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thewildsophia · 4 years

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.Art Project. Clone High//Van Gogh x Reader

Van Gogh x Reader

Word Count: 2564

~~~~~~~~~~

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t get the thought of the tiny Dutch artist out of your head. You weren’t even sure what about him it was that caught your attention. Perhaps it was his orange hair that almost looks red in the right lighting, or maybe his pale skin that mirrored the white bandages that you know he changes everyday (you also loved how his face would blossom with this gorgeous shade of orange-pink when he was complimented), or maybe it was just his hands. Yeah that was it. His hands, petite and delicate, that could paint such beautiful, exquisite paintings that told of many different things.

God you felt like such a creep.

But you couldn’t help it. You were absolutely infatuated, -- no, that’s not quite right -- obsessed with him.

And the worst part about it all was that the two of you have barely had any real interactions with each other. The last time the two of you had really talked was when you were assigned an art project with him. It was a collaborative project where you two were given a piece of art and two canvases and you would paint half the artwork on each canvas using styles and colors that were different, but still complimented the other half.

You two had received the artwork The Kiss by Gustav Klimt, with you painting the man and Van Gogh painting the woman. You had used cooler colors -- blues, greens, grays and purples -- while Van Gogh used warmer ones -- reds, yellows, oranges and whites. You had focused most of the detail on the man, leaving the background somewhat barren with Van Gogh doing the opposite, focusing on the background and less on the woman.

It had actually turned out really well and the two of you had received a perfect grade, but what you liked the most about the whole thing was how much time you got to spend with him.

You worked with him for a whole week and when the deadline was coming up he invited you to his dorm to finish it. You actually found it quite funny how much his room looked like The Bedroom, but you weren’t surprised.

If you really thought about it, it was probably the second day when you started to become fascinated by him. The sketches had been completed and you two had just started painting. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t focus on your piece, intrigued by his painting. His strokes were quick, decisive, like he knew exactly what he wanted. It was difficult not to stare as he painted and you had barely gotten any work done that day. And he quickly picked up on your distracted state.

“Is something the matter?” God that voice sounded just perfect to you. It was deep, but not too deep, and somewhat raspy, like he had a slight cold. You could listen to that voice for hours.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” You remember him asking.

“Yeah.” You had answered, “I’ve just never seen you paint before. It’s beautiful.” After those words had left your mouth, that beautiful peach color blessed his pale skin and he looked away with a bashful smile.

“I-Thank you.” He had stuttered and it was probably the cutest thing you had ever heard. You wanted to get him to do that more often. After that the two of you continued to work on your project with the occasional chatter between you.

When the two of you had finished, you didn’t really talk to the other. You’d wave to each other in the hallways while transitioning classes or offer a quiet “Hey” when entering Painting II. What you did find a bit strange is that if you show up first, he’ll sit at the same table as you and vice-versa, and neither of you seemed to mind it.

Actually, it kind of worked to your advantage.

You really couldn’t help yourself and often found yourself drawing Van Gogh in your sketchbook, ranging from basic sketches to full on ink pieces (of course you’d ink them when you got back to your dorm). It’s actually gotten so bad lately that you now have completed paintings of him, whether it be acrylic, watercolor, oil, gouache, you name it and you probably have it.

You were actually about half way through painting another piece of him, although you didn’t like this one as much as some of the others since he looked a bit too feminine. While painting, you heard a knock at your dorm’s door. You quickly looked at the clock hanging on the wall opposite of a window.

“It’s almost 10pm, why the hell is someone coming up here?” You thought before getting up and looking out the peephole in your door only to be greeted with nothing. You grumbled to yourself while opening the door just to make sure no one left something for you.

Upon opening the door, you’re greeted with none other than the clone of Vincent Van Gogh himself, canvas and set of acrylics pinned at his side. You felt yourself straighten as you greeted him.

“Oh-Hey. It’s almost 10, are you alright? You need something?” You asked watching him shift his stance before answering,

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for coming by so late, I just needed a bit of help with the portrait project and you’re the only person I really felt comfortable coming to.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his. You felt your heart stutter at hearing that.

“It’s alright, what did you need help with specifically?” You asked leaning onto the door frame.

“I’m having trouble with making a background that works with the subject.” He said. Weird. Backgrounds are usually his speciality. “Um, may I come in?” He asked. Your eyes widen slightly with realization of you forgetting to let him hit you.

“Of course! Sorry.” You apologized sheepishly, moving out of the way to let him in.

“It’s fine.” He said. You closed the door before quickly jogging over to your desk, grabbing the still wet painting and placing it against the wall opposite the door, facing towards said wall. You cleared a spot on your desk for him to place his things.

“Alright, let’s see what you got so far.” You said looking over his painting.

You talked to him for about 15 minutes about how he could improve what he currently had before you got up to grab you painting to show him what you had done.

“That’s Frida Kahlo, right? If I remember correctly she’s from Mexican descent, so I would use brighter colors like greens, pinks and yellows.” You said while rustling with the huge stack of paintings you had looking for it. “I had gotten Aaron Douglas, so I stuck with more desaturated colors and focused less on details and more on the silhouettes of the subjects.” Once grabbing the painting you returned to Van Gogh, placing the painting onto the desk next to his.

Only…That wasn’t the right painting.

Nope, instead it was one of Van Gogh, specifically the one of him you had finished a few weeks ago of him looking at himself in a full-body mirror while painting a self portrait. You grabbed the painting, pressing it against your chest the moment you realized it was the wrong one. You stared at him a moment before turning around and scrounging around in the pile again for the right painting.

“Y/N-” Van Gogh started, but you weren’t gonna let him finish.

“Just! Give me a second.” You said, searching a bit faster. God seemed to be against you that night because when you started to look for it faster the whole stack fell and, of course, with it came the majority of paintings you had made of him. And…the painting of Douglas.

You stood there a moment, feeling the sweat gather at your forehead and back of your neck. You grabbed the painting of Douglas before stacking all the other ones up. You turned back around, slowly walking back over to the desk and putting the right painting next to his.

“So, um, like I was saying earlier…” But your voice died in your throat when you heard him speak.

“Y/N.” He said firmly. You felt yourself swallow thickly before looking over at him. “Come with me.”

And you did. You really didn’t feel like arguing with him after what had just happened. He led you to his dorm room on the 3rd floor, unlocking it and gesturing for you to step in. You did before he closed the door and walked over to the corner of his room. He pulled out a bundle of canvas, separating them from each other.

“You know, for the longest time I felt like such a creep doing this so often, but after seeing what you’ve been doing, I feel a lot less like one.” He said while revealing the paintings to you.

They were of you. They were all of you.

You felt your heart leap out of your chest as your eyes laid on the paintings. They were all different from the last, varying in size, color, style, much like your own.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since we were assigned that project together, ever since…you said that about my painting.” He started, “At first you were just a passing thought, but as time went on, you started to plague my mind more and more often to the point where I couldn’t get you off my mind.” He finished, that stunning peach color returning to his cheeks.

You walked over to where he had the paintings spread out over his bed, running your fingers over the texture in the dried paint.

“Oh, Van Gogh, these are…” You started, still stunned about everything.

“Not my best work, I know.” He said scratching the back of his neck, “It was a bit difficult painting you without having you here to reference.” He admitted.

“No, Van Gogh, these are beautiful.” You said stroking your cheek, “And not just because they’re of me.” You added with a laugh, to which Van Gogh also let out a chuckle.

The room then when quiet, neither of you having the courage to speak up until you decided the silence had lasted enough.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” You started, “But you’ve captured my interest, and ever since I got to watch you paint that day I also haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” You paused, breathing in deeply. Well, it’s now or never you suppose.

“Everytime I think of you, I can physically feel my chest tighten and I feel almost like I’m going to be sick, but in a good way.” You tried to explain, not meeting his light blue eyes once. “I’m not sure if this is what love is supposed to feel like, since I’ve never really been in love before, but…I know that I do like you. Like…really like you and…God, I don’t know what I’m saying; I’ve probably said too much.” You finish with a nervous chuckle.

“No,” You heard him say, “You said just enough.” He grabbed your hand, making you look down at him.

“I’ve…I’ve never really been in love before either, but…I do know that I really enjoy being with you, even if we’re not talking to each other. Just being around you makes me happy. Hell, the whole point of me seeing you this late was just to see you.” Van Gogh looked up at you briefly before looking down at the ground. “Ah, I’m rambling. Look, my point is that I don’t know what it’s like to love someone, but I do know what it’s like to really like someone, and…I really like you.” He finishes, looking back up at you only to notice the glassiness of tears that clouded you e/c eyes.

“Oh, no, wait don’t start crying.” You heard him say, but you couldn’t stop the flow of tears that warmed your cheeks every so slightly. You collapsed onto your knees, embracing Van Gogh, soon feeling his arms wrap around you and the wetness of tears on the back of your shirt. You hugged him harder when you heard a sob rip from his chest, trying your best not to start sobbing yourself. After all, you didn’t look the most elegant when you cried.

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours before finally pulling away from the other. You looked him in the eyes, rubbing away some of the stray tears that still remained on his cheeks. He returned the favor.

“All this time,” he started, “I was so scared to tell you how I felt about you. Hell, I was scared to talk to you at all. I was so worried that I would mess things up between us that I decided to just stay silent.” He paused, sighing. “It’s…difficult for me to connect with people so…I don’t have many good friends. I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

“I was scared too,” You admitted, “In all honesty, I wasn’t sure if you even wanted to talk to me after we finished the project. I like being around you, so I was okay with just sitting near you in art.” You ran your hand through his orange hair, being mindful of his bandages.

“I guess we're both kinda creeps.” You say after a minute. He smiles with a chuckle.

“Yeah.” He whispers, “I guess we are.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Extended Ending:

You let go of Van Gogh, allowing him to clear his bed and put the paintings away. He straightened his bed out, looking over at his own clock that read quarter til midnight. He turned to you, peach dusting his pale cheeks.

“Would you, um…” He stuttered, “Would you like to spend the night? I don’t mean like, you know, but just…sleep. It’s late, we have class in the morning and it’s a bit of a walk to your dorm.” He finished, gesturing to his bed. You blushed before smiling.

“I’d love to.” You answered. He smiled before opening the covers, patting the open space.

“Great! I-Um, I’ll get the lights.” He said, walking past you. You took your shoes off before climbing into his bed, moving all the way over to one side. He turned the light off, the room only being visible because of the moonlight coming through the curtains. You felt the bed shift, assuming Van Gogh had gotten in the bed with you.

For a while, you both laid there stiffly, painfully aware of the other’s presence. You felt his eyes on you for a while before he spoke.

“Um…would it be alright if I…” He said, scooting closer to you. You did the same, until the two of you met in the center. You turned your body towards his and he did the same. The two of you simply stared at the other for a moment before he wrapped his arms around your neck. You, in turn, wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin upon his head. He pressed his face into your collar and you shuttered as you felt his breath on your neck.

“This,” he started, “This is…” Leaving you to finish his sentence.

“Nice.”

#clonehigh #clone high #clone high van gogh #vincent van gogh #clone high vincent van gogh #van gogh x reader #clone high x reader #vincent van gogh x reader #clone high van gogh x reader #thewildsophia writes

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robin-the-enby · 3 years

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Okay, Hi! I'm not sure if you're taking requests at the moment but is it okay that I ask for a lil something? So, I've been looking for Vincent Van Gogh x Readers FOR EVER and can never find any. If I can, can I request a Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High) x Reader? Maybe a clone of a great artist (made up haha) and is struggling with living up to their legacy? Good make for some good Angst/Fluff 😶

I gotchu! It's in my bio if anything 😉 Before I write this, here you have other amazing blogs that have written/are writing for Vin from Clone high:

@tearsofaclonehighfan

@clone-high-imagines

@thesfwwildsophia

Perfect in his eyes

Pairing: Vincent van Gogh x reader

Summary: Your art teacher is a mean prick who definktely shouldn't teach art. When he startd to compare you to the famous artist, which you are a clone of, you can't take it. Luckilly, Vincent won't let you suffer alone.

Warnings: insecurities, panic attack, bullying by teacher

