Top Posts Tagged with #wesley oc

CHARACTERS: Wesley, you/Reader, various minor characters

WARNINGS/TAGS: Infantilization, medical facilities, drugging, murder (no major characters), stockholm syndrome(?), nonsexual nudity, parental yandere, injuries, dehumanization, needles/injections, medical malpractice

WORD COUNT: 7.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the absence yet again! ^^; life has been a bit busier than usual. Feel free to send asks about this writing, and I'll try to get to other asks soon! This writing has been a WIP forever so I just decided to finish it real quick haha, I hope you enjoy <3

You felt as if you were floating—literally.

There was an odd sensation of weightlessness, like you were suspended in the air. You didn't know where you were, what you were doing, how you even got here, or who you were.

You simply... existed.

The clear blue liquid around you was beginning to drain, you noticed. You were slowly drifting downwards. As you reached the bottom of the pod, you fell to your knees, struggling to take in your first breaths of air. Your eyes were shut tight, not used to the bright lights surrounding you. Your hands were clenched tightly, your body shaking with cold and fear.

A soft click sound rang in your ears.

The pod opened, a warm rush of air hitting your face. Your eyes slowly opened, blinking away the harsh light. You looked around the room, seeing nothing but white walls, machinery, and screens displaying data. To you, though, they were just squiggly lines.

Your attention was suddenly drawn towards a tall, lanky man dressed in a white lab coat. He looked down at you, his green eyes twinkling behind his cracked glasses. His silver-streaked black hair fell over his face, partially obscuring his features.

Emotion was still an unknown concept to you. All you could observe was that his eyes were wide, and his hands were over his mouth.

"Look at you," he whispered, crouching down to meet your gaze. "You're finally here." His voice was low, yet gentle. He reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing below your eye. "Aren't you just the most precious thing I've ever laid eyes upon?"

#parental yandere #platonic yandere #familial yandere #yandere #tw infantilization #wesley oc #tw murder #tw infantilism #nonsexual nudity #gender neutral reader #gn reader #reader x yandere #x reader #yandere dad #yandere male #male yandere #wesley and warren would be besties i think

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I always wanted to draw what my new inquisitor oc would wear during certain periods during the course of Dragon Age. He’s from the frostback mountains and an Avaar; so he wouldn’t dress as luxuriously as the game makes out. He wears animal pelts and clothes that align with what his fellow hunters.

Though he doesn’t wear anything that’s traditionally Avaar in the Winter Palace, he decided to lean towards traditional military formal wear; though he hates having so much of his body covered, it gets too hot in those damned uniforms.

Post Trespasser however, as he lost his arm to the mark and his appearance was known to all across Thedas. He cut off his hair and went on with the default inquisitor move of just continuing his Inquisition work but from the shadows.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age inquisitor #inquisitor oc #da:i #da:i oc #dragon age original character #wesley oc #dragon age wesley sun-hair

AAAAH I LOVE WESLEY!!!!!! what are some more fun facts about him, if you dont mind answering???

Hehe tysm!! <3 here are some little facts about him!!

Wesley loves reading! He doesn't have a specific favorite genre, but he is a huge nerd for books like The Hobbit, Percy Jackson, and The Hunger Games!

The accident he was in made him partially blind (as established), but also joint issues and chronic pain. He's tried inventing cures, but hasn't been successful.

He talks to himself pretty often. Sometimes it's just muttering notes to himself, other times it's trying to reassure himself when he's stressed.

Never leaves the lab, before and after your "birth". Beforehand, it was just because he's a workaholic; afterwards, it's just because he wants to be around you as much as possible <3

He is ambidextrous, which is very useful for him because he finds it painful to write/type for long periods of time, so he often switches between the two periodically.

Has several notes on you, but they aren't scientific, more just frantically gushing about how adorable he finds you ^^;

Sometimes when he's alone and working, he plays classical music because it helps him relax.

Likes coffee, he prefers it black with no sugar or cream. If you ever expressed interest, he'd pretend to indulge you by giving you chocolate milk or hot cocoa, just so you can feel included.

