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

Brush Stroke

TW: Uncomfortable Similarities and Scenario, Assault,  No Consent, Self-Degradation; Feeling of Self-Loath and Worthless,  and, Overall, Toxic Relationship

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Clenching on his chest, The black sleeveless garment, was close to getting torn apart with Red Son's need to rip on something and vent out all his frustration.

So, close to ripping off the Artist's Eyes.
Or, did he want to rip off his own skin?

Scratching on his own flesh, Never have the crimson-haired demon, felt so violated.

It felt he wanted to turn his skin inside out.

His own skin, felt so tainted, feeling as if his dignity, was ripped off from his body whenever, those dark chestnut eyes, would stare at his body.

Invading his privacy.
Even when, he tried so hard to hide, every aspect of his features, nothing seemed to work.

It felt so, uncomfortable, the things he tried to hide were something that the artist, would always seek to invade.

Feeling the bristle,
crawl through his skin.
His skin, still remembering the way the brush, would move and coat his skin.

Even, with his pleas.
His captor was deaf to his screams.

It sent shivers down his spine.
It felt, like something special, something that he held dear was taken away from him.

The feeling of deep regret, throbbing painfully in his chest, The fiery demon, soon grew to resent his decision with ever forming a bond with his artist, whom he thought was harmless.

Hating how, he showed a glint of vulnerability, to the person he befriended only to be betrayed, by the very second.

The demon considered, his actions reasonable, when his fire ability, set the corners, of the grotesque painting, to flames.

There was something, about the painting that never felt right.

The artwork was scorching, and the canvas used, hissing. Even when it was hung in the middle of the hall, The nearby walls weren't affected, only the outside rim.

That still didn't shake off the intense feeling of betrayal, when he was surrounded in every corner by MK's identical clones, the only difference being the expression and clothing style, there was one that even looked like a party goer, with a flamboyant style.

It was, difficult to spot the other clone, as they seem to blend in with the others, but most likely, He was being trampled, in one go.

The clone behind resembled exactly like the creator, which was common sense.
But, They—It was more deranged, with eyes having no pupils, but seemed to be filled with, hunger.

Their eyes twitched, with their clothes, drenched in paint splatter, the dominant colour being red.

As If that clone, was a representation, of their creator's real side.

Not a moment to spare, The, more flamboyant clone, gripped his throat, wrapping their cold fingers around his throat, stopping him from screaming any more profanities towards the dark-auburn-haired artist, His mouth stopped cussing when clones pinned him against his will.

Just like in the painting.
They're position, looked somewhat similar to the painting, he'd burnt or tried to burn.

His crimson hair was flared up, overwhelmed by the feeling of distrust and for showing vulnerability at the wrong time.

At first, He'd assume that the clones have gone rogue, being in denial that his friend would be so cruel; having difficulty processing the situation, he was forced in but MK, just smiled there, blissfully as ever.

One of the clones, forced Red's chin up high, forcing him to make eye contact with the artist, watching as they took out a paintbrush, The, same brush that caressed his skin, was used to add a face to the painting, since the main attraction of the paint, was an androgynous figure had no head yet.

"Why a-are you so obsessed with me?"

The fiery demon managed to choke out, the feeling of betrayal, lingered through his word, when he got seized, his limbs being tightened and his neck, being on a chokehold by the clones

"I'm not"

His crimson hair flaring up at that dry response, yet couldn't find himself to start another fire, shown how only tears were the only things he could create now, pricking through his eyes and blurring his vision.

A mere opposite, to his element.

Speaking of flames, The ones from earlier, made the painting more crippled and distorted, The artwork was eaten away by a small fire, while MK, blissfully brushed Montone paint, on the burning canvas,  playing ignorance that the heat was burning his own finger.

"You're forcing me to be your muse!"

But, MK didn't say anything for a while, the noise present was heavy breathing, and struggling. They, touched the burning painting, the tips of fingertips, were smudged with ivory paint and ashes.

His arm, covered in soot, dragging the dripping paint, in a slow yet agonizing manner, as if to taunt the demonic fellow.

"I'm not obsessed with you"

Their face, making an unreadable expression, glancing at him.

" I'm obsessed with the idea of recreating you..."