A/N: (O/N) - original person's name, I hope this isn't too long for you 😅

Let happy Vinny bring you comfort 😌

* * * * *

Being an artist was...nice, most of the time. Most of your lessons were pretty chill and you could really use your imagination and come up with new, interesting ideas and test your skills with each new piece.

Yeah, being an artist was pretty cool...

Until you got an assignment that is.

Most of your classmates never had any problems with assignments, some of them even preferred being given a topic for a drawing or a painting, but not you.

You hated being given a track that your piece had to follow. You loved to be creative with what you do and so the mundane topics like 'nature' 'city' 'a portrait' felt more like handcuffs than something to spike inspiration in you.

So naturally, you tried to push these boundaries as far as you could, just to see how much you could deviate from the original task.

The teachers, of course, didn't like that at all.

Another assignment turned in, another time period of waiting for the results. Another art class and yet another scolding...

"I would like for our dear (Y/N) to stand up, but only, of course, if that doesn't restrain their creativity." those were the teasing words of your teacher, dripping eith venom.

Not trying to agitate the man even more, you slowly stood up, looking him right in the eye with defiance. "I don't know how standing up would restrain my creativity." you said lowly, trying to match his venomous tone "But I know a thing that would." you finished with a smirk.

Your teacher sighed, trying to stay calm "As you all know" he adressed the class "the theme of your work was 'lovers'." he turned his attention back to you "Would you be so kind, (Y/N), and explain what is this?!" he held up your piece of three skeletons, dressed in elegant robes, dancing the night away while gazing lovingly at each other. Well...as much as they could...

"Those are lovers who even death didn't do apart." you calmly explained. "And why exactly are there three of them?" your teacher raised his eyebrows. You just shrugged "Why wouldn't there be?"

The man just huffed from the comfort of his chair and shook his head "When I said the theme was 'lovers', I meant it as real lovers. As if a realistic piece! Real people! I'm grading this work an F."

Now that made you angry. Not only did he interrogate you every time you handed in a new piece, but now he wants to grade it poorly even though you worked your ass off to create this? Seriously?? Does he know how many allnighters you had to pull to make it perfect?? "You told us to get creative!" You complained, done with this mans bullshit.

Your teacher looked apalled. How dare you raise your voice at him?! "I didn't mean-" But you wouldn't give him the chance to finish "Like that. You wanted us to get creative, but no, not like that. That's too much. Too creative. You're too close to being original and open minded individuals!" you mocked him, fake fright in your voice.

Your teacher, sensing you had him cornered, but refusing to let a teenager win, tried to blabber out "Well, if I'd let everyone do as they please, I wouldn't have to bother setting a theme!" "And maybe that would be for the better!"

Suddenly, a dark look set in his face. Your teacher abruptly stood up and slammed his hands on his desk "I am very dissapointed by your attitude! Do you know where will your disobedience get you? Do you?! Out on the street, that's where!"

His shouting made you flinch. When your teacher saw that, he smiled triumphantly. He was getting to you. With an almost sadistic satisfaction, he decided to push on "What do you think (O/N) would think of you, huh? Just think about how dissapointed she'd be in you. You've been given such a great talent and instead of pursuing (O/N)'s legacy you only do what you want. Do you think that's really necessary (Y/N)?"

You couldn't stand it. The fake honey like tone in his voice, the fake interest in you as a person. How he compared you to (O/N), as if tou weren't your own fucking person, but just a clone.

Your stomach twisted at the feeling of all of your classmates' eyes on you, waiting for a smart rebuttal, but you couldn't form a coherent sentence.

Everybody was still looking at you! Couldn't the teacher just tell you to sit already? Breathing was becoming harder by the second, you could feel cold sweat sprout on you forhead, your throat was dry like a desert and everybody was still. Looking. At. You.

And so you ran.

You bolted out of your seat, forgetting all about your stuff, and rushed out of the classroom.

You couldn't see it, but your teacher had a smile on his face, too drunk on his victory to see the tears streaming down your face or the obvious signs of an oncoming panic attack.

Meanwhile you made it around the corner, before your legs gave up. Luckily, you could fit yourself under the school staircase leading to another floor.

You huddled up next to the wall and hugged your knees to your chest, finally letting the tears freely flow.

You remained in the same position even after the bell rang and the halls were swarmed with students. You managed to calm down a little bit, but the lesson was playing in your head over and over and every time it did, new flow of tears came out.

Before you could start panicking about next lessons and how you were going to mask that you've been crying, let alone face your classmates, a familiar shy voice softly called out to you "Hey, uh, are you ok?" the voice said as you felt a tiny body slide next to you.

You rubbed your eyes to see more clearly over the tears and saw your tiny classmate, Vincent.

He looked worried as he scanned you over with those adorable blue eyes of his, his lips pursed into a thin line, his orange hair sticking out fromhis bandages.

"What are you doing here, Vinc? You'll be late for class." you hiccupped and turned your head away from him, facing the wall.

Vincent only shook his head "Doesn't matter, I just want to make sure you're ok." he searched for more words "That was pretty terrible back there."

As if on cue, at the mention of the incident in class, a new flow of tears made their way out of your eyes. "Please don't talk about it." you croaked, voice choked by your tears. The tiny redhead rapidly shook his head.

For a while, both of you were silent. You were desperately trying not to break down against Vincent and he was wrecking his brain, trying to find a way to soothe you at least a little bit.

"Do you...wanna talk about it?" he asked uncertainly, afraid to worsen your state. You sniffed for a bit and burried your head in your knees "I overreacted I guess..." you sighed "I just...He was right. I'll never be like them. I never was even remotely like them, not personality-wise, not even artistically-wise. I'm really not doing them any justice Vinc." you forced it out of yourself before sobbing again.

You felt the tiny painter lean against you and then he muttered "That doesn't have to be a bad thing, y'know?" You turned your head to look at him, one eyebrow quizzicaly raised. "I mean, look at me." Vincent chuckled and gestured to himself "I'm probably too much like the original van Gogh..." suddenly, Vincent slouched a little "Sometimes I wish I could be someone else. Maybe life wouldn't be as hard as it is."

You couldn't help but hug him. Vincent made a startled sound at that unexpected contact, but relaxed after a second and snuggled more into you. "Don't say shit like that, Vin. You're perfect the way you are. And I wouldn't want you any different." You pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

"That applies to you too, y'know?" he mumbled into your chest, looking up at your face.

You giggled, your tearstained cheeks turning apple like red. And at that moment you two decided to ditch school and just stay there.

Just two teens, perfect for each other.

#requests open #vincent van gogh #clone high van gogh #clone high #vincent van gogh x reader #clone high van gogh x reader #tw panic attack #tw insecurities #tw humiliation #tw bullying

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virtueangel · 3 years

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Hc's for Vinny pls? ówò Im intp(17,she/her), but a bit more emotional/energetic. Im always mindful of other people tho, so if they dont vibe with my silliness, i immediately tone it down.Im mute w/ new ppl, tho. Im very sensitive and keep the majority of it bottled up. I love telling jokes and making others happy.Also anything nerdy is what im all about. Stuff like video games, the arts, science, history.. but art is my favorite. Usually i draw cartoons, but i do plenty of realistic stuff aswell

Van Gogh With an Introverted Reader

At first, Van Gogh has trouble making a connection with this reader. He’s not very good at conversation either, so it’s hard to kind of “break through the ice” with her. He tries to make little gestures to get her attention, like waving hello when they pass each other in the hallways and asking her for an eraser in class (even though he has his own). He’s eager to talk to her, but he’s also pretty anxious so settles for no more than a minute or two of conversation a day. But, as the weeks go on, he works up the nerve to ask her questions that aren’t necessarily about school.

Van Gogh asks her about some of her drawings, which makes her nervous. Van Gogh notices this, and comforts her by showing her some of his own drawings to let her know that he isn��t going to judge her. They start talking about art and their varying drawing styles a little bit, but even now, the conversations don’t last very long because neither of them really know how to keep them going.

One day, Van Gogh makes a bold move and decides to ask her out. He does it in sort of a discreet way, by drawing a little cartoon of them on his paper in class. It’s pretty cheesy, but she’s still flattered and says yes. It’s kind of awkward at first, but she pushes through it quickly by trying to be silly with Van Gogh. She tires to make him feel more comfortable, and that makes her feel more comfortable as well. Van Gogh really admires her sense of humour, and this even gets him to be a little sillier himself. They play off of each others’ jokes a lot. They’re really the only two people who think their jokes are funny, but it’s okay because it’s not like a lot of people are hearing them anyway.

Van Gogh is pretty glad once he gets to know her because she can carry the conversations really well. She likes to ramble on about her interests, and she gets really passionate about whatever she’s talking about. Van Gogh is really good at just listening, and it works out well in this case because he actually cares about what she’s saying. He asks questions occasionally, but it’s really just because he’s trying to prompt her to keep talking. He’d prefer to just listen when she’s talking about video games, but he can actually contribute to the conversation when it’s about art. They geek out about art a lot, everything from sharing their favourite paintings to having competitions to see who knows more obscure details about a certain artist.

They go to a lot of museums together. Museums of any kind, not necessarily just art galleries -- exploratoriums, historical exhibits, aquariums, etc. Van Gogh especially likes museums because they’re quiet, but there’s also a lot to do. Both of them are fascinated by everything in the exhibits, and they spend hours at the museums when they go.

This reader is a really good match for Van Gogh. She draws out sides of him that he usually keeps hidden, like his sense of humour. Van Gogh is also a good match for this reader, because he encourages her to talk about her feelings instead of keeping everything hidden. He’s a really good listener and comforter. They both become more open people when they’re with each other. They’re also really grateful to be with someone who has similar interests and who will listen to the other talk even if they don’t know much about the topic.

#clone high #clone high hc #clone high van gogh #clone high x reader #request #ask me!#answer #writing

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holyshxtangel · 4 years

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I’m literally too embarrassed to even OPEN my Wattpad and Tumblr account around my sister cause she’ll only see my library filled with Clone High X Readers SDJHKASJKDK

#yes i still use wattpad #cringey i know #seriously i am TOO obsessed with this show #pls someone take my laptop away #i literally cannot stop readig ch x readers #pls help #clone high #clone high jfk #clone high van gogh #jfk clone high #van gogh clone high #angel talks #xo

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jfks-phat-cheeks · 2 years

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Van Gogh, JFK and Joan w/ a ftm reader please?

Why yes ofc! apologies if this is a little short, I'm getting back into this writing format lmao (a post for my fellow transmascs out there)

Van Gogh With A FtM Reader

They would be very supportive of you, whether you told him at the beginning of your relationship or even later in. There would be a lot of mutual understanding and appreciation of each other (I stand by my firm beliefs in genderfluid van gogh <3)

I definitely think that they would do all they could to make you as comfortable as possible, a lot of encouragement and support. Whatever you need he would be there for.

If you go the through of going on hormones he would be right there by your side! if its shots and you don't feel comfortable doing them yourself, they will try and help you. And if you end up doing any surgeries, he will be by your side the whole-time post-op. "Oh no don't do that I'll grab it for you!" is something you would be hearing a lot

Dude is so protective of your honor and image, would probably bite someone's fingers off if they said anything wrong about you or misgendered you ngl.

Jfk With A FtM Reader

Oh, this poor man, he would try his hardest, but you would have to explain it to him a couple of times before he actually gets it. Once he does, he would need your guidance as you how to be there for you and help.

Would definitely be like "uh the boy ones :D?" and then look to you to see if he got it right when asked his pronouns. Which is adorable in hindsight but makes you shake your head in the moment.

He lends you his old clothes. All the time. So many clothes. This is good if you like his style but if not good luck, you can use some of it to sleep in though so it's a win win no matter what Ig. Does just throw hands to defend you. It's just what he does, it's almost like a love language for him. Oh, someone said something bad about my boyfriend? I am going to break their jaw :). You just got to expect it. Eventually people won't even try to say nasty shit because they know that they'll be hunted down for it.

Joan With A FtM Reader

Joan would be your number 1 supporter no matter what. They would be by your side from the very beginning and is there for whatever you need. Want to go shopping? She might not like too, but for you she'll do it. Need help changing your name and pronouns in the system? She will be fighting right by your side.

They love you very much and I feel like if you have top surgery, she will trace your scars when they are healed. It would just become a habit for her when you two are laying down together.

On days where you are feeling particularly dysphoric, she would sit you down on the couch and you would watch your favorite movies and eat your favorite snacks.