Finds it hard to sit still, he always needs to be fidgeting with something or bouncing his knee. He carries a stress ball on him that he uses for both stress and boredom.

Is not a fan of sweets, he prefers bitter and sour candies and foods.

He has the stereotypical "doctor handwriting". No one can decipher what he writes except himself, but he insists it isn't that bad.

When stressed, he has a bad habit of chewing his nails. His nails are often very short and uneven as a result.

Lastly, he's a huge night owl!

I made a little Picrew of him a while ago! It's below the cut! <3

#answered ask #parental yandere #wesley oc #platonic yandere #familial yandere

The Walls Were Blue

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, brainwashed/conditioned whumpee, memory loss/amnesia, captivity

——————

Waking, same time as always, the routine was basically mechanically ingrained in his brain. Lying in the old, twin sized mattress of the bunk bed the people had provided, he dared not shut his eyes, dared not to blink, dared not stop staring. He fought against the overcoming call of slumber that still had its hold on him.

The walls were blue.

He blinked, once, then twice, then three times, sucking in a breath of lukewarm air.

Not white, not painstakingly, achingly white, but blue. A grayish sort of the color - or maybe that was a trick caused by the dim light of the room, he couldn’t tell - but definitely not white.

He sipped in a long, filling breath this time, hands laid over his chest and feeling along with the movement. He wanted to touch it. He wanted to dance around, to jump and sing and cheer. To rub his whole body across it, to smoosh his entire face against it, because maybe it wasn’t real at all, maybe it was false. Prince didn’t want to be dreaming.

Ever so carefully he picked up a hand, watching with innocent fascination as it neared the wall. Then, he hesitated, pulling back and lingering in the air before the two could meet.

What if it crumbled beneath his fingers in an instant? Disappeared the moment he made contact? What if they were simply a trick of his mind, fake and never to be true?

But the woman was real. He’d heard her speak. The stuffed animal she’d brought for him, a bright, vibrantly pink teddy bear, sat over his belly, fur tickling him along the rise and fall of his breathing. The toy was real, she was real, and so was the wall.

They had to be.

Carefully, jaw working, he forced himself to press one finger to the wall. No crumbling, no disappearance, no reality warping magic that he could have thought up. Then another, then another, then the rest. The touch was slightly cool, bumps of plaster scratching gently to his skin as he grazed his hand over it in big circles.

The blue wall was real.

And he was out.

A short gasp slipped through his lips, realization finally dawning, jumping along with the beat of his heart. The contorting churn and quease of his belly was evident, an anxious feeling overflowing, spilling and seeping into each and every crevice.

He wanted to be happy, he really did… but was that not enough? What was with the sore in his chest, coiling around, suffocating his lungs and making it hard to breathe?

Hm? You want some outside time as a treat for being so good? Is that what I think I’m hearing, ‘719?

N- no! Ms., um, Handler Reeves, sir, please, no, no outside, please.

Really? Are you sure? I could’ve sworn you loved the outside… always asking about it, always dreaming about it, all that ugly fucking crying…

Please, Handler Reeves, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, no outside, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be so good just no outside, outside is bad and scary an’ and horr- horrible an’ no outside, please-

That’s what I thought, ‘719.

Prince swallowed, hard, shaking his head of thoughts as the pulse of his heart picked up pace.

No outside for you, Princey, you know that. Don’t tell me you forgot your training? Forgot all those things they taught you back at the facility… do I really need to send you back?

No, sir, no, of course not. I- I remember.

Good, good. They did wonders for you, did you know that?

Oh, he knew.

Prince slowly shuffled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding the mistake of nudging Mutt from his much needed sleep, who was collapsed in a heap on the floor. He must’ve been terribly exhausted to allow himself sleep - Prince couldn’t recall how many nights he’d stayed up so far to ensure his safety. Prince then stood, walking around to the drape covered window beside the bed.

