Yandere Caine is SO CANON!!!!! Nah cuz imagine a timeline where Abel co-existed with Caine. The real time jealousy of Caine as he watches the humans favor Abel more than him...
He does his best, takes everything out of himself and presents his creations to the humans — only for them to react negatively.
Even in his collaborations with Abel, the humans always comment positively on the assets Abel made, and he rarely ever gets one compliment.
Caine has dealt and endured this treatment for so, so, long. How many years has it been?
He finds himself staring at Pomni and the crew talking to Abel. They look happy.
There is hate growing from the bottom of his core, envy and possessiveness scratching deep into the inner coding of his existence. Why is it always Abel? Never him? They need to pay attention. He deserves it. He does so much, and Abel barely gives his all to his creations—no, no, no, no, no, no, no, he's behaved so well—
Behind their backs, Caine devours Abel, stealing his code and interweaving it into his own, dominating the other personality because he should be the only one.
would you be fine with a vees x pregnant!reader (preferably gn but doesnt have to be)? i know sinners canonically can’t reproduce but shhhhh its an x reader anyway why not make it more unrealistic. if not thats totally fine!! im just a sucker for any kind of domestic fluff with them so anything else similar works <3
The Vees x pregnant! Reader
This is such a CUTE IDEA!! I hope I was able to satisfy. It’s 5 am so if any grammatical errors appear I apologize not proof read😔
No season 2 spoilers!
Vox says he isn’t nervous yet watches you like a shadow, he can’t help it! He has to be there for you, convinced you wouldn’t properly take care of yourself otherwise. He especially hates not being in control; Health complications, environmental factors, people! So many variables, how could he possibly make sure you’re okay!? By overcompensating by what he can control. Data charts and cameras everywhere. Heart rate, baby movement, cravings? All logged and monitored by his truly. And best believe he’s always watching. He won’t take any risks.
“Why didn’t you just say you needed water?” Vox teleports himself behind you, hugging you from behind. “You were in a meeting and-“, he abruptly puts his finger over your mouth. “Shh.. I’m always available. Always.” He chuckles, as if pleased with his statement. It’s not true, and you both know that. Grabbing the cup of water from your hands, “Now let’s get you back to bed, sweetheart.” He tightly holds your shoulders, guiding you back to where you started.
Valentino is the most complicated. As expected, he becomes almost too possessive, and irrationally jealous at anyone who gets your focus for longer than 10 minutes, even the Vees. Talk with Vox for too long? He pushes him out the way and bribes you with food to focus your attention on who really matters. Velvet wanting to cuddle? Don’t mind him! Just putting on your favorite show and sitting right in between. In other words, he’s obnoxious but caring nonetheless. Still, he’s extremely dedicated to making you feel the most comfortable and happy, lavishing you with gifts and a lifestyle no one else could afford.
Laying in your bed, scrolling on your phone when Valentino bursts through the door with excitement. “Hey cutie, I have a surprise for you” A box covered in red wrapping held in his hands. “I bought it from like, that really expensive store that’s been trending lately.” He places it infront of you. You reach down, unwrapping the gift; pulling out an ugly doll. Looks like a labubu. “Thanks Val, it’s adorable.“ You smile, putting it back down. “No problem babe, it’s so cute. Reminded me of you.” Ouch. He grabs it from your hands, “and guess what- it squeaks” He grins, proud and you’re 80% sure that’s a dog toy.
Velvette is absolutely OBSESSED with you and the baby. Might actually be the nicest she’ll ever be to someone. Unlike the others, she’s the least controlling; she can respect independence. Spending her free time planning fashionable baby clothes, and best believe you will be in the most comfortable and chic maternity clothes to ever exist. No cheap rags and pants when she’s around. At Vox’s request, she limits the photos of you online; attempting to keeping your privacy and life on social media to a minimum. But what’s the harm in breaking the rule once in a while?
Velvet plops herself next to you on the soft couch. Setting the popcorn next to you as she scrolls on her obnoxiously bright phone in the dim room. Suddenly she bursts out into laughing, “Oi babe- look as this!” She pushes the screen closer to your face, a video of a human baby backflipping. “Literally how is it doing that?” You question. She snorts, wrapping her arm around you. “Dunno but we need to teach ours.”
what are your rules/boundaries for requesting x readers?