Will beat the shit out of people for you like Jfk, she would hold no remorse. The only difference here is that she would wait for you to tell her it's okay to do so.

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jfks-phat-cheeks · 2 years

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may I interest you all in Halloween fics? send in some reqs <3 🎃 👻

#clone high #jfk clone high #jfk #clone high van gogh #clone high jfk #clone van gogh #jfk ch #clone high joan of arc #clone high vincent van gogh #clone joan of arc #abe clone high #clone gandhi #clone high x reader

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thewildsophia · 4 years

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So your last Van Gogh fic actually made me cry, your writing is really good! If you get the chance could i either get some nsfw headcanons for Vince? Or just, like, a lot of fluff. I hope you keep writing 🎨🥰😍🌻💛

Thank you soooo much, this really means a lot to hear. As someone who deals with depression and s/h, I really do see myself a lot in the actual Van Gogh in the sense that I use writing and art to vent and feel that my work in life won’t really be appreciated or understood until after my death; it’s part of the reason I like Clone High Van Gogh so much.

Now, as for your request! My little horny ass couldn’t help but think of nsfw hcs of Van Gogh before you even asked me. So, I’m gonna give you both.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Clone High//Vincent Van Gogh x Reader Headcanons

Fluff:

Van Gogh has almost a problem with sketching people, mainly during class, and since you caught his eye you’ve been the subject of most of them. No one besides him see them though.

You, as a fellow art student, also found yourself drawing students that caught your eye, and when I tell you that Van Gogh, in all his tiny glory, immediately intrigued you, you couldn’t help but start drawing him.

After the two of you started dating, you would compare the sketches, paintings and other drawings you had of each other. Needless to say, it was a bit awkward at first, with some sketches being more telling than others, but despite that the two of you really enjoyed seeing them.

While were on this topic, the two of you would often model for the other when asked. It was annoying having to stand/sit in the same position for at least 2 hours but in the end it seemed that you both agree that it’s worth it.

Van Gogh, and perhaps along with yourself, is undoubtedly touch starved (A/N: I very much am ;)) and will often try to be in physical contact with you when he can; whether is be hand hold, hugging, or simply just having his shoulder pressed to yours he really just needs the physical validation from you. However, he does save the more intimate things for when the two of you are in private.

Van Gogh is very much the little spoon whenever you two cuddle. For the longest time, he hated being the shortest in the group, but after he met you and began dating you, he realized how nice it was being held and constantly asks for you to cuddle with him.

You were very protective of Van Gogh to the point where you’d get into physical fights in order to “protect his honor.” You’d later have a crying Van Gogh tend to your injuries saying that you didn’t have to do these things for him with you explaining that you didn’t mind doing this for him.

On days where Van Gogh’s depression got really bad, you’d skip classes, opting to heading over to his dorm to paint and listen to music or simply lay in bed with him pressed to your chest. On days that you did paint, you’d often paint flowers (mostly sunflowers) since you knew he liked them a lot.

You’ve got to admit, Van Gogh’s hair is soooo soft. Like it has no right being as soft as it is. And is smelled so nice. When he would take his bandages off there was no stopping you from running your hands through his orange hair, feeling the silky hair slip in between your fingers.

Smut:

Van Gogh maybe horny, but he’s not like the normal horny. He’s like the lonely type of horny where he doesn’t just want sex but something behind it all. You didn’t blame him since you were very much the same way in the sense that you wanted feelings behind the actions.

The two of you have never had sex-sex yet, just oral since that was all you two were comfortable with.

It wasn’t long into the relationship that you realized that Van Gogh was more of a tits guy than a booty one. It didn’t matter if you have big titty, little titty or no titty at all he loved resting his face against your chest. Most of the time it wasn’t sexual, but the few times it was...

The first time the two of you had done anything of that nature he had admitted that he wasn’t sure what to since he was a virgin, not to your surprise. At the time you were also a virgin but knew more about the topic than he did so you took the lead.

You had suggested taking a shower with him first to get used to each other’s body and he agreed. It was awkward at first, but the two of you eventually got into it and even started making out in the shower.

That lonely kind of horny showed itself to when when you were on top of him, gently kissing his neck and caressing his chest. He had started tearing up and you were worried you had pushed him too far but he comforted you, explaining a few things to you.

Dear God the noises he could make will be the death of you. They were sexy yet cute and just perfect. You always loved hearing them.

When ever you’d go down on him, he’d have his hands tangled in your hair, but he never pulled it or pushed your head; he would just rest them there and gently thread his fingers through it.

When he comes he lets out a strangled moan that almost sounds like a cry and the way that he looks down at you, with love and admiration, makes your stomach do flips and you can’t help but kiss him. He never minded the taste of himself on your lips.

When he’d go down on you, it was almost impossible for you to be quiet. Van Gogh didn’t seem to mind, however, and even encouraged you to be loud.

Like Van Gogh, you’d also thread your fingers in his hair, never pulling or pushing. You’d only end up gripping it when you’d come.

Speaking of which: When you’d come, your whole body would clench up before relaxing. One time you had accidentally squished Van Gogh’s head between your thighs, but didn’t mind. He didn’t necessarily like it, but he was understanding.

Aftwards the two of you would just lie in bed together, holding each other until you drifted to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope this is the kind of thing you wanted. I’ve never really done headcanons like this before and I feel like I made them a bit too long but, what can I do? I’m used to writing long fics.

#clonehigh #clone high #clone high van gogh #clone high vincent van gogh #clone high x reader #van gogh x reader #vincent van gogh x reader #vincent van gogh #van gogh headcanons #clone high headcanons #clone high van gogh x reader #thewildsophia writes

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robin-the-enby · 3 years

Text

Beautiful things

Pairing: Vincent van Gogh x reader

Summary: A walk with your favourite classmate turns into a confession.

Warnings: fluff that may rot your teeth

A/N: I know very well that oc fics are amazing, but we all need some reader inserts with this tiny dood. And I am here to satiate your hunger. Requests are open!

An artist hungry for revenge. What crimes will he commit?

* * * * *

Vincent van Gogh. The man who owned your heart. No, not the original van Gogh, but rather his clone and coincidentally your classmate.

Your friends often asked you just why did you like him and you could offer them only a shocked stare, your eyebrows raising nearly to the top of your head.

How could you not like him?? You might sound cliche, but he just... he just wasn't like other guys. There was just something about the way he held himself, that awkward, shy appearance of his that made him look so adorable.

Or the way he concentrated while working on his masterpieces. His face might not tell much, but you could see the plethora of emotions swirling inside those blue wells you liked so much to get lost in.

Or the way he never rejected anyone's presence, even though he rarely talked to anyone who happened to be close to him.

And his smile...Oh, his smile.

It rarely showed and yet, when you were lucky enough to see it, you instantlu melted into a puddle and the only thing you could feel were the butterflies in your stomach. And you just wished you could be the reason of his smile.

After a long, long period of pining (that you later on found out was mutual) you finally mustered enough courage to tell him all this.

He probably wasn't expecting such a detailed confession and in the end you both ended up in tears, tears of love.

You loved to watch him paint, because it was his passion and he loved to capture you and your passion into one of his paintings.

As good as van Gogh's portraits were, you could not unsee his love for nature. If he could, he would spent all his free time outside, just...existing.

It was summer break now, perfect time for new couples to bond. So far you went on many amazing dates together, but last time you proposed that on the next date you two could just kick back and relax.

Your tiny boyfriend immediately perked up, saying that he knows the perfect spot. And how could you say no to those excited blue eyes of his?

One love text messages filled week later you found yourself waiting for Vincent near his house. He looked so handsome in his brown boots, straw hat and a brown messenger bag, you couldn't help but hug him tightly to your chest. Fortunately he didn't mind, feeling comfortable enough to snuggle up to your chest.

Vincent took your hand and sheepishly said "It's a bit of a walk, but you don't mind right?" You smiled and shook your head. How bad could a walk be?

"Vincent, when you said 'a walk', I didn't think it would mean a tour!" you said jokingly, huffing a laugh as sweat rolled down your forehead. Normally you wouldn't mind a 45 minute walk through nature, especially not with Vincent as your company, but the hot weather was killing you.

"I know, I know, but trust me, it'll be worth it once we get there! You'll see!" Stammered the young clone apologetically from few meters ahead of you.

Roughly ten minutes later Vincent jogged up to you, excited like a puppy "Alright, close your eyes (Y/N), and don't open them until I tell you." You did as he said and the next thing you feel is Vincent taking your hand and tugging you through the forest you were currently walking through.

"Van Gogh, I swear to God, if I fall because of you, you're a dead man, understand?" From in front of you you heard him say "Loud and clear!" and then he mumbled a warning about a root you were approaching.

It wasn't long before you could feel sun hitting your closed eyes and you couldn't help but scrunch up your face, to which Vincent giggled accompanied by that cute snort of his.

He let go of your arm and stood next to you as he said in a low voice "Alright, you can open them."

And the view sure was worth it, you had to give him that. You had no idea how the hell did Vincent find this place, but to find a place so pretty in this time was difficult.

Vincent led you to a lovely opening, a quiet meadow in the middle of woods, with a small pond a bit ahead of you.

"Wow, you truly outdone yourself van Gogh." you said in awe "How come you haven't painted this place? I'm sure it would look amazing." you turned to look at him. Vincent shrugged "Haven't had the time yet."

You nodded and wiped the sweat off your brow. Then you turned to look at the pond "How deep do you think it is?" Vincent turned to look with you and shrugged "Not much, it's more of a big puddle than anything."

But that was enough for you. Soon enough the two of you were sitting on the edge of the small pond or...really big puddle, as Vincent called it, your legs resting comfortably in the cool water. You guessed that there could be water up to your knees and loads of mud that could swallow you whole.

As you made yourself comfortable on the fluffy meadow grass, Vincent sat next to you and pulled a sketchbook out from the messenger bag he carried all the way here.

"You could've painted it today, y'know?" you told him, but he only shook his head "No, I want to concentrate on us today." he said as he started sketching the little piece of heaven. "And you'll remember how it looks here?" Vincent only nodded his head.

The atmosphere was peaceful, almost lulling you to sleep, the only sounds being the slight hum of the wind blowing through trees and the scratching of Vincent's pencil. It was....beautiful.

Suddenly a question came up in your mind. You turned to look at your beloved boyfriend "What do you think is beautiful Vincent?"

Vincent stopped sketching at looked at you in slight surprise, caught off guard by this particular question. He thought for a bit before responding "Well, nature is very beautiful. And all the moments I spend with you are beautiful. And...When those two combine like this...That's even more beautiful."

A stupid smile formed on your face, your cheeks heating and the urge to smother him in love becoming irresistible.

"Well what about you?" Vincent piped up.

"I also think nature is beautiful." you said slowly, Vincent nodding in agreement "Literature is also beautiful... But I guess the most beautiful thing in my world...is you."

Vincent whipped his head to look at you, his cheeks turning bright red "What, what do you mean? How?" he said meekly.

You smiled sweetly at him "Well, you yourself are so beautiful in so many ways, inside and outside. And when I'm with you, all those beautiful things that are sometimes so hard to see, are even better, just because of you." You started waving your hands in the air, showing him what you mean, not noticing the small tears welling up in his eyes "It's like there's all the beautiful stuff" you made a big circle in the air with your arms "and in the center, like kings in those medieval paintings, is you."

You barely had any time to properly breathe in, when Vincent laid down next to you, hugging you tightly and hiding his face in the crook of your neck, which quickly became wet with tears.

You slowly pulled your legs out of the pond, draping one of them over Vincent, one of your arms sneaking around him, the other tangling in his hair as you pressed soft kisses to the crown and top of his head and bandages, doing whatever you could to not shed tears yourself.

And as you held each other in the quiet piece of heaven, there was nowhere you'd rather be.

#clone high #clone high van gogh #vincent van gogh #clone high vincent van gogh #vincent van gogh x reader #clone high vincent van gogh x reader #clone high van gogh x reader #requests are open

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thewildsophia · 4 years

Text

.The Consequences of Consuming Paint. Clone High//Van Gogh x Reader

Trigger Warning:

Referenced self-harm, Attempted suicide, Talk about self-hatred.

A/N: I know this might be difficult to read, and if you don’t feel comfortable reading this kind of stuff then I recommend not, but I really felt that this was somewhat accurate to his character. The actual Van Gogh was depressed and tried to end his life multiple times so it felt only fitting that clone Van Gogh be the same way.

Suicidal!Van Gogh x Depressed!Reader

Word Count: 5151