A window, just like his sir’s, but at the same time not at all. He gently drew the drapes aside, letting the early, faint, cloud concealed light filter over his face. Six o’clock, he guessed, familiar with the look of that time considering he’d woken up then for as long as he’d been with his sir. Except, the new view of a plain, dew dripping, cream colored fence took him off guard, being so used to the look of his sir’s neighbors’ front yards.

He swallowed, sucking in the flesh of the inside of his cheeks and softly gnawing on it, clutching the drapes tight.

He was out, he was out, he was out.

And he still hadn’t been hurt. So when was it coming?

If he looked close enough, focused his eyes in just the right spot, Prince could make out his own reflection in the window. Hair oily and undone, frizzy too, no more maids to get him prepared for his master before he even woke.

There was a cut, small but there, scratched over his upper lip, gradually scabbing over. He licked his tongue over it, feeling for the ridges and bumps and ugliness.

I can hurt you, Princey, any way I want, but I never leave any marks, do I?

Isn’t that just generous of me?

Who would want to ruin a gorgeous face like yours?

His gazed dropped, just a smidge, to find there was no lock on the window. He stared, just for a pause in time, debating. Would he? Would he not? Would sir allow it?

Breathing quickening, hand trembling and gradually pressing the latch, he shoved it over to one side, leaving half open. He looked back, as if his sir would jump in at any moment and catch him, yell, and anger, and hurt him-

The foggy, morning air blossomed over his face, a slight chill that worked to wake him further. Letting his eyes flutter to a close he sucked it in greedily, a large breath that filled his lungs with cold.

He smiled, still trained and never meeting the eyes, but a smile nonetheless.

Maybe one day he would be able to smile for real.

Soon enough, as the nerves overwhelmed him and grasped his brain completely, Prince carefully and quietly shut the barrier once again, room filling up with silence.

Crawling back into bed, Prince would wait for his sir to wake, just as he always did, except he wasn’t in his sir’s bed or inside the white walls, and there were no maids who dressed him up, and no sir beside him.

With his sir unaccounted, he failed to realize what exactly he was waiting for. He waited, anyway.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper @sharkyydoesnothing

@whump-till-ya-jump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

Early Bird Breakfast

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, recovering whumpee, Institutionalized slavery, brainwashed/conditioned whumpee, memory loss/amnesia

——————

Swallowing down a gulp of thick spit, Prince stared with an unblinking gaze down at his clammy feet. He took one step, then one more, rocking back and forth on his toes.

The flooring - wood with a dark wash, not at all like another version of white tile - was cold to the touch, just as that of his sir’s home constantly was. To his relief, nothing bad happened - no pain or hurt came along with the step. Merely a switch from rug to wood.

It wasn’t a very important feat considering he’d been out of his real bedroom for days, he’d even been in several other rooms since then. Still, there was a flicker of something inside of him. While unfamiliar, he recognized it as pride.

The walls were green. No longer violently white like the facility, his sir’s room, and the inside of his mind, but a simple, soft green that blossomed warmth from his chest and sparked a glitter in his brightening face. He scanned the dark, unlit hallway, taking in the mere sight of another color. Fingers brushing the bejeweled collar sat around his neck, he fiddled with one of the emerald pieces.

Prince stole a glance back inside the room, just for a quick bit of a second, seeing to ensure his companion was still fast asleep. Whatever illness had caught up with him had successfully rendered him bed bound, but even so Prince knew well the other pet would stay loyal to his master’s wishes and never allow him the freedom to leave his side. He didn’t trust these people, and Prince didn’t necessarily blame him.

“Hello.”

Sipping in a sharp gasp Prince recoiled, stumbling back into the doorway with wide, startled eyes. He took quick notice of the figure standing tall before him, holding a gentle smile over a scruffy beard. He always had trouble telling if those were genuine - even if he realized the man’s definitely reached his eyes when no one else's ever had - thus holding himself in a shielded stance.

“You’re up early.”

“Y- yes, sir.” He stumbled, taking a scratch under the thick collar that still sat around his throat. Soon enough he realized he’d seen the man prior, helping out with the other pet’s diseased predicament. Even so, he maintained the distance between them. “I’m supposed to be.”