Thanks for asking :) I dont have many rules since I’m willing to write even about topics that are considered dark, but like shipping minor x adult (things of that sort) I wouldn’t. Other than that mostly everything is on the table! Smut is also definitely something I could do by request but i haven’t had much practice with it yet.
Please feel free and comfortable to request anything. I love writing for people 💖
Pt 2 of what would happen if you went missing. How the vees would react when they found you, and the aftermath.
Warnings: Slight stalking and manipulation, obsessive Vees, they care in their own ways
Word count: 563
Vox finally finds you before you can even spot him, he shocks himself in front of you. You yelp, his flickering screen shining as he makes the longest eye contact you’ve ever had. Despite what you expected, he doesn’t yell, hurt, or threaten. Just pauses as his unwavering grin brings an almost chilling static. “You’re alive, thanks for letting us know.” He says sarcastically as if unbothered about your absence. His appearance is the same, still pressed, clean, and unbothered. Though the slight droop in his eyes shows he was more stressed than he leads on. He gently puts his hand on your shoulder, gripping it til it bruises. He leans towards you, “Don’t ever do that again.” He lets go, completely doing a 360 as he starts chuckling to himself. Before he can say anything else-
Valentino bursts into the room, dramatic stomping as he walks towards you. “You fucking bitch- what were you thinking?” Abruptly yanking you away as Vox rolls his eyes. “Think you can just run away like a whore and not tell anyone?”. Grabbing you by your collar, Val searches for anything. A reaction or explanation, something that could calm him down. Yet when he doesn’t find anything, he scowls. “Whore.” He drops you abruptly; Leaving you to stumble on your own feet.
Velvette almost on cue, walks in, snarky face, heels tapping against the glass floor. “Oh! Look who decided to show their pretty little face. Cute.” She circles around you. Examining your face, features, clothes. She smirks, “You look like shit, btw.” She comes just close enough for you to see her strained face. Eyeliner looks desolate, and her eyes laced with tiredness and relief at the same time. She notices your prolonged gaze, quirking an eyebrow. “What? Want me to say some sentimental bullshit? Well I won’t. Fuck off.” She hissed as she flips you off.
Believe it or not, they’re not mad at you. How could they? Whether they admitted it, they all knew how much they missed you. All thinking the same thing, what if something had happened to you and they had no control? That’s what makes taking these extra precautions necessary. At least that’s what Vox says.
As the week continues, Vox added “upgrades” to your phone. High tech GPS here, phone camera flickering for a second there. Plus his excessive physical touch when he’s around you. Tightening his hand on your shoulder at all times, grounding you to stay right next to him as if you could be stolen or run at any moment. Vox gets an ego trip off his power, especially when he exerts it on people he considers close to being his equal.
Velvette not only controls your social media, she grinned, “just looking out for you!” ; but also by pushing herself into your life. Sometimes she’ll even stop you from leaving the tower, insisting she goes out with you or better yet- stay here with her as she works. Not that she needs help but your company would be nice. If you do get a chance to finally sneak out for alone time, she’s there. Shopping? She’s there. Coffee? She’s there! Same coincidence. She claims it’s not on purpose and she’s not stalking you. It’s not much of issue anyways, she’s just hanging out. Plus who wouldn’t want someone with her stature seen with them in public?
Valentino INSISTS on being near you, though he won’t lie. He’s a busy man, but when he can make the time, believe he will; consider this special, he’d never do it for anyone else. He’s just like Velvette as well, inviting you to accompany him at work. And yes he definitely pressures you to consider sleeping in the same bed with him and Vox If you weren’t already. “It’s just for extra security, you don’t even have to have s-“ Vox cuts him off with a glare. Causing Valentino to turn his attention back to you smirking. “like I said, extra security babe.”
It was fine at first, but now weeks pass with this constant pressure and suffocation.
