a joke, he finally stops with a sigh putting an arm around your shaking frame. "I'm not a patient demon, Painter. But I'll make an exception as my ego is much more greedy than I thought. You may have your last painting, finish the one of today and make it the most gorgeous representation of me as your muse. Show the future artist the loyal and desperate faceless painter and their detailed beloved Muse." He says squeezing your shoulders giving you little reassurance as you breakdown into tears as the devil ironically rests on your shoulder a sharp grin spread across his face.

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

"What a lovely painting." A human said looking at the piece in front of her. A worker of the museum hummed. "Ah yes, you have a good eye this was around The Romantic Era fitting age for these paintings." He says looking around the room. "The artist is unknown we barely know where they resided or when they passed, this gallery is a mystery but we do know one thing- this painter sure did love their muse." He explained showing the person around and well of course the whole room was filled to the brim with paintings of the same man over and over again. They even had a leather sketchbook with sketches of that man.

But one stood out from the rest. In a small dark lit room just big enough to fit one painting was again another portrait but unlike the others, colorful and lively oozing with adoration and tender affection, this one the Muse sat on a black thrown carved sharp and detailed. You would say black was the primary color in the painting the accent colors where red, white and the color of the man's skin more pale and dead then the other paintings. It was harsh, depicting wolves bearing their teeth ravens flying in distress, in the corners feathers scattered around them and an octopus wrapped itself around the chairs leg and back and the Muse he was smiling at anyone who stands before him but this smile wasn't the gentle or cheery one it was mocking the angle was downward like he was looking down on you like you where nothing but a melee peasant another detail was his ungloved hand black nails with a what seems to be a tattoo. On the back of his hand. An old man joked with the other visitors. "I guess they broke up." And most laughed while some couples seemed awkward in the room.

"See? I told you doesn't he look like you?" My master said pointing at the painting and I tilted my head in amusement. "Hmm I suppose so." My~ what was that painters name again? Well it doesn't seem to matter. My master read the writing detailing the painting. "Huh.. This was the last painting ever made by this guy. Was this... actually you? it has your sigil and everything.." Master whispered. "Well I was quite popular back in the day I think one of my former contractors was a painter now that I think of it.." My master thinks before asking. "Do you not feel hurt at all by how they drew you? I mean look at it you look like a villain or a—" "demon." I spoke I couldn't help but grin I can feel my masters fear it was delicious. I look back up at the painting. "It was their last painting because it was their last wish. I told them to paint me, as what I symbolize and what they fear of me. This painting isn't putting me in a negative light it was showing what I truly am, it is simply a perfect definition of “depiction” a normal unfiltered portrait." There was silence. "Is that all you needed to know master?" I say smiling more calmly and my contractor gulped "uh..no um wow ok." I turn my head. "Let's visit the other exhibits shall we?" I say walking away the human following right behind me. "Ah yes photography I would say I love these more than boring old paintings."

----------

A/N: nothing to say but I've been getting into black butler again I would say I have a love hate relationship with Sebastian yes he is ver pretty and I love his voice and personality but something about him urks me. Anyways

Love y'all XOXO 💋❤️💋💋

[herwritingartcowboy]

tanjiro with a male!reader that paints/is an artist :-)?? reader is a demon slayer and has had frequently seen tanjiro on missions, so when tanjiro finds reader painting something tanjiros shocked on how he didnt know that he painted!

Fandom: Demon Slayer

Character(s): Tanjiro Kamado

Warning(s): X

Readers Gender: Male

It was your day off and that morning when you awoke you had decided to do some painting. You had been killing demons all this month, being away on missions. So you decide that today you will get yourself some tea, snacks, and just sit and to do something you love to do.

Since you were small you had always loved to paint and would always paint as to what came to your mind and what came to your mind was a certain demon slayer. You had seen the black and green checker haori around when you traveled for missions and even talked to the boy for a minute. So you got out your brush and started to paint.

Tanjiro was sent to deliver some things to you. At first he thought he was gonna meet someone new but when he saw you he remembered you. He had seen you around and it was shocking to him as usually he would be seeing you recklessly use your sword going for fast and big hits. But here you softly painted taking in each second as your body seemed relaxed as even your scent felt relaxed.