The man hummed in agreement, accompanied by a curt nod. “Would you like to come out further? Maybe to the kitchen? I’m making pancakes.” He gestured behind him to the soft, almost unheard sizzle of food that made Prince’s mind swim with hunger. Him and his companion hadn’t eaten nearly enough in the past days.

“Do… um, do you want… me to?” It wasn’t an order, rather a question, and Prince wasn’t good at those. He didn’t know the right answer, or if there was any answer at all because it was really a trick. Maybe he had already made a mistake by leaving the bed, and he was to be punished either way.

“I’d love it, but only if you’d like to.”

With an almost invisible nod, Prince resumed standing, still hunched over and creating a wall with his shoulders. It was difficult to force himself to move, and he waited until the man began walking to begin himself, stopping just as he did. Awkwardly, he stood in the middle of the room.

I’m doing it, I’m doing it, I’m doing it, his mind blared, gaze flying across the room to take in every inch. He’d never been in a kitchen before. Everything was so new and so exciting and so horrifying, a lump forming big in his throat. It was exhilarating, and yet at the same time he couldn’t wish more to return to the safety of his sir’s room right then and there.

The man grabbed a spatula from the drawer beside him, turning his attention back to the task at hand. “You can sit wherever you like. Or stand, of course, if you like that better.”

The order - again - wasn’t clear enough to tell him what answer was correct, anxiousness bubbling up from Prince’s belly. Somewhere on the floor must have been where he should have sat, he knew that much, furniture was only ever an option if he was on his sir’s lap, and the man wasn’t sitting himself, so that was already a no go.

Taking the only course of action he could muster with a furiously beating heart, Prince plopped down to a kneel right where he stood. No yelling or anger proceeded, only silence as the man flipped his food, so he must have done something right.

“How are you feeling about being here?” The man asked, as if trying to start conversation. Prince was not made for anything more than simple chatter, he was in no shape or form a companion designation, so he was well unused to inquiries. He was merely filling the silence, Prince had to remind himself, almost making the mistake to think the man actually cared how he felt.

“Uh, uhm-,”

“It’s alright if you don’t know yet,” he added, “Most don’t.”

“I, uhm, I… miss my sir.” Prince admitted, voice hushed low to whisper. It was true, and the mere realization of no longer being with his sir, locked away in his room with the promise of love and safety, rocked Prince to his core. Swallowing, he silently choked back an unwelcome oncoming wave of emotion. He’d gotten good at doing so.

“A lot of rescues feel the same way. Not all, but a good chunk.”

“…Rescues?”

Pushing the crook of his glasses upward with a knuckle, the man’s toothy little smile returned. “That’s who this safehouse is for. People - like you - who we’re rescuing from the wru system. So, rescues.”

The why sat atop the tip of Prince’s tongue, never to spill over into reality. He didn’t need to know why, didn’t need to ask so many questions like he always did. He didn’t need to know. Knowing was for the owner, not the pet, and pets that wanted to know were far too annoying.

He already knew why, anyway.

Prince blinked, nearly licking his lips as the man transferred the fluffy, delicious looking, and smelling, food off of the pan and onto a plate. His master had only ever made him pancakes on their anniversary, preferring Prince to eat a healthier breakfast as his usual. Of course, the pancakes weren’t for him, he had to remind himself.

Good, pretty boys don’t eat trash like that.

“Y’know what? I just realized I don’t even know if I’ve properly introduced myself yet.” The man laughed heartily, similar to his sir, but with a tender tint to it that reduced any intimidation. It was almost nice. “Yesterday was too hectic, and for that I am sorry. You can call me Oscar.” He paused, looking to somewhere else before his gaze returned. “And that is Edith.”

“Oh!” Flinching back, Prince was startled to find a woman standing mere feet away, adorned in a gently lavender nightgown as she waved. “Hello, dear! I had no idea you were sat right there!” Her face held almost the exact same grin as the man’s did, even if their appearances were distinctly separate.

She had a small yet still larger than normal gap between her two front teeth, one Prince knew his sir would have hated. But he would have hated all of this. “Prince, is it?”