~~~~~~~~~~

To put it simply, there was something wrong with Van Gogh. As of late, he seemed more irritable and tired, didn’t enjoy doing activities with you and, one of the more concerning to you, wasn’t eating as much. He was already a pretty small, thin guy, and the thought that he wasn’t eating made you worry more than normal.

You already knew Van Gogh was depressed, it was part of the reason you became friends, but it seemed that his symptoms were getting worse. With everything going on, you were scared that he would try to do something he’d regret.

You thought this because, like Van Gogh, you too were depressed and knew how impulsive people could become when they were hurting.

You were currently in Painting II with him. He was getting his work done, but he was lacking the normally present enjoyment he usually had. He seemed distracted, simply idly correcting a few mistakes in the piece he had made the day before. You had tried to start a conversation with him, but it was difficult to hold it since he wasn’t really interested, only offering a few word responses.

It left a bad taste in your mouth. Even if he wasn’t a very outgoing person, he would normally converse with you like there was no tomorrow.

You eventually left it alone, opting to work in silence for the rest of the class. He never made an effort to talk to you afterwards.

Class ends and you notice how slow Van Gogh gathers his things. You decide to help him, putting the paints and brushes he was using away. When you turned around you noticed that he had left before you could walk him out.

For the rest of the day you tried to get your work done in your classes, but you just couldn’t help but wonder if he was alright. At first you were simply worried about him, but after that class you were terrified. Since you two didn’t have anymore classes after that you tried to look for him in the halls while transitioning classes, but to no avail.

It was the end of the day and you at your lockers grabbing the books you needed to do your homework. You were planning to head over to Van Gogh’s dorm to check up on him before heading over to yours for the night. Before you close your locker, however, you felt a tap on the back of your shoulder. Turning around you were met with the blue eyes of Van Gogh.

“There you are!” You said while closing your locker, “I’ve been looking around for you.” You finished. He looked away a moment and scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah, sorry. I haven’t exactly been myself lately which…I’m sure you could tell.” He said, shifting from his right foot to his left, “I’ve had a lot to deal with recently and have had a crap ton of things on my mind. I just…wanted to thank you for being by me and supporting me all this time.”

You stayed silent; it was a technique you learned in psychology where if you stayed quiet someone would keep talking. And sure enough, he did.

“So, thank you for always being there to help me,” He looked up at you and smiled.

But it wasn’t right.

It seemed a bit forced and the emotion behind it didn’t convey joy or happiness, but despair and regret instead. It was a smile you knew all too well, and you had a pretty good idea about what he was planning to do. However, you decided to play dumb.

“Of course,” You started, “I’ll always be here for you, Vincent. Even if you’re at your lowest, I’ll be there to dust you off and pick you back up. I’d…be lost if something were to happen to you.” You said, hoping that your choice of words would get him to reconsider. You saw his smile drop slightly.

“Is there…something you need to talk about?” You ask after a moment.

“No, no, I just wanted to thank you for standing by me,” He said, “You were really the best friend someone could ask for.”

Were.

“Thanks,” You said, trying to ignore the nauseous feeling you had in your stomach, “If you ever need to talk just stop by my dorm or send me a text, got it?” You ask him, receiving a nod.

“I’ve got to get going. My teachers didn’t hesitate to assignment a bunch or work.” He said turning around and walking away.

“Alright, see you tomorrow!” You shouted before he left. He only turned to look at you and smiled. He turned back around and continued walking.

He already had his mind set.

You felt that coiling in your stomach and this time you actually felt like you were going to be sick. You gave him some time to get to his dorm -- you knew how long it took since you and him constantly walked there after school -- before you made your way there.

You shifted on your feet a moment before giving a hesitant knock. You waited a moment before knocking harder, calling his name.

“Van Gogh? You there?” You shouted, “It’s me, Y/N.” You waited another minute before you decided that it had been long enough. You quickly searched for the key to his dorm, finding it and opening the door quickly.

The lights were off but you could see the mass on the bed that you assumed was Van Gogh. You turned the lights on and quickly made you way over to him. While running over there, a note on his desk caught your attention.

You looked over at it briefly, only reading the first line and you quickly realized what it was.

His suicide letter.

You quickly looked over at him, ignoring the tears that were welling up in your eyes, grabbed his shoulder and shook him.

“Van Gogh?” You called out, shaking him a bit harder, but there was no response from him. That sinking feeling returned as you quickly removed the covers finding no blood, but instead…paint?

You looked down at your feet and saw that, in your haste, you had been standing on empty tubes of paint, most of them being yellow.

“What did he…?” You questioned, before seeing an empty bottle of turpentine.