After a while he noticed he was staring at you so he made his presence known. You turned and politely greeted him. You two exchange greetings, names, and after Tanjiro gave you your stuff you asked if he would like some tea as he came all this way for something small. Not to be rude Tanjiro agreed but did ask just for one cup of tea and he will leave as to not want to stay for too long.

During this you had met Nezuko after hearing of the rumors but she was a nice girl. While you and Tanjiro were talking Nezuko has gone out and found your painting of Tanjiro and alerted him about it.

You had gotten a bit embarrassed saying that it wasn't finished and to paint him without his permission. But Tanjiro was just captivated by this beautiful painting of him. It may have not been done but the way he looked and how all the colors were mixed together he can only help but smile as he cheeks turned a bit pink. He thanked you for painting him so beautifully too and asked to come back when the painting was ready.

You told him that him and his sister are always welcome at your place. You all said your goodbyes as Tanjiro left you with more inspiration to finish the painting.

[ray-jaykub]

Saw ur post requesting asks! Hmmm maybe somethinf with Raph and girl he just met who is shy, but really likes him! Shes an artist and tries to get him to paint..they maybe end up covered in said paint..which leads to kisses etc?

yeah I'm in love. I really love this and I actually have some other soft Raphael asks so this will definitely help fuel the ideas for those

Raphael x Reader

Warnings: None besides fluff and smooches ^^

word count: Idk I don’t keep track

When Raph first met Y/n he was almost positive they wouldn’t interact very much or even at all. That she’d probably float more towards Donnie or even maybe Mike, whose out going nature was toxic.

But, you had proven him wrong. When meeting with the group it was always you who would place yourself more near him. Although quiet it was obvious that you had preferred his presence over any of them and when Raphael had finally brought this up to his brothers they put it simply.

“No offense, but You come off as shy all the time.” Leo dries the cup Mikey had handed him.

“What? No, I don’t. When have I ever acted shy?” 

Mikey pipes up, handing another dish to Leo. “Well man, you’re always sitting away from everyone. Your arms all crossed and quiet, I always assumed you maybe had a hard time talkin to people.”  Raph shakes his head, thinking back to every event they were invited to. How he isolated himself in hopes of making people back off from his presence. Is that something a shy person would do?

“Why are you so worried about it anyway?” Leo cuts him a look, a look that say he thinks he knows more than he lets on. The red terrapin rolls his eyes, deciding to let it go.

----

The next time everyone's together it's for movie night, a every now and then weekend tradition April was insistent they do. They had just finished dinner, gathering plates and prepping snacks for the movie. Raphael sits in his spot on the couch, listening to his family decide on what movie to watch as they cleaned the kitchen together. His eyes are shut but when the seat next to him sinks with new weight he opens them to see Y/n. She isn't facing him, instead staring straight ahead. Her features are relaxed like she was doing the same thing he just was. He sits there watching her for another second before he speaks up.

"So uuh, what kind of movies do you like?" He thinks for a second, that was a normal question right? Especially since they're about to watch one. She tilts her head towards him and hums and reverently, like she's trying to keep the peace they've created, speaks. "I don't know, I kinda have a knack for anything. What about you?"

"Same, mostly action though." He doesn't notice the way his voice lowers with hers. "Every now and then April will put some romance on, those are nice too." She hums again and nods. "Good to know." They're both quiet again and before Raph can open his mouth again his family floods into to living room. Mikey jumps to sit right between Y/n and him, preventing further conversation. He turns away, the image of her relaxed face still fresh in his memory.

-----

They had already gotten used to each other at this point, having friendly conversation and this time when they speak to each other they're actually alone. She had been on the roof-top of her apartment when he had been on patrol. A blanket had been laid out with tubes of paint and worn paint brushes. Y/n hadn't noticed he was there, too immersed in capturing the scenery in front of her. He shifts his foot against the concrete to signal he was there but got no response. Cleared his throat even and she was still brushing over the canvas. He rolls his eyes, stepping to the edge of the blanket. "I didn't know you liked to paint."