He hung his head low, bangs falling before his eyes and covering a good portion of his flushed face. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re up early!” She giggled, pressing a short yet honeydew kiss to the man - no, Oscar’s - cheek, standing on her toes to reach his face.

“That’s what I said!” The two chuckled in a mixture of joy, a wonderful sound Prince had never before graced his ears. Such a magical noise it was, that almost he wished to join in. “We’re always up earlier than the rest of the house. Just two early birds.”

Early bird, Prince carefully mouthed. Somehow the saying was more to him, like he’d surely heard it before, even when he couldn’t recall his sir ever saying something so silly.

You’ve always been my little early bird, just like your brother.

“So, Prince, have you thought of any names yet?” Oscar asked, yet again, another question. He must like those, Prince thought, blinking himself out from his head. This one being even stranger than the last.

Edith clapped her hands together. “Oh, yes! Names!”

Prince’s brows furrowed, expression twisting. “Names…?”

“Yep. Names.”

“It’s okay if you haven’t, of course! Maybe you can try and come up with one while you eat.” Edith said, bumbling about the kitchen as the shuffle of her fluffy slippers followed her along.

Names. Names? They wanted him to pick himself a name, didn’t they?

He already had a name. His sir so kindly gifted it to him, why would he ever want to get rid of it? Did they not like it? Did they find it ugly?

Was he apprehensive to the idea? Surely not, he would go with whatever they told him. Though, a want for one was there, no matter how much he thought wrong of himself for having such a thing.

He shook his head. It didn’t matter what he wanted. If they wanted him to pick a new name - which was already odd, having him pick his own name - then he would. He would be a good boy for them.

After a time of intense thought, Prince found a pair of socks slipped over feet before him, Oscar setting down a plate covered with a stack of beautiful cakes. “Here you go.”

“Would you like some syrup?” Edith exclaimed, face muffled by the inside of a cabinet.

So… so they were for him. His stomach grumbled, loud and clear, mouth watering at the sight.

Oh, did Prince remember syrup. His face, unbeknownst to him, brightened in awe. He clearly recalled the sweet, saccharine taste that stuck to and coated the inside of his mouth the first and only time his sir had ever offered him some. The mere recollection had him drooling. “Yes please, sir. If, uhm, if you would like to let me have some, of course.”

She must’ve noticed his excited anticipation, setting the bottle before him with a bubbly giggle. “Sure, dear, take as much as you’d like.”

Prince watched in fascinated fashion as the liquid dribbled out from the container, covering his breakfast in a layer of sugar. After dowsing his food in syrup, he looked to Edith for approval. He was such a good boy for doing so, even when he wanted to eat so very badly.

She nodded softly, giving him a kind look that hid something else underneath it. “You can eat. It’s okay.”

Immediately he dug in, figuring she wasn’t going to feed him from her hand like his sir did. Grabbing at chunks with his fingers he shoved them down his throat as fast as possible to satiate his hunger, failing to realize how much he actually needed to eat before then. And, God, was it good. The best he’d ever tasted in a good while. Prince was too overwhelmed by his taste buds to even think, especially not of names.

After a beat of devouring his meal, Edith slipped him something else. “Here, a napkin. You’ve got a little something… all over.” She said, and slowly he took it out from her hand, burning red with embarrassment, careful not to touch her skin and risk getting her dirty.

“Thank you sir.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Once his plate was practically licked clean, he sat for a moment as Edith swiped it away and placed it into the dishwasher. “Thank, th- thank you, sirs. Thank you.” Prince repeated, unable to think of any way to fully show his gratitude.

“You’re welcome. It’s the least we could do for you.” Oscar replied, tapping his head beside Edith’s.

“But-,” he started, before swallowing down his utter confusion in favor of a polite and thoughtless kneel. What had he ever done for them that deserved such kindness?

Ever so slightly Prince perked up at the weak sound of doors opening and closing from the other side of the home, bringing him back to reality. “Can… uhm…,” hair falling further into his face he motioned back to the hallway he had come from, “May I… go back to my room, please?”