“Did you…!” You asked out loud before checking his mouth and, sure enough, there was a collage of different colors. Blues, greens, purples, reds and yellows -- all matching the tubes scattered around the floor -- mashed together, illustrating his despair.

“You-IDIOT.” You shouted as you quickly picked him up, relieved at how warm he still was, and made your way to his bathroom.

You gently placed him in the bathtub and turned on the water. You got in, sitting behind him and placing him in between your legs. You held him close to you with your left arm as you, despite wanting to, shoved your fingers into his mouth.

You hated doing this, but you knew that this had to be done. You had to get the paint and turpentine out of his body.

It was disgusting, feeling the warm paint slide between your fingers as you pushed them even farther into his mouth. You didn’t even try to hold the tears and sobs back as your attempt to help him seemed to fail.

“Van Gogh…VINCENT!” You sobbed into the back of his neck as you kept prodding at his throat. “PLEASE. Please. please, please, please, please, please…don’t leave me.” You cried.

“Please…I love you. I love you so much so PLEASE…stay. Stay so that I can tell you that to your face.” You were still screaming, sobbing and about to pull your fingers out in defeat before it happened.

You felt it, warm and wet, before you actually saw it.

A jumble of bright colors, with the distinct color of vomit, decorated your arm and was quickly dragged down the drain by the water.

“Van Gogh…” You said, removing your fingers and listening to him cough for a moment.

“Who…?” He asked quietly. You barely heard him over the running water. Relief quickly ran through your system, tangling with your anxiety and fear, as you wrapped both arms around his middle section, feeling him take gulping breaths of air.

“Me-It’s me. It’s Y/N.” You said while gently rocking him in the water. The paint and vomit had stained your long sleeve shirt and was most likely getting on Van Gogh’s coat, but you didn’t care.

“Van Gogh,” You said as his breath evened out, “Vincent, I love you. I love you so damn much. Don’t…don’t leave me. Not like this. Never like this.” You said as the tears of relief mixed with the ones of despair on your cheeks. Neither of you moved or spoke for a moment before you felt his arms on your own that were around his waist.

“Okay,” He began, his voice a lot more hoarse than normal, “Okay, I’ll stay.” He said while shifting in your arms to face you. His own cheeks, although difficult to tell with the water, were stained with tears. His face was flush and eyes red and you assumed you looked the same.

“I love you,” Were his next words, “I love you too.” You felt that coiling return and this time you didn’t ignore it. It didn’t feel bad this time, but instead somewhat enjoyable. You pressed him to your chest, embracing him tightly. He returned the favor, wrapping his arms around your neck. You heard and felt him cough a few times on you but it didn’t bother you.

You stayed in there, water pouring over you, until your fingers pruned up and the water turned cold. When he pulled away there were paint stains on your shirt where his face had been pressed into it. You stood up, turning off the water and helped Van Gogh out of the tub.

The two of you awkwardly stood there for a moment. Both of you were soaked to your core. After a moment, Van Gogh spoke up.

“I’ll…get us some dry clothing.” He began ringing out his clothes over the tub and, hesitantly, started to take his coat off. Upon doing so revealed the orange-cream color v-neck shirt you had bought for him. It also revealed the soaking wet bandages that covered both of his forearms. You frowned, but didn’t stare since you knew how annoying it was.

He squeezed the rest of the water out before saying,

“I’ll be right back.” He left the room and you stood there for around a minute before the door opened again.

In his arms were a few towels, a plastic bag and clothing. He handed them to you explaining,

“Sorry, these were the only clothes I had that would fit you since you’re taller than me and all.” He scratched the back of his neck, “Uh, I’ll leave you to it.” He said awkwardly before leaving the bathroom again.

You hadn’t even looked at the clothes until after you had stripped down and dried yourself off. Upon inspecting them you encountered a problem.

They were short sleeved.

Specifically a short sleeved t-shirt and pair of shorts.

You felt yourself frown as you looked at the clothing and then at yourself in the mirror. You may be a lot better than you were before, but you were still very, very, self conscious about how many scars you had. You were especially worried at how Van Gogh would react to seeing them after…that.

You had never told him you were depressed and telling him that you were this way wasn’t exactly appealing to you.

Nonetheless, you put the clothes on deciding that revealing clothes are better than wet ones. You placed your wet clothing in the bag before making your way to the door. You hesitated a moment, before slowly cracking the door open and looking out.

You spotted Van Gogh in new clothes undoing the wrappings on his head before he noticed you peeking out.

“Do the clothes fit?” He asked, pausing his movements.

“Yeah…” You said opening the door all the way and stepping out. His eyes widened and his shoulders slouched, his hands still in his hair. It was quiet for a moment.

“So uh…” You started after a minute, “I guess you were bound to find out someday. I had just hoped it wouldn’t be like…this.” You said, gesturing to yourself. He looked away from you, returning to unwrapping his head bandages. Once done he pulled the bandages away, revealing his ear to you.

It actually wasn’t as bad as people had said it was. A little over half of it was gone and there was dark scarring around the edge of it, yet it still didn’t look “disfigured” per say; just different.

“I’m not really one to judge,” Van Gogh said, pulling you out of your thoughts, “I’m sure you could tell by now that I’m no better.” He finished with a nervous chuckle. He idly picked at the bandages around his arms as he met your gaze.

Neither of you were sure what to do, simply looking at the other wait for them to do something.

“Here,” You said after it became clear that he wasn’t going to say anything, “Let me help you rewrap everything.” You made your way over to him and sat down next to him on the bed. Hesitantly, he offered you an arm and you gently began unwrapping it. You felt his eyes on you the whole time.

It was an all too familiar sight, one that usually didn’t faze you anymore. It did this time since you knew that this was Van Gogh and that he did this to himself. You couldn’t help the tears that began to well up in your eyes, but you did your best to ignore them. It was only when one of them hit Van Gogh’s did you do something.

“Y/N?” Van Gogh asked but you held a hand up quieting him.

“I’m fine.” You said, gesturing for him to give you his other arm. He did, and you began unwrapping that one too. You held both arms together and briefly looked at Van Gogh to see him staring directly at some of your own.

Normally, something like this bothered you, but it didn’t this time.

You rubbed his hands with your thumbs before you leaned down to press a kiss to both of them. When you looked up you saw Van Gogh staring at you with tears in his eyes. You took both of his hands into your own before stroking his cheek. You pressed a kiss to his other cheek before standing up.

“Where do you keep your bandages?” You asked.

“In my desk. Middle drawer on the left.” He answered and you made your way over there. The note briefly caught your attention before you turned it back to finding the bandages. You scrounge around for a moment before finding what you were looking for. You walked back over and set the bandages, along with rubbing alcohol and cotton pads, on the bed. You brought his hands into your lap before you got to work, first cleaning them with alcohol and covering them. You did your best to ignore the small whimpers of pain Van Gogh would make when you cleaned a particularly fresh cut.

Once done, you threw the used cotton pads away and returned the other supplies to the drawer. You looked back over to Van Gogh noticing that he had curled up into himself, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his chin on his knees.

“Hey,” You said, getting his attention, “Let me cook you some dinner. You’ll feel better afterwards.” He looked away a moment before asking,

“Do you think we could cover my ear first?”

“No,” You began and for a moment he looked taken aback, “Wait for your hair to dry first and then we’ll cover them. Otherwise the bandages will just get wet again.” He frowned, but you could tell he understood.

“You know, I always thought you had cut off the whole ear, not just part.” You say. He looks up, “This is honestly an upgrade. In my opinion at least; it gives you character, makes you stand out in a good way.” You say while slowly walking over to him before taking him into your arms.

“Come on, don’t look so sad.” You said while laying back on the bed on your side, Van Gogh pressed against you. He wrapped his arms around you and held onto you tighter as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. You stayed quiet for a moment before speaking up.

“Look,” You started, feeling his eyes land on you, “I of all people probably understand what you’re going through. Hell, I probably know what you’re thinking right now. Probably something like, ‘What do I do now?’ and ‘Where do I go from here?’. Something like that, right?”

He looks at you shocked before asking, “How do you know this?” It seemed that he realized the answer before you actually said it because you saw his jaw snap shut after asking.

“I…also tried to, you know, end my life. Twice actually.” You added with a nervous chuckle. “I’ve been doing my best to get better and, even though I’m not all the way there, I’ve begun to like living again. And I think that’s possible for you to achieve that too.” You look down at him and notice how the tears had fallen from his eyes, but he had a blank stare.

He was probably spaced out you figured. You knew he heard what you said but he just could really respond.

“Listen, I know you don’t want to talk about this tonight and we don’t have to, but let me take care of you. Please?” You explain. He shifts in your arms a moment before saying,

“Alright.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead and, reluctantly, pulling away from him.

“Great. I’ll cook some dinner for us.” You walked over to his kitchen to see what you could make. Upon looking around, you noticed that he didn’t have much to cook with, most of the things he had were prepackaged or frozen.

“Wow, you’ve got nothing.” You say under your breath as you close the cabinet, “No wonder you’ve gotten so thin.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He apologies from the bed. After a moment of thought an idea pops into your head.

“Alright, put your shoes on, we’re going to my place.” You said as you made your way over to the door, grabbing your backpack and bag of wet clothes.

“What?” He asks.

“You heard me,” you said, grabbing his usual black dress shoes, “Dinner’s at my place tonight.”

“But,” He said pausing for a moment, “I really don’t want to go out there with my ear…exposed like this.” You stared at him a moment while handing him his shoes.

“Look at me,” You stared, “I don’t want to go out like this either, but I was going to have to eventually. So, we’ll go out together, exposed.”

He was quiet for a moment before he sighed.

“Alright, let’s go.” He said while putting his shoes on. The two of you walked out and thankfully there wasn’t anyone in the hallways at the moment. The two of you made your way up to your dorm, only running into a few people. Once there you set your things by the door and made your way to the kitchen. Van Gogh followed you and offered to help you, which you gladly accepted.

You looked around to see what you could whip up quickly and decided to make a simple beef stew. You gave him a few vegetables asking him to peel them before you got to work cutting them, along with the beef, up and cooking them. You added the beef broth to everything and had to wait around 15 minutes.

In that time, the two of you had decided to lay on your bed, holding each other ‘til the alarm went off. Both of you had gotten up and walked into the kitchen. You had Van Gogh sit while you cut up some bread and served both of you.