Your head whips up, neck craning to see Raphael standing above you. "Raph! You scared me!" he huffs, biting his cheek to hide his smile. “Only because you’re so distracted. Should pay more attention, it’s dangerous out here.” You look down and in the light of the city Raph can see the way your face glows pink. Slowly he sits beside the blanket, cautious about disrupting your set up. “You’re uh, you’re really good though. Hell, Mikey only knows how to paint words.” You laugh and hands him one of the brushes, taking it, confused he raises his brow.

“How about you give it a try? I think you’d like it.” Over her painting? He tries to object but you tear the painting out of the book and set it aside to dry. Oh, that makes more sense. Better then letting him ruin it. He falters at the idea of ruining something, ruining this friendship.

“Raphael?” He blinks, focusing back on the small brush in his hand, back to the girl in front of him. “What?” You shake your head. “Nothing, just looks like you left me for a second... Anyways, as I was saying, you can paint whatever. Just don’t mix the paints.”

“Yeah, sounds easy enough”

It’s not even 5 minutes in when he knocks over a paint canister, it stains the blanket and he curses. “Shit, shit sorry! Hang on let me help.” He’s trying to pick the blanket up, to prevent it from spilling on the ground but doesn’t register the rest of the equipment. More paint is spilled and to his horror some splatters onto your clothes. It’s pure chaos and you jump up, grabbing your painting and the book, putting it out of reach. It looks perfectly fine and when you turn to make a joke you stop.

Raph stands among the blankets and paint, it covers his fore-arms and feet. His head is down and he’s sniffling. “Hey! hey, there’s nothing to be upset abo-” “I fucked up.” You slowly sit a paint covered hand on his shoulder. “I fucked up your paints, your blankets a mess and I got it on your clothes.” You look down, noticing the paint splattered on you and smile. You nudge him to turn and look at you, smearing purple on his shoulder.

“Listen Raph, the paint is washable. And I bought that blanket at a goodwill of all places, for this purpose. You didn’t mess up anything.” He still looks distant, losing himself in his anxiety. You look to your hand, mixed with purples, reds and greens.

“Boop!” A thick glob of paint is swiped across his snout, surprising him. “What?What are you doing?” “Boop!” another smear of paint on his pecs, he snorts and catches your hand. “What are you doing shorty?” “Trying to show you it’s not a big deal” Your left hand swiftly comes to wipe paint along his bicep, a thick pink streak. His shoulders shake with laughter, lifting his right hand, covered in a mixture of paint and pushing a hand print onto your cheek.

In a flash what was just playful smearing had turned into an all out paint war, globs of it had landed in your hair and his mask is coloured to the point of barely returning. It’s not long until you call a tie, out of breath you lean against him.

“Truce, you win! You win! No more” Your smile is so wide you can feel your cheeks ache. Looking up as he looks down you both end up nose to nose, your scent hidden by paint. Raphael takes a deep breath, lowering his voice. “Sorry for fucking up your paint again.” You shake your head and lean closer. “I told you it was fine, I’m having fun.” In the blink of an eye you step on your tip-toes, kissing one clean spot on his cheek. “I know I don’t act like it but I do like you Raph.” 

His eyes widen and he feels weightless, the kiss tingles his skin, embeds itself into his soul. Forming courage he leans down and presses a chaste kiss on your lips, slowly pulling back before he feels you tug him back down.

He didn’t ruin anything, far from it in fact.

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sorry this took so long, Idk how I feel about the ending simply because I didn’t know how to end it :”) hope you enjoy it

[pasmondeus]

Asmodeus x artist reader!

Im doing a painter pacifically but ill probs do others later

• boi is OBSESSED with your paintings, he wants them ALL over his room, his house, everything! He doesnt care what it is or how good it looks he just wants it in his life at all times

• asmodeus can and will have you sit on his lap while you paint, no questions asked he will just grab you, and then plop you on his lap. You cant leave btw

• if you do commissions ohhh boi, you'll be rich soon, the boi will ask you to paint him in the most lude posses imaginable for lots of money. He will probs ask for a few paintings of you to together as well

• the man will fight anyone who says anything bad about your art! He sees no flaws in your art!

• this man will buy you any art supplise you need! No matter how expensive, all you gatta do is ask