Oscar gave him a slight nod, prompting him to stagger back to his feet. Edith gave him a little wave as he swiftly tip toed off, one that he discreetly returned. Before he was fully out of earshot, Edith whispered something he desperately hoped he’d heard right.

“It’ll take a while, but I think he’s gonna be just fine.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper @sharkyydoesnothing

@whump-till-ya-jump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

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Atticus hooking a finger beneath Prince’s collar…

Atticus pulling Prince’s hair :)

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#Art #whump art #whump #whump community #Whumpblr #box boy #bbu #box boy universe #box boy whump #Wesley oc #Atticus oc #Hair pulling #institutionalized slavery #collar

Stranger

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, brainwashed/conditioned whumpee, memory loss/amnesia, captivity

——————

Sprawled across the middle of the bed, clawing at the duvet, Prince clenched his fists around a hunk of the fabric. Staring, and staring, and staring at the sinister white ceiling, he huffed a sigh. The sheets were all messed up from his time - his hours upon hours - of rolling around in them, something he would have to fix before his sir arrived back home from work. Fortunately, he had time.

Time was all he had.

And sometimes, on the very rare occasion he felt like being risky, when he was all alone and drowning in the white walls of his sir’s bedroom, after running out of anything else to wonder about, Prince wanted to think.

Maybe to think about what he had been like.

Who he used to be, before his sir, before his training, before the facility, before he signed away himself.

He was fully and terrifyingly aware he wasn’t allowed to, and he never really thought too hard about it because then it would hurt and it would hurt bad, and he wasn’t allowed to, but he still thought. The fact he wasn’t allowed sometimes made him want to more, the pure thrill of disobeying that pushed him further, even if the prospect of doing so still rocked him to his core.

And beyond the fear were the things they had told him in the facility, the only remnants of a past life. That he had been terrible, that he deserved what was coming to him. That the facility was his forgiveness, gifting him a second chance to be a good boy.

Prince sat up from the mattress, blowing with warm breath hair out from the way of his eyes. Stepping up on wobbly feet to stand before his sir’s mirror, lengthy and tall, he was met with his undeniably large frame, with which he combatted by shrinking in on himself. His feet were flooded with the chill of the tile flooring as they touched, flicking him awake from the drowsiness of laying around all day.

Prince studied every little scribble of his features, following along with his smooth, slender hands, caressing over each place.

The curving, nearly black waterfall of his locks were first, trailing down from his scalp and carving around his long, angular face, swooping into perfect little curls at the end of each piece. He needed a haircut, he thought, twirling a section of his longer than needed bang over and around his finger. One of the maids would notice soon, and surely they would give him a trim before his sir even realized.

Then were his eyes, deep and dark pools of brown shaped by long, fluttering lashes. He wanted to dip into them, to see everything he’d ever seen with them. All he could really do was watch himself blink a few times.

What followed was his nose, perfectly hooked yet still obviously crooked when you really looked at it, a piece of him that had always irritated his sir - but he was sorry, he was sorry, he didn’t know why, it was always like that - shadowing right over his pair of plush lips that concealed his just average set of teeth. He counted his moles, tiny little marks that scattered his skin, the spots his master liked to kiss most.

They’re just so cute, he always said, perfect for a cutie like you, right before he would cup Prince’s chin, planting a soft and moist peck to the mark.

He knew well how he looked. With nothing much else to do but look, he’d spent so much time, too much time, committing every little detail of his appearance to memory. There wasn’t much to hold there, anyway.

What stranger had owned this face before him?

The question tasted like defiance, bitter and scary. He licked his lips.

Did he always keep his hair so perfect? Or did it get oily and messy sometimes, unbrushed and uncared for? Did he allow it to reign free somedays, instead of waking up early every morning to ensure perfection?

Stinging, a slight burn in the back of his mind.

Did he always have a crooked nose? Or did it somehow get knocked out of place one day, forever marked by some event he would never again remember?

A throbbing buzz in his brain, sending him just a smidge swaying.