You argue that you don’t need to babied, this is invading your personal space. Vox laughs in your face, dismissing your concerns as he pats your head. “You want less monitoring?” You nod, “Then earn it.” He looks you dead in the eyes, “until then!” He taps your face, in a belittling way. Velvette follows suit, in a more condescending way. “Maybe if you didn’t run off like a kid, we wouldn’t treat you like it.” Valentino teases, “ ‘cause you clearly can’t keep yourself outta trouble.” You try to explain yourself again but no matter what you say it doesn’t work. One of them always has a stupid snarky remark to reply with.
At first, Vox masks his worrisome through a sharp grin. Nice tuxedo, smooth clean shoes, nothing different about em. You might just have a dead phone, visiting family - friends, hell maybe he said the wrong thing and you needed a break. Who is he to go around and control you and where you go? As he told Valentino, how would the Vees look if they were following whores around hell? Oh who is he fooling. You’re not any whore. You’re his. And every second he spends meticulously watching the cameras around pentagon city that doesn’t find you, is an issue.
Valentino texts occasionally, at least that’s what he’s been telling the Vees, but the 200+ unread messages he sent shows otherwise. He’s furious, upset more than anything else. He makes no excuses for you, taking his anger and frustration out on those around him. When he gets his hands on you he swears you’ll be punished for this, or anyone else involved in the matter! If you were going to disappear, at least a conversation, fuck- even a message would’ve been nice! But maybe you knew, he wouldn’t have gave you an option to leave them in the first place.
Velvette plays it off way better than the other two. As the level headed one of the group, she taps away, acting indifferent in her chair. Though keeping her pampered hands clutched onto her phone just tight enough; actively checking her notifications. Just incase it’s your photo that finally blesses her screen. Though it doesn’t take long before her legs start bouncing, her nails begin chipping, and her styled hair starts frizzing from the thought, you just might be gone forever.
SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.
note: you guys don't know true pain until you have to copy and paste each individual paragraph into a new draft because you forgot how tumblr drafts work </3
n e ways getting into the batfams characterisation yipiieeeee . i tried to incorporate overthinking into tims part realistically bc that's lowkey how i overthink things but hey. im open to respectful criticism. ive also been consuming a lot of batfam media and i tried to my take on their guilt and how it plays into the crazy thing hagaashhaha im going insane fml
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You'd always been far too normal. That's what had driven you, all these years, to such a bitter nature. It wasn't like you'd done anything wrong—you'd done everything a regular person would do, and that was the problem.
This kind—your kind—of normality was impossible for a family like yours.
Impossible for them to understand. Relate to. See. Always falling behind, watching as their costumes and capes flutter in the wind, blowing their vision of you. Too wrapped up in the latest villain to spot the regularity in their life.
You'd wake up at 8am, eat a slice of toast with yoghurt and mixed berries—do pilates, and go on with your day.
(Your family would stay up till 8, fighting the crime that riddled the Gotham streets with an iron fist—sneaking out of the house to play dress up with a bunch of mentally insane criminals.)
You'd spend your nights at home, having done everything you'd needed to that day—lazing around with a comic book in hand.
(Your family were far too busy most nights at Arkham—preventing their hundredth breakout and the spread of fear toxin.)
You'd watch, pupils dilated as your siblings, your father came home bruised, beat, and bloodied (with whose blood—you could only guess).
You'd watch in agonising silence as they'd shoo you off after you'd peek from behind their doorframe—saying this kind of work wasn't suitable for eyes like yours.
Those same eyes dimmed that day—staring blankly into nothing as the sight of that sickening crimson red became more common to you, with each passing day.
Dripping down onto the ground—you'd never be able to get rid of that blood. No matter how hard you scrubbed the floorboards, there would always be that stain of red.
You'd grip the sheets—nails digging into mesh fabric—with a steel-knuckled hold. You'd draw what it would be like to be one of them. That same blood-red suit—yet with a different kind of venom to a bat.
Crawling up a water spout—you, the spider—were washed out by the bitterness enrapturing your heart that was once full and blooming like the most beautiful of gardens.
Venom drips from your fangs and yet left unbitten. Never poisoning anything but your own tongue.
To be overlooked and unseen with the most brilliant mind a god could conjure; the world, your family—may never love a spider, but you will find somebody, someday, who will.
