꧁𝐶𝑎𝑛𝑣𝑎𝑠꧂ {Artistic MK & Red Son} (QueerPlatonic Yandere)

Muse

TW: Body Disfiguration or Horror(?), Assault, Toxic Relationship, Mature Themes, and Toxic Mindset .

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Standing in front of the Museum, Red Son noticed how the artist had been frequently asking him out on casual hangouts, or dates as his Parents, has stated it.

It'll always be an Art Exhibit, Art Con, or anything related to art, The dates just mostly consist of them sightseeing the numerous range of artworks displayed on downtown musuems.

"Why are you showing me this paintings?"

The crimson-eyed demon, questioned curiously. His hands, tying his equally red hair, into an uptight, yet long pony tail, using the yellow ribbon, that was around his wrist as a makeshift hair tie.

For weeks, He'd noticed that the hangouts we're getting more and more frequent, that it seemed more of an obligation, instead of feeling like a hang out.

The demon, always felt stiff around the artist.

Red Son's melancholy eyes scanned the entire painting, giving the brunette a puzzled expression, on why he was being shown, a morbid artwork

It was a long painting, a standard size for something horizontal, with the center of attention being an adrogynous figure; showing off their sickly pale skin, as if it was trapped, in a tiny compartments for decades with no windows or doors, making the skin, lack any life.

But, It does seemed flawless at same time,
His warm orange eyes, trailed down to the figure's limbs which was twisted in certain degrees that seemed inhumanely impossible, due to the other hands pulling and tugging, on the poor human-or living creature, like some sort of ragedy-ann doll.

Rough, and calloused hands clamped firmly around the neck, blocking the figure's airway or oxygen and would surely leave a nasty dark bruise.

"Isn't it obvious?" A hushed voice answered his question as they intently gazed on the fiery demon.

Their ribcages could be seen poking out from their skin, begging to to be set free from the fleshy confinement.

With closer inspection, It was clear that fingers wrapped around the limbs, was in possessive manner, The artwork was detailed to the point, If one were to stare long at it, They would notice how cracked the fingernails were, Those same nails dug deep into the muse's fleshy skin, making blood prick out but was a small amount and easily over looked.

"I want you to be my muse"

With that being said, Red Son could feel tight hands, clamping his neck, like in the painting.