Did someone else hold his face as he held theirs, placing their lips over each of the few spots splattered around his skin like paint? Was it only his sir who found his moles so endearing?

He bit his lip, dug his nails into the flesh of his palms. It hurt, he shouldn’t have kept going, kept thinking-

For a moment, at the clench of his fist, he saw her instead of the mirror. A face that looked just like his but softer, older, more feminine. Her hair with spots of gray, making it a bit lighter than his. She held his cheeks gently, brushing hair from out of the way as she knelt before him. C’mere little man, let me see your face, she had said, so gentle and so very calming, and she’s-

A stranger.

White. A rush of burning hot and blinding, stabbing knives of brightness in his brain. He yelped, loud and squealing, his knees thumping to the tile. He couldn’t breath.

Those long lashes of his fluttered open only a moment later, finding himself on the floor, head pounding with dirty affliction. He hoped nothing bruised or bumped, because, oh, he was so bad.

The door knob, pristine and shiny, whined as it turned. Prince rushed to his knees, swallowing down his mind to resume his bubble brained, obedient, trained persona. Maybe not even a persona, just the idiot he didn’t want to admit he really was.

With his gaze fixed to the floor, he could only listen to hear his sir as he travelled about the room, ignoring his pet until he felt the time was right. A pair of sock covered feet padded over the tile, just until they were mere feet away from Prince. “You’re on the floor?”

Prince felt for his sir’s mood in his tone, stealing a glance at his feet. “Yes, sir.”

“I see the bed’s not made.”

“No, sir.” Hands on his knees, his grip tightened. He couldn’t discern the anger in his voice from exhaustion. Maybe it was both. “I apologize, sir.”

“I’m really not in the mood to punish you, Princey. Work took far too much out of me.” Prince listened as his sir threw his tie to the floor, unbuttoning his work shirt. “That will have to be put off. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, sir.”

“Such a good boy.” He said, flopping onto the bed, patting the space beside himself. “Up.” Prince did so, climbing onto the undone sheets and resuming a kneel atop of them. He kept his vision to his knees, not daring to look up and earn him further punishment. “Entertain me.”

Prince couldn’t help the slight curl of his brow. “Like-,” that wasn’t a usual command. “how do you mean, sir?”

“Not what you’re thinking, Prince.” His sir waved his arm. “Tell me a story.”

“A… story.”

“Yes, Princey.” His sir lifted his gaze then, beautiful blue eyes striking a shiver down Prince’s spine. He reached an arm out then, flicking Prince right in the forehead. “Or are you too dumb to think of any? Not even from training?”

“W- well… I think I have one.” He shuffled in his spot. He swallowed, cold. “Handler Reeves, she was disciplining me - I don’t remember why - and she was insulting me while she did it. I was tired… I think she had kept me awake for maybe a day,” his sir, half asleep, was looking off yet still obviously listening, “and she said something that made me angry. I don’t remember what. But it made me angry, and I bit her.”

His sir turned to him, a toothy smile growing across his cheeks. “You bit her? Like a mangy dog?”

“Yes, sir.” Prince strung a smile on his face, giving a slight nod through his lashes. “I bit her, and she started screaming at me. I think she made me watch more of the movies after that.”

“You? Angry?” His sir chuckled at that, releasing a pent up laugh. Prince followed, all - his smile, his laugh - as trained as everything else. He didn’t think the story was all that funny, but he knew his sir loved the ones that churned in his belly.

His sir swiftly hooked a hand beneath his collar, pulling Prince in close. “You think it’s funny?” Prince’s expression dropped, just before spittle graced his cheeks, his sir laughing at him once again. “You really are my stupid Princey.”

Prince nodded, slow, gears working as his sir took one of his curls in hand, twirling it around a calloused finger.

My stupid Princey.

Yes. That’s exactly who he was. How could he have ever thought he could have been anything else?

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper @sharkyydoesnothing

@whump-till-ya-jump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

So happy to see u back, and Wesley is a great addition to the group of parents holding us hostage (　＾▽＾)

Tysm!!! <3 I had so much fun writing him mwehehe

#answered ask #wesley oc