Tim Drake was not used to that expression on your face.
... Actually—he wasn't really used to any expression on your face. For a moment, it felt more like a blur to him than anything. Memories of you—they were few and far between.
Except that look of pity you'd always seem to give them. The image appeared in his mind suddenly, for whatever odd reason. That sad, almost puppy-ish, expression that he'd never really given a second thought.
(Though—it made you appear more of a baby to him.)
Perhaps he'd just gotten used to it. After all this time, what could've possibly changed?
He was wrapped up with something strange given to him by Bruce when he'd seen you. A strange, web-like substance—he was just getting ready to study it when it dissolved like nothing were ever there.
Like silk, it was soft. Like glue, it was sticky. Like fibers, it was stringey. Yet—after just a few hours, it was as if it never existed. Like it were nothing but a bad dream.
Bruce and Damian talked about it like it were a spiderweb—fitting, considering the hero that wielded it, they described as looking more arachnid than human.
Regardless—his mind was already frazzled and buzzing with all kinds of thoughts. Spider. Spider Web? Spider.
Where is that fucking web?
The stress crawls under his skin like bugs and he itches. The red left over is so familiar to him—but perhaps never the same at all.
(That same red you'd seen with those big, glassy eyes—unlike that motionless gaze you'd give him sparingly. If he bled again, would you look at him kindly like that once more?)
Then, a shoulder crashes into his. Hard. Enough to almost knock the vial out of his hands. The frustration is just about to bubble over—the words crawling up his throat like bile and his chest tightens with that familiar burst of rage.
(Tim, crash-out, Drake—Steph called him once.)
But he stops.
It's only you.
Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be at school? He hadn't been to school in a while—being a vigilante leaves a guy's schedule pretty packed—but he's sure...
"[name]? What are you doing here? Isn't it school hours...?" He asks, curiously.
You blink, face blank. He can't get a read on that face. He simply can't decipher it. It bothers him more than it probably should've. "I felt sick, so I decided to come home. Still a bit frazzled from... you know."
His heart beats faster. What? You went to school? You really went to school?
(Even if he realised it beforehand, it's like the shock runs through him again. What's wrong with him?)
You went to school even though you were shot a few days ago? Did that really happen? Did he... not realise? He's supposed to know this stuff, isn't he? Isn't he the smart one? Doesn't he keep tabs on everybody? Doesn't he look at you?
A cold chill fills his body, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. Before he can stop himself, the words spill.
"...Bruce is going to be worried. You know how he feels when you and Damian skip."
You glance to the side, considering something. He wants to know. Will you tell him? He feels like he knows nothing about you anymore. It's dehibilitating.
Since when have you brushed them off so easily? You were never like this before. You used to preen at a simple headpat (not from him—but you seemed to especially love your two oldest brothers) and practically glow when somebody talked with you.
"I think I'll live. Bye." You shrug.
His heart nearly beats out of his chest. What? Why are you acting like this? Don't you care?
Why are you acting like you hate it? You hate them? You don't care? What's wrong with you?
Did you get a concussion when you were shot? Did you hit your head and forget everything? Did you lose your mind after getting lead poisoning? Is this even you? What happened when you were shot?
Every possible question excluding—what has he done?
The bullet he saw in your shoulder flashes in his mind. When Jason practically kicked the door down, carrying your heavily breathing body bridal style and yelling for Bruce to get his ass over here.
Why were you out in the first place? Why weren't you at home? What happened to you? Why were you shot? What could you have done?
He had no time to think about it before. Not when he was so busy, and Riddler was causing up a stir.
Now, he is crumbling.
You're walking away, but his vision shakes. He feels like he's going to crumble. He hates it. This feeling. The feeling of knowing he simply just can't figure this out. He's mad. At you, or himself—he isn't quite sure. Perhaps a mix of both.
Why have you changed? Why did he not realise? Had you even changed? Did he ever know you?
He nearly crushes the vial in his grip. His hand reaches out, to grasp you. Your shoulder. The bullet lodged deep within you. Maybe if he got rid of it, you'd go back. To normal. You'd be your normal self again.
He feels it so deeply.
