#reluctant whumper

[whump-mania]

More Whumper Lines

In honor of my first Whumper lines post getting over 1,000 notes, here’s some more! And in some fun categories!

Tag me if you end up using any!

~

Playful/Cheery/Lighthearted

1. “Aw, that was cute. I almost felt that excuse for a punch. Why don’t you try again?”

2. “My favorite part is right before you lose consciousness.”

3. “Caretaker, you know how to do stitches, right? No? Oh well.”

4. “Hm. Your blood’s darker than the last one’s was.”

5. “Sounds like Whumpee’s having fun in there…would you like to go join them?”

Dark/Violent/Rough

1. “Get the fuck over here or I’m dragging you.”

2. “Look at me. Look at me while I hurt you.”

3. “Nothing you say is going to stop me. I have a job to do, and I don’t give a shit how it happens.”

4. “Don’t you get it? I’m not being careful. I want this to hurt you.”

5. “Stay still, you motherf—Stay STILL!”

Creepy/Intimate

1. “Come on, scream like you mean it…there we go. Much better.”

2. “It’s so cute when you fumble with your keys everyday when you come home.”

3. “Your pretty little screams are only for me to hear, understand?”

4. “It’s a shock to me that you’ve never considered modeling. I mean…red just looks so good on you.”

5. “Ah, you remember this scar, don’t you? The day we met…god, what I’d give to break you like that again.”

Reluctant/Hesitant

1. “Look, I’m—I’m sorry, I just need to get this over-with. Bite on this.”

2. “They’ll check for bruises. I have to.”

3. “I’m sorry, boss, I’ve…I’ve never done this before. I-I’m trying.”

4. “Don’t look at me like that when the others are here. Please. They’ll know I’m faking it.”

5. “I’m sorry, I had to say it—you know that’s not how I actually think of you, right?”

[another-whump-sideblog]

Unwilling/reluctant whumper needing to step away from a torture session to scream into a pillow or vomit, and then coming back and continuing as if nothing had happened

[the-three-whumpeteers]

There were no search parties, no worried people looking for the whumpee- and the whumper didn’t know what to think about it all. The whumper had been hesitant to hurt the whumpee in the first place- it was their job, but it wasn’t a job they enjoyed. Slowly but surely, the whumper began to care for the whumpee, giving them more food, giving them warm blankets- they didn’t want to hurt someone that had been so hurt already.

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 6

6. (Jan 11-12) Exhaustion / Blindfolded / Old Injuries  

cw reluctant whumper, exhaustion, blood loss, vampire whumper, human whumpee, scars, intimate whumper 

Whumpee stood in front of the mirror, head tilted to the side as their fingers traced the bite marks going down their neck. They were in various stages of healing—some had faded to white scars, others were bruised and scabbing, and the most recent one was still an aggravated red. If Whumpee scratched at it, it would start bleeding again easily. 

“You okay?” 

They glanced up quickly. “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

Whumper shrugged, eyes locking with theirs in the mirror. “Perks of being a creature of the night, I suppose. Very sneaky.” 

“Right,” Whumpee said with a chuckle. 

A moment of silence passed, with both of their gazes drifting to Whumpee’s neck. Most of the marks were concentrated there, but others were hidden by Whumpee’s clothes. Their wrists, the inside of their elbow, their thighs. 

“You look tired,” Whumper pointed out. 

“I’m fine.” The constant blood loss left them exhausted and perpetually dizzy, but it really was fine. Whumper worried too much. 

They frowned, closing the distance between them and Whumpee. Whumper kissed their neck gently, lips fitting over one of the older bites. “I wish they didn’t scar so much.” 

“I don’t mind,” Whumpee muttered. “I like the reminders of you. Knowing that I can give you what you need, instead of letting you worry about where your next meal is coming from. Or hurting someone who doesn’t want this.” 

Whumper nodded slightly, eyes meeting theirs in the mirror. “We can’t keep doing this forever, though. Someday I'm gonna take too much, and then I don’t know what I'd do with myself.” 

Whumpee took in their own reflection—the pallid skin, distant eyes and dark circles, thin frame—and wondered if that day was very far in the future.  

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Helpless caretakers are on my mind today

A helpless caretaker who knows so well what kind of hell Whumpee is going through right now, and can't ever seem to fall asleep.

A helpless caretaker who can reach Whumpee whenever they want to, can hold them and comfort them and say sorry all they want, but know that even trying to actually pull Whumpee out of the torture would result worse off for the both of them.

A helpless caretaker who can't let Whumpee know that they're on their side.

A helpless caretaker who doesn't know what's the right thing to do.

A helpless caretaker who's on the brink of becoming the reluctant whumper.

A helpless caretaker who has to run off mid-sentence and cry in a bathroom stall.

[losthavenmine]

Whumptober 2023 Day 30 || Reluctant Whumper

The Quick and the Dead (1995)

[echoingalaxies]

Whump drabbles, 18/100: remorse.

“You’re not a bad person.”

Whumper stared at his hands – the hands that had held many weapons, hurt many innocent. “Have you forgotten everything I’ve done?”

“No. And I never will.” Whumpee’s voice was understanding. “But you didn’t have a choice.”

“I did.” Whumper closed his eyes. “I was just too afraid – too selfish.”

“Well, you’re… making up for it now...” Whumpee’s voice faltered, unsure about the truthfulness of their own words.