The two of you ate in silence for a bit and it was nice. You were happy knowing that he was eating something, especially after having to empty his stomach like that. You also made sure he was drinking a lot of water.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Van Gogh said after a while, “I really appreciate this. And I’m sorry about what happened. About…you having to find me like that.” You felt your stomach clench at his words.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for,” You started. Van Gogh looked as if he was going to protest, but you continued before he could, “When people are in pain the way that you are, the way that I was, they do impulsive things; things that don’t accurately reflect them. So, don’t apologize to me, there’s nothing for you to be sorry for.” You finished and he looked down at his empty bowl.

“Are you finished?” You asked as you stood up with your bowl. “Yeah.” He said and you took his bowl to the sink. You briefly looked over to the clock that read 9pm. You looked back over at Van Gogh, watching him idly trace the bandages on his arm. At least he wasn’t scratching them.

“Do you need any night clothes?” You asked. He looked over at you confused before answering,

“No?”

“You sure?” You asked, “Because you’re spending the night.” You added and you smiled at the blush that spread across his face.

“I-Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to take up any space here.” He asked nervously.

“It would be my pleasure to have you stay here with me.” You said walking over to him and pressing a kiss to his forehead. You ran a hand through his bright orange hair before saying,

“We can wrap your ear up now if you’d like. Your hair’s dry enough.” He smiled before looking you in the eye and saying,

“You know, I think I’ll leave it as it is.” You smiled before hugging and picking him up.

“Thank God, because your hair is soooo soft.” You said as you rubbed your cheek against the top of his head. You placed him down, giggling at the bright peach color that dusted his pale cheeks.

“Come on, I have some unused toothbrushes you can have.” You said leading him over to your bathroom. You dug around your bathroom cabinet before finding a still packaged toothbrush and handing it to him.

“Are you sure you don’t want a different set of clothes? I know mine will fit you.” You said before you exited the bathroom.

“I’m sure, but thank you again.” You heard him shout through the door.

You waited for him to finish. A few minutes later he walked out of the bathroom. You turned the lights out before getting into bed. You noticed how Van Gogh just stood by the bathroom door until you motioned for him to join you.

“Get over here, I’m not gonna have you sleep on the floor.” You said and he started to walk over to the bed. He slowly, almost hesitantly, got into the bed with you. He stayed close to the edge of the bed farthest from you.

“Do you want to…” You started, opening your arms. He looked at you for a moment before quickly scooting over and into your arms. You wrapped him up in the blankets and gently rocked him when you heard him quietly cry.

“It’s alright. It’s okay to cry,” You say as you run a hair through fluffy, orange hair, “I’ll make sure you get help, okay?” You felt him nod into your shoulder.

It was quiet for a while, you had assumed he had fallen asleep, until he asked,

“Do they have to know?” Before you can ask who ‘they’ are he clarifies, “My foster parents. Do they have to know about all of this?”

You knew what he wanted to hear, but you had to be honest with him. You sighed before answering him.

“Yeah, they have to know. Along with the school and your general physician,” You said and you felt his grip on you tighten.

“But don’t worry,” You said trying to comfort him, “It’s really not as bad as it sounds, and I’ll be there to help you through it.”

“I just don’t understand,” He said, catching your attention, “Why would you try to…end your life? You’re so…perfect, I just…don’t understand how someone like you could feel this way.” You looked down at him in the dark.

“The one thing about mental illness is that it doesn’t discriminate,” You begin, “It doesn’t matter how great, or shitty, your life is; this is just something that can affect the best of us.” You explained. He remained quiet, so you decided to keep speaking.

“Something I was told that helped me understand this is that a butterfly is unable to see how beautiful the colors of its wings are, but us as observers are able to see the colors of its wings. Using that logic, people are always able to see the good and beauty in others, but not in themselves,” You explained to him. You trailed a hand through his hair, traced his jaw and tilted his chin up to look at you, “But I’ll be here to tell you how beautiful and…and perfect you are.”

You saw his face flush as tears gathered in his eyes.

“God,” He whispered looking away, “Sometimes it's hard to believe that you love me.”

You grabbed his face and quickly pressed a kiss to his lips. He was stiff before melting into your embrace. His lips were chapped, yet oddly soft and you taste the lingering tang of vomit. I was kinda gross, but you didn’t care as much as you thought you would.

It was gentle and chaste and you pulled away stroking his cheek saying,

“Then I’ll keep saying it ‘til you believe it.” And that’s what did it for him. He let out a choked cry before full-on sobbing into your chest.

You let him and only when his crying seemed to calm down did you say anything.

“Are you feeling better now?” You asked, receiving a nod from Van Gogh, “Good. Now, get some rest. You need it.”

“Okay.” He whispered before curling back into your embrace. You pressed him tighter to yourself, resting your chin on his head and continuing to run your hand through his hair. It was something he seemed to like since you noticed how he would lean into your hand.

It was quiet and before you knew it you had drifted off, asleep with Van Gogh in your arms. In all the time you knew him, you never thought you’d ever have this.

~~~~~~~

You woke up the next morning sometime around 8:30am. Classes start at 8:45am but you didn’t make a move to get up or to wake Van Gogh up. You simply stayed there with him, stroking his hair again.

Seriously, that may have just become your new favorite activity. Running your hand through his soft, bright orange hair, feeling the weightless locks slip in between your fingers.

You were the only one awake for a few minutes before Van Gogh slowly opened his pale cyan eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them. He looked up at you and smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself at the dopy look on his face. His smile vanishes, however, as he quickly asks,

“Shoot, what time is it?” He sits up in the bad and makes a move to leave but you grab him by the shoulder, stopping his movements.

“It doesn’t matter, we’ve got the day off.” You say while pulling him back into you.

“What are you talking about,” He begins, letting himself be pulled back into your embrace, “It’s a Thursday.”

“Maybe so,” You start, sitting up in bed with him, “but we have some things to…workout.” You finish, rubbing the back of your neck. He shifted in your arms before say,

“Okay.”

The two of you talked it out, he explained everything that was happening and why he did what he did. In turn, you gave him a run down about what the two of you would have to do now. You also explained how he might have to spend some time in a physical and then mental hospital due to the severity of everything that transpired.

When you were done explaining everything, he was silent, most likely processing things.

“I know that this is a lot to be introduced to so fast. Honestly, I wish I had known the first time what was going to happen with me.” You added with a slight chuckle to try and ease the atmosphere. I didn’t work seeing as Van Gogh seemed as tense as he was before, “Look at me.” You told him, and he did.

“Listen, I really wish I could say that this will be an easy thing for you to do, because it won’t be. I’ve been getting help for over a year and a half now and I still struggle sometimes, but I’m so much better than it was before,” You explained and, for once, he seemed interested, “I still don’t love myself, but I definitely don’t hate myself anymore, and that’s something I want you to be able to say about yourself. Because I love you, and I want you to be able to love yourself.”

You watched as tears began to well in his eyes. He quickly lunged at you and pressed his lips against your and morning breath had never tasted better than in that moment. You were momentarily taken back at his boldness before kissing him back with just as much intensity.

When he pulled away you could see the tear tracks on his face and feel the cooling of his tears on your own.

“Thank you,” He said, “I love you. I love you so damn much Y/N.” He finished, cupping your face in his petite hands. You smiled, pressing your forehead to his and cupping his face.

“I love you too, Vincent Van Gogh.” You said and you ignored the ache in your cheeks as your smile widened when his face broke out in the lovely peach color. You pressed another kiss to his lips, one he quickly reciprocated. You pulled away, getting out of bed and stretching.

“Come on,” You said looking back at him smiling,

“I believe we owe your foster parents a visit.”

#clonehigh #clone high #clone high van gogh #clone high vincent van gogh #clone high x reader #van gogh x reader #clone high van gogh x reader #thewildsophia writes

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thewildsophia · 4 years

Text

.Fun Sized. Clone High//Van Gogh x Reader

I have made another. Apologizes for spelling/grammar errors.

Van Gogh x Tall!Reader

Word Count: 3860

~~~~~~~~~~

There wasn’t anything you loved more than just lying in bed, Van Gogh pressed to your chest, his short arms wrapped around your neck. Your arms would always find their way around his waist with your chin resting on his head, his bandages scratching your neck. You especially loved the way he’d subconsciously press his face harder into your chest when he was asleep.

He’s simply small, and you love that about him. That, along with you being taller than average, makes it easy for you to cuddle with him.

Unfortunately, it was only 3rd period and you were currently stuck in English. Without him. But on the bright side, you got to see him next period in Painting II and then you’d have lunch with him.

Class ended and you were the first out of there. It only took a minute to get to the art classrooms, but you would often wait outside for Van Gogh since you knew he was coming down from the second floor to the first.

There was only a minute before class started and Van Gogh was nowhere to be seen, so you decided to go up and find him. You knew you’d probably be late to class but you didn’t really care. As you walked up the staircase to the tech wing, you overheard a conversation before you opened the door to the second floor.

Upon opening the door you’re met with a sight that absolutely enraged you. Pinned against the wall by JFK was Van Gogh, with a few other clones around watching it all unfold. This was one of the more secluded parts of the school so there weren’t any teachers around. You didn’t care to listen to what they were saying to him, you just walked to them, that anger from before boiling over. Van Gogh seemed to notice you approaching because he began to call out name before you cut him off.

“Y/-” You had turned and grabbed JFK by his collar, who let go of Van Gogh in the process, and pinned him against the wall. You were only a few inches shorter than him, but you were a lot stronger than you led people to believe. The other clones who were nearby had scurried off as soon as you had grabbed him.

“Kennedy.” You started, unable to help the sneer that formed on your lips. You felt Van Gogh’s hands grip at your waist, his cheek against your back.

“If I ever see you lay a finger on Van Gogh again, I will personally make sure you live up to your clone dad’s ‘legacy’.” You finished. You briefly glance behind you, your eyes meeting with Van Gogh’s. However, in that moment, JFK had managed to free his right hand and knocked you in the left side of the jaw. You let go of him, stumbling back a bit.

“Y/N!” You heard Van Gogh cry. He had already let go of you and back away a few steps.

“Like I said earlier, short stack,” JFK began, “You can’t stand up for yourself. You’re always having people fight for you.” You rubbed your jaw before turning towards JFK.

“You wanna go, Kennedy? Right here, right now, let’s go.” You said standing up fully.

“No, Y/N, leave it! Let’s just go.” You hear Van Gogh say to you, but you didn’t listen. No one gets the last hit on you. JFK turns towards you before saying,

“Oh, you’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanna fight you.”

