Mortal (Kenny x Reader)

27: Post Traumatic Down Syndrome

tw: talks about self harm, scars, bakeracting
content warning: hitler 💀
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"Alright just take your clothes off." Kenny said, grabbing a pencil and some paper.

He convinced me to lay on his bed naked so he could draw me. He's a good artist, I keep telling him to join Art Club but in his words, "Art Club is too gay".

I took off my clothes and got onto his bed, laying on my side in a "sexy" pose or whatever he thinks is sexy.

"You are so beautiful." He started sketching.

He saw me naked over 100 times, and everytime he sees me naked he always says that.

"You can talk you know." He said.

"I know but I don't wanna fuck anything up."

"Hey now, the only thing you're fucking is me."

"You sure do twist my words around a lot." I laughed.

"...I can twist your body up."

"God dammit enough, I'm gonna switch to a different position so I can mess you up." Shit, I said the word position.

"You walked in on that one, that's all on you baby." He laughed.

The concentration on his eyes as he was staring at my body gave me butterflies, mostly in my pussy. His eyes was gazed at my breasts, then went back to drawing.

"Your boobies are perfect."

"Boobies?"

"It's one of my favorite words."

That didn't surprise me. His eyes was then staring at my pussy. I got a little uncomfortable because he was really concentrated on it.

I saw his hand move, assuming that he got a good look of it to draw it.

"I'm almost done, I gotta add some details."

"That fast?"

"Do you know how many times I draw naked girls? A lot."

"Wait a minute, you drew another girl naked?"

"Just my imagination, you're the only one I asked. You're special."

"Aww that's actually really sweet."

"I'm done! Wanna see?" He smirked.

I got up from that position, my arm was numb because it kept my head up. "Duh."

He flipped the paper over and showed me, my smile dropped.

"Why the fuck did you draw my scars?" I got my clothes and started dressing myself as fast as I could.

"I think it's beautiful, it's like a metaphor."

"Metaphor for what? And don't romanticize it, it's not something to brag about or post about."

"Are you ashamed of them?"

"Fucking yes! It's embarrassing, and don't ask me why I do it if it's embarrassing. It's addictive and I can't stop myself. It's like meth, you can tell if people are doing meth because their face literally changes."

I was going to leave but I decided to sit back on his bed.

"I see them as like, ya know battle scars, like you went through shit."

"I didn't go to fucking war. And god don't say battle scars that's an ick."

It's good that he doesn't care, he could've asked me about drawing them but he stepped over a boundary. I told him near the beginning of us dating to not talk about my scars unless I bring it up. I mean technically I did bring it up just now but he's the one who first drew them.