That crippling, nihilating urge to—
He stops. Watching you walk away. Fast. So fast. He can't catch up. No amount of training could've allowed him to walk alongside his little sibling.
Perhaps he found himself caught in that spider's silky trap—bound and unmoving as he just couldn't seem to tear his eyes away.
The empty vial doesn't concern him much anymore. He stares at it with eyes as hollow as the glass is.
Tim wonders when everything changed.
Dick Grayson watched your convulsing body with shaking eyes. A bullet lodged in your shoulder and crimson dripping onto the ground in a sickening rhythm. He couldn't reach out. He couldn't have touched your face. Not when Jason held you like that. Like a guard dog. His bloody helmet slamming to the ground just for Dick to see the absolute fury on his little brother's face.
Pupils blown—Dick knows what's going on. Better than any of the rest of them, he'd even go as far as to say. He's manic. Absolutely manic. Shouting and yelling for anyone—asking what Bruce was doing, letting you out alone this late. What he was fucking expecting.
Nobody speaks. Nobody can. What could they possibly say? That they didn't notice? That nobody did?
Jason might have taken them all on in your honour if he had truly said those words out loud. He always would've, even if he never stayed for long.
Dick almost wants to sock Jason in the face for keeping you away, so close to his own heart.
(He would've done the same, if only he had you. If only you would let him.)
The only thing he can see in his brothers' arms is that child who used to hide in the most obvious of spots. Crouching behind that large TV with the tips of their hair peeking out. Who used to laugh so gleefully when everyone pretended they couldn't find them.
He sees you, and nearly falls over.
Dick Grayson isn't a stranger to blood. Blood had followed his footsteps wherever he goes. He is made of the blood of everyone he lost and fears to lose.
He didn't think you'd fit into the former so quickly.
(You never thought you were either—did you?)
He can't do anything when he sees Jason carry you out. Slipping into a car with Bruce and Alfred and driving off, far past the speed limit.
He is powerless to move. He is useless. As he was when he watched his parents fall. When he was held back by Bruce when he found that vile man.
He hadn't felt like this for a long, long time.
He was the perfect one. He was the best of them. The first. Everything Batman was supposed to be. Nightwing. Robin. Doing everything he could to be what Bruce wanted.
He was the perfect one.
What use was that when your blood stains the hardwood floors?
What use was him not remembering what you looked like until this moment? The only time he'd ever seen you was when a bullet was lodged in your shoulder, and your body was practically convulsing.
... This should never have happened.
You were always the normal one. The most regular. Never tainted by the horrors of Gotham. Bright. Kind. Your eyes were always so kind. Pitiful. You'd always pity them. Wanting to help, but how could he possibly let you?
How could he possibly let you see the shattered expression on his face each time he'd seen you hurting? (Even if it was you hurting for them.)
You never should've...
He stops his own train of thought.
Why were you out, anyway? Hadn't you known how awfully terrible Gotham is at night?
Hadn't he... warned you...?
Dick walks off, eyes following his retreating figure—he can't find it within himself to care. He storms upstairs—almost frantically.
Everything is so quiet. Nobody here. Nobody waiting here like there usually is.
Where you usually are. The end of the hallway. It's brighter over here. The windows more open. The floorboards more bleached by the sun than back where his childhood room used to be.
He almost kicks the door open when his sweaty hands can't get a good grip on the doorknob.
(He can't. He can't destroy the barrier between you both, no matter how hard he tries.)
It slips open, eventually. Dick takes in the sight, silently, eyes darting around.
There's dust littering the air, highlighted by glittering light. The glow of the sun pours into your room like molten honey. Shining down onto your carpet.
There is nothing else.
Your room is so empty. If he didn't know better, he'd thought this were a guest room. Scuffed—but suitable for a short visit nonetheless.
How long have you stayed here?
Dick tries to ignore the bleakness that fills his head when he tries to answer his own question.
He can't bring himself to step inside. Not without you there. He stands in the doorway, as lost as he felt when he world came crashing down with that tightrope.
He feels like a little kid all over again. As helpless as a little kid is in this world.
As helpless as you were.
As helpless as you are.