He tries to hit you with a left hook, you quickly dogging it. You managed to punch him in the left side of his face before you grabbed the back of his neck, bending him forward and kneeing him in the stomach. You heard him cough before letting go of him and backing up. He remains hunched over a moment before quickly standing straight and grabbing you by the arm, punching you just left of your nose. You felt the blood begin to rush from it, but you didn’t care all that much. You returned the favor, punching his in the soft spot right under the jaw. He lets go of you and before he can do anything you bring your foot up and hit him.

Right in the balls.

It was a cheap shot, one you weren’t too proud of, but you needed to end that fight. He collapses to his knees a strangled noise leaving his throat as you turn back around to face Van Gogh.

He was stiff, eyes wide with his hands over his mouth. He reached out to you and you bent down to let him touch your cheek. You flinched at his touch and he pulled his hand away.

“Are you alright?” He whispered behind his hand, “Is he gonna be ok?” He asked looking behind you.

“He’ll be fine. At least I think so.” You said standing up and looking back. He was laying on the floor, holding his nuts. You wipe your nose, grimacing at the blood now on your hand.

“Hey, get to class, alright? I’m gonna go get cleaned up.” You said while walking towards him.

“No, let me help you.” He said taking your hand.

“It’s fine.” You said while walking down the staircase together. “It’ll take me a bit and I don't want you being later than you already are.” You said with a smile. Van Gogh frowned as you two stopped in front of the classroom.

“All right.” He said letting go of your hand.

“Hey, don’t get sad on me now.” You said kissing the top of his forehead, making sure not to get any blood on him. “I’ll be back.” And with that you left heading to the bathroom.

You washed your face, being mindful of your nose. You went to check it and thankful it wasn’t broken. You patted it dry with a paper towel, noticing the bruise that was starting to form on the left side of your jaw and base of your nose. You then checked your wrist and, sure enough, it was also beginning to bruise where he had grabbed you. You checked the time on your phone.

“Damn, I’ve been in here for 15 minutes?” You thought as you straightened out your outfit, checking for blood on it. Finding none you made your way to class. Just as you’re about to leave you realize that there’s only really 20 minutes left and that it would be better just to take an absence than a tardy. You didn’t want to get detention for being late.

You decided to just send a text to Van Gogh telling him you were okay and that you’d be waiting for him at the cafe. You then just worked on homework for the next 20 minutes while waiting for class to end.

20 minutes later and Van Gogh was one of the first people there. He looked around a moment before you waved to him. He quickly made his way over to you, sitting down and embracing you tightly while pressing his face into your chest.

“God, why would you do that? What were you thinking?” He said, muffled by your shirt. He pulled back, still holding your hand, and that’s when you noticed the tears that were threatening to fall. “I was so worried about you.” He said, his voice wavering a bit at the end.

You stared at him for a moment, E/C eyes meeting light blue ones with a frown etched on your face.

“I’m sorry.” You said looking away from him. “It just-It bothers me, okay? It bothers me that people can make fun of you like it’s the best thing ever.” You bit your lip, squeezing his hand a little tighter before continuing.

“I just…really like you, and I hate it when people make fun of you when they think they can get away with it.” You admitted.

“Y/N…” he whispered. You looked over at him and saw him motioning for you to bend down for him. You did and he pressed a kiss to your cheek, being mindful of the bruise there.

“You don’t have to do this for me. I’m not worth all this trouble.” He said, his voice trailing off as he spoke.

“That’s not true!” You said sitting up straight and pressing his head against your chest. “You’re worth anything and everything. Don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise.” You look down at him, his cheek still smushed against you. You smiled, “You mean a lot to me, and I don’t mind doing this for you.”

You let go of him, stroking his cheek as he pulled back. He smiled while placing his hand over top of your’s.

“I…Thank you, Y/N.” Although it hurt, you smiled as that all too familiar feeling tightened in your chest.

“Hold on.” Van Gogh said while pulling away from you. He grabbed his lunch bag and from it he pulled out an ice pack, handing it to you.

“Thank you, love.” You said while pressing it against your cheek. It stung for a moment before the coolness began to soothe your aching jaw.

“You know, you really should see the nurse. He’ll probably be able to give you some pain killers.” Van Gogh said while pulling out his lunch.

“Yeah, but then he’ll start asking questions like ‘Who did this to you?’ and ‘When and where did this happen?’. Which are questions I really want to avoid answering.” You said while mocking the nurse’s voice.

“Alright, but eat something before we have to go.” He said while taking a bit of his oatmeal.

“Nah.” You said, “It’ll hurt to eat, all I have are solid foods.” He sighs.

“Want to trade?” He asks, beginning to slide his furnace of oatmeal towards you.

“Sure, I brought your favorite.” You said with a smirk as you pulled a bag of roasted chestnuts out and slid your lunch bag over to him. You made sure you always had a bag of them since you knew he enjoyed them a lot. They were one of the only things he ate, along with bread, butter, and coffee.

“Ooooo give me!” He said snatching the bag from you. You chuckled as you watched him eat. It was always nice knowing that he was eating.

You picked up the spoon and started eating yourself when a familiar group of students walked over to join you; Abe, Joan and Gandhi.

Abe seemed like such a scumbag to you. He acts like he cares about a girl’s personality when it comes to dating them, but really, he mainly cares about how they look.

You and Joan were actually pretty cool with each other. You’ve had some really nice conversations with her, some casual and others more serious. She was actually the one to convince you to join the team crisis hotline, which is where you met Van Gogh.

You’d have to thank her for that sometime.

And Gandhi…Don’t even get you started on Gandhi. You absolutely hated the stunt he pulled that night with Van Gogh when he was “drunk.” Sure, he ended up apologizing for it, but it was still a shitty thing to do to someone who was trying to get help.

It seemed that Van Gogh felt the same way that you did since you saw him give Gandhi a glare as he sat down, one that Gandhi clearly didn’t see.

“What brings you three here?” You ask. Joan was the first to speak.

“We saw what you did to JFK. That…was you right?” She asked.

“Maybe. What of it?” You replied.

“Well, I just wanted to see if you were alright, make sure he didn’t beat up on you too much-” Joan says before being cut off by Abe.

“Yeah. And thanks for beating the crap out of him. Someone had to put him in his place.” He says. You watch as he raises his hand for a high five and you just stare at it for a second before returning to eating the oatmeal.

“I didn’t do it for you.” You said between bites, “I did it for Van Gogh.”

“Jeez, what’s with you two. You got a crush on him or something?” Gandhi asks…loudly. A few people had turned and looked at you two before you glared at him, making him calm down a bit. You moved your hand over to Van Gogh’s under the table.

“Well,” Joan started while getting up, “Text me if you need help taking care of those bruises. And try to stay out of fights, Y/N.” The other two follow her as she turns around.

“Can do, Captain Ark.” You said with a mock salute. She smiles before walking away, Abe and Gandhi following her.

You and Van Gogh continue eating, the bell ringing soon after the two of you finished. You swapped bags again before leaving. Before you left his side, however, Van Gogh stopped you.

“Hey, stop by my dorm sometime this afternoon or evening. After you finish your work.” He asks. You agree before leaving to go to 6th period.

------------

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful with you simply going to your afternoon classes. The closer you got to the end of the day the more stares you got from people. Was the bruising really getting that bad?

On your way out of the school and to your dorm yo stopped by the bathroom to check your injuries.

Yikes. Those did not come out so pretty.

The one your jaw had formed into a mass of black and dark purple that consumed the entire lower half of your left jaw. Your nose made it look like you had been hit in the face by the butt of a rifle (A/N: that’s happened to me and I genuinely thought it had broken my nose, but thankfully it didn’t). Your wrist wasn’t too bad, although it hurt like hell to flex your hand.

You left the bathroom and quickly headed to your dorm to finish your work for the day. You had already finished some of it during lunch so it didn’t take as long normally. You had finished within three hours, all the while icing your injuries, changed and made you way over to Van Gogh’s dorm room. You had brought over some Morrocan stew, a vegetarian one of course, you made last night and rye bread for him.

You knocked on his door before he answered. His eyes widened with a frown on his face and didn’t greet you, simply moving aside to let you in.

“Hey,” You said, “I brought you dinner.” You held up the bag for him to see.

“Thanks just…leave it on my desk.” He says gesturing to his desk and sitting on his bed. You set the bag down and look at him. He looks terrible; the orange-red hair that was visible was a mess, his face flush and eyes somewhat red. You frowned as you pieced things together.

“What’s wrong?” You asked while sitting next to him on the bed. You noticed the way he slightly shifted away from you.You frown as you wait for him to answer.

His mouth opens a few times with nothing coming out and he makes a few strange faces before saying,

“Do you think I’m…short?” He asks and you look at him for a moment.

“I mean,” He continues, “I know I’m ‘short’, but do you think I’m short?” You eyebrows knit in confusion before you asked,

“Why do you ask?”

“Answer me.” He said firmly. You stared at him a moment, his gaze never meeting yours.

“No, I don’t think you’re short.” You answer him, “Now answer me. Why are you asking?” You saw him tense before sighing.

“It’s just…the conversation with JFK I had earlier,” He started and you felt your face grow warm with anger, “He said that you only hang around me because you felt bad for me, and that-that you stand up for me because you know I can’t stand up for myself.” He finished, his voice cracking at the end. Even though he wasn’t looking at you, you could still see the tears that were forming in his eyes.

“I guess he’s right.” He whispered while gripping the sheets, “Just look at what happened to you. This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t have to always get me out of trouble.”

“Vincent,” You whispered, “Look at me.” He reluctantly looked over at you, face flush with tears. You quickly grabbed him, pressing him into the bed with a surprised noise escaping his lips. You cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.

“Don’t you ever, and I mean ever, let anyone make you believe those kinds of things about yourself, do you hear me? You mean so much to me and you have no idea how much I love you.” You said, your face only mere inches away from his. “Do you understand? Don’t let anyone mess with your confidence like that.” Your jaw hurt from talking so much.

You saw him smile, his eyes beginning to water again. You brushed your hand through his hair, bending down to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you, Y/N. That really means a lot to me.” Van Gogh whispered. You could taste the saltiness of his tears on your lips when you pulled away from him.

