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Rescuer is horrified as they look at Whumpee’s injuries and the restraints holding them.
“I’m so sorry,” they stammer. “I’d have been here sooner, I didn’t know where you were, what are we -”
“Rescuer!” Whumpee’s voice is weak, but cuts through Rescuer’s panic. “Look at me. Look me in the eye.”
Rescuer swallows hard and obeys.
“I know this is scary, but you need to calm down,” says Whumpee steadily. “One step at a time, OK? Now - do you have anything you can get into the keyholes on these manacles?”
Rescuer bursts into Whumper’s headquarters and stumbles to a halt as they see Whumper standing at the other end of the room, Whumpee kneeling at their feet with their hands clasped behind their head and their mouth taped. Whumper has a gun to their head.
“Weapon on the ground, Rescuer,” says Whumper.
Rescuer winces, but drops their gun.
“Kick it towards me.”
Again, Rescuer obeys, kicking the gun hard enough that it slides across the ground and comes to rest next to Whumpee.
“You won’t get away with this, you know,” says Rescuer.
Whumper laughs. “Cliches at a time like this? Got any more?”
Rescuer keeps talking, keeping Whumper’s attention on them as, slowly, Whumpee lowers a hand and reaches for the gun lying beside them.
Whumpee has been working undercover, trying to win Whumper’s trust. They think they’re doing well - Whumper is friendly, they’ve hung out several times, and then Whumper invites them to dinner. Why would they invite them in if they were suspicious?
When Whumpee arrives, Whumper locks the door behind them and their friendly smile vanishes.
“I know what you’re doing here,” they say. “You and those who sent you are going to regret spying on me.”
CW: Implied captivity/isolation, referenced ankle bracelet, shock collar (it’s on his ankle but still), creepy whumper, friendly whumper
The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist
Written for @amonthofwhump day 6: Too late. Jax Gallagher belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with permission. Takes place about midway through Jax’s first captivity.
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Melody leans forward on her elbows, looking over the counter towards the large window at the front of the shop. “What do you think?”
Paulo looks at her, then follows her gaze. Nearly silhouetted in front of the window, against the backdrop of the people walking by with their shopping bags and laughter, are two people sitting at a small table. A woman and a man, early to mid-twenties maybe. The woman’s come in before, with friends or dates, but the guy… the guy, they’ve never seen before.
“What do you mean?”
“Look at them. Does something seem… weird to you?”
Paulo narrows his eyes, taking a closer look. The woman has a wealth of gorgeous curly brown hair, pulled back from her face with a clip, waterfalling down her back nearly to her waist. She’s some kind of violinist - Melody’s mom knows who she is and just about freaked with excitement when she saw her once, had her autograph a CD, but Melody can’t remember her name.
Our own hometown celebrity, as if a violinist counted.
The woman leans hands on her coffee cup, speaking with enthusiasm to the man sitting across from her.
The woman, she just looks like anyone else having a nice Saturday morning out. She’s got burgundy lipstick on and wears a matching shoulder that slips off one shoulder to reveal a camisole strap, cute bootcut blue jeans, cute shoes. she looks drop-dead gorgeous, could be a model, even. Big wide eyes, and Melody thinks she remembers them being really, really blue. The kind where people think you’re blind sometimes, because people have no idea what blind looks like and just make shit up.
It’s the man that’s harder to get a read on.
He’s thin, not model-thin but doesn’t-eat-enough thin. Good-looking, but like he’s had a really rough couple of years. His hands are on his coffee cup, too, but he rarely takes a sip and only then it’s like he forgot the coffee was there until just that second. His eyes are on the woman’s face, taking her in, but there’s a lack of expression about him that makes Melody wonder if he’s even listening.
He’s got a turtleneck on - weird, since it’s sort of unseasonably warm, but maybe he just likes it - and a nice pair of jeans, slim-fit, that he seems distinctly uncomfortable in. When he shifts a little, the hem of his jeans rides up, and between his too-white, barely-used tennis shoes and the shadow of his leg she catches sight of something that makes her look closer.
Ficlet 1/Draft Dialogue for a Defiant Whumpee/Pride comes before a fall
CW: WHUMP. Restraints, torture with methods left up to the imagination, intent to break a person, mild to moderate physical violence that is explicit, whumper is probably a boss, defiant whumpee, cruel whumper. Makes most sense in a hero-whump context. Let me know if I need to add more CWs or tags.