Your face looked like a blur for all these years. Lingering in the background, but never for long. His nails dig into the calloused flesh of his palm. Hardened from years of fighting, protecting all he cared about. All those he failed to protect before.
He didn't do anything, did he? Not for so long. For as long as Jason died, was it?
... How long was that?
He wasn't sure when you slipped from his mind. So caught up with those beside him—he hadn't seen you slip behind, silently.
That little kid, staring up with tearful eyes. Asking where Jason was. Asking when they could all play together again.
Behind the capes, the masks—behind him, there was you.
Dick would've fallen over if he hadn't caught himself on the doorframe.
How could he have possibly, ever let you out of his sight? How can he stand to look at you when he let this happen? The most regular thing in his life. Something he had never given a second glance.
His chest hurts with a white-hot pain that stings his entire nervous system.
The best of them all—it was never him. It was always you, wasn't it?
The one keeping him grounded was you—he feels like his heart can't beat properly. Clutching it hard, nothing works. The ache stings, but nothing feels worse than his mind spiralling with thoughts of you laying in a hospital gown with red seeping out your side.
He will never, ever let something like this happen to you again.
Dick will let you know you'll never need to worry about anything again as long as your favourite big brother is here.
While coming across some new faces, Masacrik does not take it well.
Possessive Masacrik x his creation! Reader
Warnings: Victim blaming, other manipulation tactics, depiction of a toxic relationship with reader
I do not own any characters besides the reader. All other OCS have ownership to TAMAKUZ. Other information was found from the PsycoCuties Wiki.
My work is not suitable for everyone, if you don’t like it please, scroll.
Masacrik was spending his usual time working on his own gruesome experiments; uncontrolled yelling and laughter echoing through the hallway. He opens the door, peering down at you, a small smile on his face.
“Ushka, take this will you?” Despite the seeming question it was more of a demand. You grab the bag from him, it’s a bit more heavier than usual. Walking up the stairs, each step feeling like a small workout. You couldn’t help but remember how often he brags about how he made you so weak. The task feels as a reminder, at how you struggle at doing something so simple, so easy to the average person. It’s daunting how each step keeps you aware at how difficult it would be to live on your own. to be independent.
You make it to the final step, finally letting out a relieved breath, maybe a little too soon as you suddenly trip over your own foot. Yet you don’t make contact to the ground? You look up seeing a tall figure similar to Masacrik’s yet the youthful face and his bright turquoise hair stands out the most. The scene seems like it came straight out of a romantic book.
“Woah there! Didn’t know I would catch such a damsel in distress so early in the morning.”
Maybe he wasn’t the best at flirting, if that’s even what he was attempting to do. Though the long awkward silence was definitely humbling, even for you.
“thank.. you.” You stare up at him, finally realizing he’s been touching you for a little too long to comfort. You settle your feet down on the cold ground. He takes a look at you, his colorful eyes seeming dull. His demeanor dropping immediately letting an indifferent expression fall on his face.
“I see. You’re Masacrik’s sadistic abomination.”
Rude much.. though not that far off. He grasp your shoulder with one hand, giving it a little pat. He shoots up as if a light bulb appeared above his ahead.
“You must stick to his side often, yea? Ever been around the hospital? No? Let me take you.. and this bag.”
Despite the excessive amount of questions, they all seem rhetorical, this mysterious man giving you no time to answer. Even though Masacrik talks the same fast paced high energy way, it’s never directed towards you. He grabs the black trash bag from you, lifting it with ease.
“There ya’ go, let’s go visit some of the other nurses.. maybe I could even go see Клубничкa… strawberry.”
You really don’t think he’s talking to you near the end, but maybe that’s for the better.
He opens the door to a break out room, not that crowded, only a few doctors and nurses in similar outfits though some sticking out more than others. You first notice a girl, 5’3, pink hair and a cat hat similar to yours except her’s is white. A look of grimace on her face as you two enter, you want to say it was directed towards him but you couldn’t help but feel it was directed towards you as well.
“Oh my, Клубничка! I had no idea you’d be here, though now that you are I just have to tell you about my day.”
