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

Pallette

A/N: I might rewrite this :v

TW: Emotional Manipulation, Lying, Unconsenting Actions, Mentions of Assault and Mental Issues

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"So, will you say yes?"

Already burning off the last of the clones, It made him even more distressed when getting bombarded with countless of questions after being tossed and pulled, like some sort of mannequin, didn't help in this situation, either.

His head, getting striked with pain, that lingered, no matter how much time passed.

The demon, took another step backwards. Each step he took, created an orange flame on the carpeted floor, his flames hungry to gobble more of any surrounding materials, especially the painting

How, he vowed to have that painting eaten by his flames, and his flames alone

That single vow, made the mess, surged across the small exhibits set, but even when reaching the canvas.

The traces of fire, vanished, It stopped.

"How dare you-You say you love me, yet you..."

Saliva, fromed in the demon's throat, as the horned creature was exhausted, by the constant pressuring and remembered, how he declined, every offer of being painted, as it always felt that MK, wanted more than that.

More of himself, that he refused to give to that human.

To an outsider's perspective, It was laughable, on how a single human being, with a paintbrush could strike fear, into the thousand year old demon.

A demon, that no less had defeated, and surged across countless of journeys, defeating those who stood in his way.

Yet, Couldn't, not even barely defeat a mere human being, with an imaginitve personality; someone whose creativity knows no bounds, No limits.
Only their imagination, was their limit, to endless projects and perfection.

But, what if an artist, vivid imagination was crooked, like the limb's painting, shown?
It was anything, could be anything but innocent.

Such shame, to his clan, when he cowered in fear.

It frightened him, on how serious MK, could be with his art.

Seriously, Desperate.

"So, All those times, where you brought me to hang out, It was all for this! Huh?" Red Son, barked and clenched tightly on his own fist, his nails piercing through his own skin, and punched MK, right in the face, directly aiming through his eyes.

Purposely trying to blind the artist.
Red Son, hitched in pain and still, felt the iron grip, stinging his neck.

Both, of their injuries would leave a mark, and knew wouldn't leave this place, without claiming his mark, as vengeance on what was taken , by him

He, cried out on how everything, was over, but the chestnut eyed, artist, simply let it slide, staring at his orange eyes, with their half-lidded one, with a such a sickeningly sweet smile.

Red Son, angered by this reaction, grabbed them on the collar and threw, the artist against the wall, before running outside the exhibition set, mind scrambling and skin, feeling it was chipping off his body from being tainted.

It felt, this was organized, a trap, a
set up

The place, engulfed in fire, the planks on the roof falling out, the wallpaper slowly turning into ashes, while MK, just mindlessly stared at the painting, while everything was set on fire.

Acting fine, while singing a lovely hum, not a single bit discouraged about his denied request.

It was such a beautiful disaster.

Burning down, the painting once, but twice.

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Red, was such a beautiful colour.
It's bold yet striking colour, could attract anyone that, was fortunate enough to notice the hue.

Yet, Who wouldn't notice such a complex hue?

As an Artist, like himself would never miss out any opportunities to bellow, such magnificent color.

The blood, dripping off his nostrils, It reminded him of Red Son's hair, so lucious.

He, questioned why Red ran out like, leaving him to the midst of flames

Friends, should help each other, during their times in need, and they should apologize to each other after a measley fight.

MK, hummed a soft tune, knowing that a good friend shouldn't assume the words, and gave the benefit of the doubt, that his favorite reference, his only friend was stressed.

Friends, should never lie to each other.

That's why, he was being honest about, only interested of recreating or capturing Red's essence.

As an artist, The little details did matter to him, but only physically. He, didn't need to dig deep, if he haven't uncovered the surface yet.

"But, as a human? What should I stand by?"

His voice, drowned by the canvas' hissing, as the flames finally reached the neck. His sentence, similar to a question, as if asking his most prized possession the answer.

Their lips, moving in a slow yet agonizing manner, but no no matter, MK, leaned against the wall before sliding down, the crimson liquid dripping out from his nose.

He grinned, even though Nothing was according to plan,

He, discovered a liquid, that could help him in his art journey.