Anyone who wants to make this into a longer thing of their own coz it fits their characters is welcome to it, just tag me so I can read it <3
Ficlet 1/Draft Dialogue for a Defiant Whumpee/Pride comes before a fall
CW: WHUMP. Restraints, torture with methods left up to the imagination, intent to break a person, mild to moderate physical violence that is explicit, whumper is probably a boss, defiant whumpee, cruel whumper. Makes most sense in a hero-whump context. Let me know if I need to add more CWs or tags.
Anyone who wants to make this into a longer thing of their own coz it fits their characters is welcome to it, just tag me so I can read it <3
Whumpee knelt on the concrete cell floor, wrists fastened to elbows, fastened to wall fixtures, behind their back. They opened their eyes, wondering if they were hallucinating, or if that was the sound of footsteps in the corridor. How any sound could make it into their cell was beyond them, but they had been here a while now. As the key clicked in the door, whumpee quickly smoothed their expression and straightened their back, putting on what felt like their customer service persona. Today, I’ll make Whumper work for it, they thought.
Whumper paused as they walked in, drinking in the sight of whumpee in bindings. Whumpee was silent for once, so they took their time approaching, looming over whumpee.
“Good morning, Whumpee,” Whumper said mildly, holding a neutral expression of their own as they took in the new behaviour.
“Good morning, Whumper.” Whumpee held still, eyes locked on the middle distance and mouth in a neutral almost-smile.
Whumper crouched down to inspect whumpee, trailing a finger down whumpee’s thin t-shirt. Whumpee held still. They grabbed Whumpee’s chin, tilting their eyes to meet their own. Whumpee held still. They slapped Whumpee across the face once, but hard. Whumpee winced, one eye watering, but held still.
“I had plans for today, Whumpee, but I’m impressed. This is big for you. So answer just one question for me, correctly, and I’ll give you the day off. Sound good?”
Whumpee tried not to show affectation.
“Sounds good,” they parroted, trying to unfocus their eyes again.
Whumper spoke slowly, removing all emphasis from their wording.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Whumpee paused, as if considering their words. Then, still holding their vacant expression, they began to nod.
“Yeah,...I guess so.” Whumper smiled, but before they could say anything else, Whumpee continued. “But I’m afraid for you, really. You’re facing your deepest fears as well.”
Whumper raised their eyebrow, smiling slightly. They were no longer deceived, but they waited for Whumpee to dig their own grave anyway.
“I mean,” continued Whumpee, “you’re slapping me without a glove, and I hate to think what breaking a nail would be like for you.”
“Oh Whumpee. I love that you think you’re baiting me.”
“Well it’s clearly working. You only keep gagging me so you can get the last word.”
At that, Whumper only laughed, and went to fetch the equipment they had left outside the room.
It took two and a bit hours that day, but Whumpee finally cracked. Their neutral expression deteriorated into tears, screaming and pleading for the torture to stop.
“You’re afraid of me. Say it, or I’ll keep going.”
“I am! I am afraid! I’m afraid of you!” Yelled Whumpee, pulling back from Whumper, trying to hide their face.
But Whumper waited, knowing their silence was the best bait of all. And they saw Whumpee try not to retort back, they really did. They lasted a whole 149 seconds. Then Whumper pressed them for a reaction by standing up and turning around, as if to go.
“I’m afraid you’ll be a horrible reference when I go back to work. This isn’t what most people think of when they read ‘performs well under stress’.”
With an excuse in hand, Whumper smiled and returned to their dearest hobby; making Whumpee beg and scream.
I love seeing a whumpee overpowered, held down, forced to indure something against their will. Fighting against all odds while being shoved down onto a table by their enemies and secured in place. Or strapped into a chair without mercy.
The strain and struggle before finally getting tired and submitting to whatever happens to them next.
*Villain discovers Hero injured, and decides to help. Hero is incredibly confused by the compassion.*
H: "I thought you hated me."
V: "Of course I don't. Why would you say that?"
H: *stammering* "Well, I'm a hero, you're a villain..."
V: "And? That doesn't mean I hate you. There's something else, isn't there."
*Hero looks at the ground, starting to cry.*
H: "I-I'm not lovable. I'm annoying, I stutter too much, I'm bad at controlling my powers, I'm weak, I'm-"
*Villain kneels down to their level, gently wiping away their tears. It's silent for a little while, until...*
V: "That's a load of bullshit."
*A small smile flashes on Hero's bleeding face.*
V: "You're not unlovable, Hero. You're a wonderful person, and an incredible fighter, and an absolute sweetheart. Who made you think otherwise?"
H: *muttering* "Superhero."
*Villain looks disgusted, but forces their anger down, and carries Hero back to their base to patch them up, and maybe help them recover emotionally as well.*