The light blue hair fellow drops his hand from your shoulder, finally giving you a chance to breathe. He walks over to who you’re assuming is ‘strawberry’, leaving you alone.
You look around the room, it’s tidy, neat; smelling of coffee and hospital alcohol. Another nurse comes to you. He introduces himself though you didn’t catch his name - it might be for the better if Masacrik ends up finding out you left and throws a fit, demanding you to tell him each person you even looked at.
“Hello there, I don’t believe we met. What’s your name?”
“[name].”
As you respond, it came out a bit more blunt than expected, hopefully you didn’t completely ruin the mood. He gives a laugh, a small bit of blush appearing on his face.
“That’s gorgeous.. You know I don’t see you much around here. Though I’m guessing you’re not a patient considering you came in here with Buttercup.”
You open your eyes a bit, giving a small nod. So that’s his name. You give an awkward smile.
“I’m.. supposed.. to be back by now.”
The doctor raises an eyebrow giving you a confused look.
“Back, where?”
And almost on cue, Masacrik slams open the door, his face and eyes widening as he lands on your figure. You lock eyes with his, except his are dull, psychotic, emotionless, deepening into your soul the longer he stares.
“Oh~ Masacrik!”
The terrifying silence breaks as the pink haired girl from earlier walks to him, almost having a little jump in her step. She wraps her arms around his chest, taking a deep breath. Giving a peck on his cheek, is that normal? Do friends usually do that to other friends? It must be considering how Masacrik brushes her off casually, walking to you in an almost cartoonish intimidating way. He grabs your wrist too tight for comfort. Bending down, he whispers in your ear. Wasting no time to try and threaten you.
“Ushka.. did I say it’s okay to talk to strangers?”
“No..” you reply.
“Did I say to leave without my permission”
“no..”
The emphasis at the end intimidating even more. Masacrik yanks your wrist a bit, pulling you closer.
“So then why did you leave Ushka? I gave you a command, a small job, anyone could do. And you decided to leave me and your small responsibility behind.”
You debate talking, does he really want an answer? Would the answer be justifying what you did and making it seem like an excuse or would it satisfy his curiosity enough for him to not punish you? Before you can respond, Buttercup, the tall more muscular one who put you in this situation to begin with steps forward. A glare of hate and jealousy on his face as he talks to Masacrik.
“Don’t take all the blame out on the pretty little thing. I just decided they should meet the rest of us.. considering they’re always with you. They get no time with other people, isn’t that right? Ushka.”
Buttercup turns to you at the end, putting a hand on your shoulder. Was he trying to get you in trouble!? Masacrik turns to you - biting his lip hard out of frustration, seemingly trying to hold back. He smacks away Buttercup’s hand, his aggressive force harder than he’s ever used on you.
“Don’t touch my things, ever again. And I won’t touch yours.”
Masacrik gives a side glance to Strawberry, for rest of the room to see. He yanks your wrist again, pulling you out the room, more like dragging, and slams the door behind him. He yanks you by your collar bringing you insanely close up to his face.
“Ushka. I didn’t feel I would have to clarify, that you belong to me. I made you, I keep you safe, without me you would be alone, worthless, a burden to others.”
He leans his forehead against yours, despite his manhandling, you can feel his hands shaking slightly. He takes a breath closing his eyes, almost seemingly like he’s inhaling your scent.
“Ushka darling, I know you it wasn’t your idea. You’d never leave me right? Never want to meet others who would find you annoying, a responsibility.”
You nod. Voluntarily or not, tears fall from your eyes. Why does he treat you so cruel, so rude. Even if you disobeyed his orders it wasn’t completely your fault.
“I’m sorry.”
Despite your feelings otherwise, your attempt at reconciliation must’ve worked considering his grip on your collars loosens as he softly lets you put your feet on the floor. He grasps your waist, pulling you against him.
“Oh Ushka I know you are. It’s not your fault, I will make sure to handle those vermins who believe they have any right to touch what I own.”
When you hear his words from the surface, they’re sweet, comforting.. though looking even a bit deeper they’re condescending, reminder of ownership, but you’ll choose to not think about it too much. Besides you got to meet new people, maybe people you’ll see in the future.