You got off of him, letting him sit up on the bed. You pulled him into your lap, your chin resting on his head -- being mindful of your jaw -- and arms wrapped around his torso. You gently rocked him in your lap, whispering comforts to him. His face was pressed almost painfully into your chest but you didn’t mind. After a few minutes you asked him,

“Are you feeling better now?” That warm, all consuming, feeling began to well up in your chest when he pulled away, a smile present.

“Yeah. A lot better actually.” He said.

“Good. So if you wouldn’t mind…” You began, sliding him off of your lap, “I’m going to go heat up dinner for you.” You said grabbing the bag and heading over to his kitchen area.

“Do you still have work you need to do?” You ask while reheating the stew. While that was heating up you started cutting the bread.

“Yeah, but not much. It can wait.” He said while trying to look into the pot on the stove, “Ooo, is that rye?” He asks when his eyes drifted over to what you were cutting.

“Yes, and if you don’t have a lot of work left then just finish it now while this heats up.” You said, gently pushing him out. He pouts before going off to do his work.

10 minutes later and you were done preparing everything. You fixed a bowl of stew and bread for Van Gogh before heading over to him. He didn’t seem to notice you approaching him because he flinched when you placed the bowl to his right.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” You apologized sheepishly.

“It’s fine,” He says while grabbing a piece of bread and dipping it in the stew, “Thank you, liefde.*” You smiled before walking back into the kitchen to get yourself some.

The two of you ate in relative silence since he was still working. When he had finished he walked into the kitchen, placed his dishes in the sink and sat down with you. He handed an ice pack to you, which you quickly accepted.

“You’re a really good cook, you know that?” He says with a smile.

“You are too, when you choose to cook.” You said with a chuckle. Van Gogh checked the time while you continued to eat.

“It’s almost 10, did you want to stay here tonight?” He asked looking back at you.

“Only if you’re okay with it.” You say getting up and placing your bowl in the sink. You put the ice pack back in the freezer.

“Of course.” You hear him say behind you. You and him both walked back over to the bedroom, grabbing something to change into.

You have a small, plastic storage container in the corner of Van Gogh’s room that had a few pairs of clothing. Van Gogh has the same thing in your room too. You go into the bathroom to change, Van Gogh simply changing in his room. You knock on the door to tell him you’re coming out before exiting the bathroom wearing your night clothes. It wasn’t much; just a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Van Gogh wore much of the same, although opting for long sleeves and pants instead.

He quickly crawled into bed and motioned for you to join him.

“Let me put my clothes away first.” You said with a smile and a chuckle. Even in the dark you saw his pout and crossed arms as you made your way to the corner of the room. After putting your clothes away you made your way to the bed. You weren’t even half way under the covers when you heard him say,

“Come on,” While scooting closer to you, “Hold me!” He whined as he looked up at you with pleading eyes. You look at him for a moment in the dark before crossing your arms saying,

“You know what? No, I won’t hold you.” You turned your chin up and looked away from him. You heard him fake gasp and you couldn’t help the smile that creeped its way onto your face.

“Well! I can’t believe it. All this time I thought you loved me.” He said in mock sadness. “I suppose I was a fool to think you’d love me.”

You slowly turn your head to look at him before giggling and grabbing him from behind. You heard him laugh and my God that laugh was perfect. Lighthearted and full of joy and everything about it made you smile and laugh yourself.

His laughter died down when he felt you wrap your arms around him tighter, curling around him from behind. You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck as you breathed in the scent of his soft, orange hair. He shifted in your arms slightly but didn’t try to pull away. Not like he wanted to; he loved being the little spoon with you.

“Ow, careful of my wrist.” You whispered when he moved a little too much.

“Sorry.” He apologized.

It was quiet for a while, and for a moment it seemed like one of you would fall asleep; but right before one of you did you spoke up.

“Vincent,” You whispered.

“Yeah?” He answered after a moment.

“You’re not short,” You tell him, “And if JFK, or anyone for that matter, tells you otherwise I want you to tell them this.” You pause.

“Tell them what?” He asks.

“Tell them,” You begin, “‘I’m not short, I’m fun sized.’”

Although you couldn’t see it, Van Gogh’s face lit up with that gorgeous peach color as a smile graced his features.

“I will.”

~~~~~~~~~

“Liefde” - “Love” (Dutch)

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robin-the-enby · 2 years

Note

Heyyy!! I rlly love your account, could you do a clone high Van Gogh x reader?? I love the lil guy so much and cant find much content about him :(

could the reader be a closed off person who doesn’t let many people into their life or get close to them, I have a hard time letting down my walls so something about Vincent just approaching the reader and shyly starting a conversation and the reader rlly liking him and letting him into their life would be rlly nice

also if the reader could be an artist or writer that would be cool :) no problem if you don’t wanna do it!!

A thousand times yes!

Pairing: Vincent van Gogh x gn!reader

Warnings: use of they/them pronouns (putting this here just in case)

A/N: Ok, this was requested when requests were closed, but I kept it, just because I haven't written anything for Clone high in a long time, so consider yourself lucky :D Also this really reminds me of my Clone high oc, Art. So if you'd like to read about them, you can find the first two parts on my masterlist <3

(Y/N) - your name

(Y/S) - your surname

Another day, another lunch.

Another time spent by him starting at them from afar.

Others might say they weren't that interesting, but Vincent couldn't disagree more.

They met during one of his art classes. They came in to model and Vincent immediately felt drawn to them, despite not being sure why. It was everything about them that made him curious, something he wasn't used to. Especially with other people, since most of the time they made him wary more than anything.

But not them, no. Everything about them was peculiar, their pose, their expression, their eyes...oh god, their eyes. There was so much hidden emotion in them, it made Vincent feel like an explorer in front of a new adventure or a curious child standing in front of a dark forest.

After that fateful class, he found out he noticed them around more. Like in the school caffeteria for example. They always sat alone or with a small group of friends, but they always seemed reserved or didn't talk at all. Sometimes a very scary frown blossomed on their face at a sensitive question or a remark that hit too close to home.

And each lunch did Vincent sit just a tad closer to their usual table, but never quite gaining the courage to fully face his classmate.

But this day, he made up his mind. He was going to talk to them. No buts, no excuses. And so before he gave himself the chance to talk himself out of it yet again, he got up and marched straight to their table with a determined expression set on his stubbly face.

He stopped right next to them, his lunch in hand. They quietly raised their head and looked at him with an unsure expression "Can I help you?" they asked. Vincent's determination instantly dissapeared as he got out, not without struggle "Is this seat taken?" he more mumbled than said and they smirked "Sure thing."

Vincent awkwardly sat across them, both continuing to eat their lunch in quiet. While Vincent was beating himself up for not knowing what to say next, they took a bite out of their lunch and raised their head once again "I remember you." Vincent whipped his head up from his meal to look at them "Re-really?" he asked, shocked. They noticed him? When? Oh god, he hoped they hadn't noticed him staring at them.

His worries were soothed soon enough though, when they said "Yeah, you're van Gogh, right? I remember you from art class when I volunteered to pose that one time." Vincent blushed and shyly asked "How do you know my name?" they grinned "Dude, everyone was talking about you when you made that sick painting of Gandhi that one time!" they exclaimed and giggled. If Vincent wasn't blushing then, he sure was now.

"Yeah, can't stand the guy." he mumbled and looked to the side. They only shrugged "He's alright. He can be a douchebag sometimes though." they nodded. After that, they looked teasingly at Vincent "Any other questions?" Vincent kept looking away as he nodded his head "What's your name?" They were quite shocked, not expecting such kind of a question. But Vincent seemed innocent enough, so they figured telling him their name wouldn't hurt "(Y/N) (Y/S)."

At the sound of their name, Vincent perked up "(Y/S?) Like the writer (Y/S)?" they laughed softly at his enthusiasm "Yeah..."

After that day, Vincent kept meeting (Y/N) at lunch, eventually mustering up the courage to ask if they want his number, to which they agreed, much to his joy. They texted each other nearly every day, if they didn't have any exams to study for. After some time they started meeting outside of school too, making various trips to gain inspiration, (Y/N) for their writing, Vincent for his painting.

Just as Vincent's feelings for the writer blossomed, so did (Y/N)'s feelings for the short painter. He was sweet, kind and most importantly genuine. He respected their boundaries and so did they when it came to his. There was just so much mutual understanding in their friendship, they felt like they had known him forever and they only hoped he felt the same. But they were scared. They were hurt by their closest ones in the past, who's to say that won't happen with Vincent too? They knew what he did to Gandhi, even though the little jerk deserved it.

They felt scared and insecure. But they couldn't get Vincent out of their head. Even their writing was starting to center around him. Finally, they told themselves they had to put a stop to this madness.

So (Y/N) did the only thing they could think of. They approached the only person they could trust. This person earned their trust and it took a long time for (Y/N) to open up to them, and they still weren't at a point where they would trust that person with their life, but they were very close. Close enough they trusted them with their love troubles.

After hanging out with them for the afternoon, they agreed that you only live once and that they should go for it and not worry about the outcome.

So when in the evening (Y/N) came home, they sat at their desk and started writing away all their feelings. They meant for it to be a short note, but it turned out longer than expected, their whole heart poured onto the paper. (Y/N) sighed and with trembling hands they put the note, or should we say letter, into a envelope.

The next day they came to school early so that they could drop the note into Vincent's locker. Then they hid just behind the corner to see his reaction, curiousity eating away at them.

Finally, the man of the hour arrived. He unlocked his locker, when (Y/N)'s letter fell out. They watched as Vincent oh so carefuly opened the envelope and unfolded the letter within. They saw his eyes scan the paper once, twice, slowly welling up with tears as he did.

(Y/N) quietly tiptoed behind him and after he was done and only clutched the piece of paper to his chest, they coughed. Vincent whirled around, a big, toothy smile blooming on his face. Quickly he threw himself into their embrace, not caring if anyone saw, that great was his joy. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!!!" he cried into their chest. As the two now lovers embraced each other, a letter fell gracefully to the ground.

Dear Vincent,

There is something sitting heavy on my chest and has been for a while now. It seems my heart decided to let you in, although I tried to fight it many times. Your kindness, empathy and caring personality tore the doors to my soul open, only for you to waltz right in and make yourself at home. My mind is open to you, every secret I kept locked is now yours too. I only wish you let me share your heart, just like I am ready to share mine. It is you who holds the key to my heart now, your new forever home. Do you wish to enter?

Love,

(Y/N)

#clone high #oneshot #clone high vincent van gogh #vincent van gogh #ch vincent van gogh #vincent van gogh x reader #vincent van gogh x you #fluff

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