Riff x Artist!reader

Chapter 1

The warm afternoon sun was shining on my skin as I walked through the streets of New York's West Side. A thick sheet of paper in one hand, my watercolor box in the other. I ran excitedly to the next street corner, trying to avoid the shadows of the buildings. It was the beginning of spring, so it was only really pleasant in the sun. In the shade, however, I felt like I was freezing to death in my thin dress. I had begged my overprotective brother not to have to wear the thick winter clothes. He had first been of the opinion that I would catch cold in this weather, but then had agreed after he saw the first rays of sunlight shining through the large window onto the fire escape. After that my face was radiateing like the sun, „it is almost a competition"he said, whereupon he could only say yes to me wearing my favorite dress.
It was Sunday and I had gotten up early to set up my drawing supplies in front of a nearby church in the neighborhood and then to be able to paint when everyone would go to mass. I had only started a few weeks ago with the painting of people. I had seen a young man in the subway. He had the most beautiful blue eyes. I had wished very much that I could have drawn him right at that moment. But as soon as he got off the train and jogged down the stairs of the station, I had forgotten his face.
With a building this would never have happened to me. Ever since I was little, I had memorized the windows, towers and facades of the buildings around me. They were burned into my brain. So it was easier for me to later bring the straight lines and dark colors perfectly on paper. Since I had seen the young man, there was a new need in me. I wanted to paint something that was not rigid and straight like the skyscrapers of the West side.
That's exactly why I had tried to draw the people going to church that morning. But somehow I didn't quite succeed. I was dissatisfied with my painting. Nothing looked the way I wanted it to. The happy faces of the young girls in their pretty Sunday dresses looked lifeless and gray. The old people leaning on each other to climb the stairs of the church together did not look lovingly and kind but rather as if they were arguing in front of the house of God.
My newest plan was to draw the small Irish pub on the next street corner. My brother went there often with his friends. He had told that even in the afternoon the small tables already were filled with empty beer bottles and some drunkard even spend sunday not leaving his seat.
I set my things down next to me while I studied the building opposite me carefully. I had no problem drawing the masonry in a few strokes. As I was about to start detailing the dark green front door with the blurry windows, I was disturbed by an unwelcome shouting. A group of young men had gotten into a fight with the owner of the pub. Something in me felt the need to draw the event in front of me. But before I could think about whether it would be morally compatible to draw a possibly escalating fight, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Y/N? What are you doing here. Come on, we shouldn't be around when the jets are doing something illegal," the voice said, matching the hand on my shoulder. It was Tommy, my brother John's best friend. If Tommy was here, my brother couldn't be far either. I didn't like it when the two of them came together. I always have the feeling that my brother wants to bring me and Tommy together. I'm surprised because John still doesn't accept that I've been a grown woman for a while now. He always sees me only as his little sister who definitely should not waste any thoughts on boys and relationships. But with Tommy he was different. Tommy was the only son of a rich merchant from Manhattan. He and John knew each other from college. John probably wanted me to marry him so that I would have a secure life. Definitely not the plan I had for myself. It's not that I didn't like Tommy, he was usually friendly and always had a compliment for me. But he was a coward. The only conversations I had with him were about the fear that someone might steal his expensive new watch or about how his favorite topic in the world was finance.
Not really what I was interested in. He probably thought he could impress me with his father's money. But what I would have been really happy about would have been a few words about my paintings or if he admired New York at sunrise as much as I did. But he had not answered either one and had returned his attention to the fortune on his wrist.
He also wore the watch today, it was cold on my shoulder. I was still thinking about what to answer when John also entered my field of vision.
"If it isn't my baby sister. How many times have I told you not to go down this street. It's not for young ladies like you. And look at you. Your hands are full of charcoal and paint. What will people think? Come on, let's go, see you tomorrow Tommy" instantly he had pulled me up from my seat and ran with me in the opposite direction of the pub. I quickly grabbed my art supplies. "Walk  faster Y/N , dad will be upset if he sees you like this so you better hurry so we get home on time.
I know my brother was only strict with me because he was afraid something could happen to me. Our father had taught him to be strict. After our mother passed away, there wasn't much warmth in our family. And John was always under observation. Father was almost never at home because of his job and sometimes I didn't see him for several days. John, on the other hand, was always there for me. When we were alone he was very caring and loving to me, but as soon as other people were around he showed his strength and severity. Too big was the fear that someone could confess to my father how soft and loving he had been.

When I arrived at our apartment, I immediately ran to the bathroom and began to wash the stains off my hands. The paint came off easily, but the charcoal stains on the back of my hands just wouldn't come off. Only now I noticed that there was also a small spot of blue paint on my light dress. I mentally cursed myself. Why hadn't I been more careful? For me, but also for John. I couldn't imagine what his punishment would be if father found out that I had been hanging around painting all day instead of sitting at the sewing machine or standing behind the stove. He had very old-fashioned views about the place of a woman. But still I could not be angry with him, he was my father after all and only thanks to him I could have the money to paint and the beautiful clothes I loved to wear.
But although me and John waited all evening long for our father to return, he did not come back to the apartment that night. And even though I had struggled all evening, I decided to paint again the next morning while lying between my silk sheets and slowly falling asleep.