It was too much. Whumper wept, covering his face in his hands, the hands he hated, the hands of a man beyond redemption.

He was a bad person.

[short-form-whump]

The Whumper looks ahead with eyes that are lost but not wandering, their gaze fixed as they stand disheveled and tired. Their words can’t seem to come as their mouth parts slightly, but no breath comes either. It’s then that their master slaps them across the face, then grabs them by the chin to pull them back upright to face them. “You cut that shit out,” their master says before pushing the Whumper’s back into the wall behind them. The air is forced from them and they nod as they quietly wheeze in air. “Yes, sir.” The master looks them up and down, assessing the dried blood on the Whumper’s clothes and skin. “Any of this yours?” The Whumper shakes their head in an active battle to remain present and aware. “No, sir,” they say without feeling. The master looks tempted to hit them again, but refrains for the moment. “Remind me. Are you the kind of housecat that brings home its trophy kill, or are you the kind that takes it home to play with?” At first the Whumper doesn’t answer, a hesitation which is met immediately by the master’s hand grabbing the front of their shirt and pushing them back again harshly against the concrete wall. Before they receive another hit, the Whumper meets the eyeline of their master to show them their presence and grit. “I’m the kind that wants their kill to know they’re a trophy,” the Whumper says in a low voice. The master loosens their grip and lets go of the Whumper, showing something other than disdain for them for the first time in a long time. “Alright, kitty cat. Show me what you did.”

[waywardwhump]

Whumper has to be cruel because the system is cruel. They're high ranking, and are expected to rule with an iron fist. If they fail to do this, worse things will happen. They'll lose their position and won't be in a place try and control the damage anymore.

Whumpee is lower in the hierarchy. They work hard, keep their head down. The worst they've delt with is harsh words.

Behind closed doors? They are friends. The whumper is quite fond of them, and the whumpee returns that fondness.

But they aren't always behind closed doors.

One of whumpee's other friends makes a mistake. It happens fast, it happens public, and the only thing they can think to do is take the fall for it.

They claim responsibility and Beg to be punished instead.

The whumper does as requested, because it is the whumpee asking.

Punishment in public. They make an example out of the whumpee, because that is what is expected of them. To show the 'mercy' of letting them take their friend's punishment, the price is that the punishment itself has to be worse.

The wordless glance, the moment of resignation in them both. The whumper doesn't want this either. They're both trapped in this awful process that they can't escape from. Everyone is watching. This has to happen.

The whumper can't be anything less than a monster.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

June of Doom day 23

 “how many fingers am I holding up?” (poison/rash/double cross)

Villain heard the moment Hero dropped, their body making a dull thump as they fell to the ground. They were limp when Villain arrived, pupils blown wide and eyes opened to mere slits. They wouldn’t be coherent again for several hours. They wouldn’t be conscious at all in a few minutes. Villain had made sure the dose would be strong enough to work quickly.

“I’m sorry about this. I know this isn’t what you wanted,” Villain whispered, knowing that Hero couldn’t hear them. They knew it was wrong, a total betrayal of trust that Hero would never forgive. They’d become close over the months, spending much of their time outside of uniform together. When the capes were off, they weren’t supposed to do things like this, interfering with each others’ plans. And yet here Villain was, betraying that trust and drugging Hero so they couldn't fly off and save the day. 

It was selfish and Villain didn’t expect to be forgiven, but they didn’t regret the decision either. The upcoming raid on Supervillain was a suicide mission with no chance of success, and no amount of Hero’s optimisation would make that less true. Villain had told them as much, had shouted and yelled until their face turned blue, and yet it seemed that nothing they said got through to Hero. 

Carefully, Villain lifted Hero into their arms. Hero groaned at the touch, eyes opening marginally but never focusing on Villain’s face. "I won't let you die, I won't let you become a martyr," Villain promised. They carried Hero up to their shared bedroom, opening the closet and rummaging until they found one of Hero's uniforms. After a whispered apology, Villain made quick work of forcing Hero into their uniform, making sure their mask was firmly in place. They couldn't let Hero's agency think their identity was compromised after all.

With Hero dressed, Villain made quick work of dressing themselves. From there, it was easy for Villain to use their powers to teleport the two of them to an old hideout. It was easy to bind Hero's limp body to a chair, to set them up like a prop for a show. And it was a show, because they wouldn't allow Hero's reputation to be tarnished by an unexplained disappearance on the eve of battle. 

As they began recording the hostage video, Villain gave a wicked grin and prayed it hid the sadness in their eyes. “I suppose you’re all wondering where your precious Hero is, yes?”

[kabie-whump]

WoW Birthday Whump Day 6

Prompt: Nonhuman whumpee / Reluctant whumper / “Run!” Additional content: werewolf whumpee, self-mutilation mentions, werewolf transformation whump

“There’s another way. There has to be.”

Whumpee just sighs, glaring up at Whumper. “We’ve been over it a million times. This is our only safe option.”

“Safe for me. What about you?”

“I’ll…” Whumpee trails off, biting the inside of their cheek. “I’ll be okay. It’s more important to me that you’re safe.”

“I just don’t think I can handle knowing you’re hurting and not helping you.”

“Then just forget about me. Please.”

Whumper kneels in front of Whumpee, cupping their cheek. Whumpee is fully immobalized, their limbs wrapped in chains. It’s hard to see their face in the orange glow from the single lantern that lights the otherwise empty celler. Whumpee had said it would be the safest place for this to go down.

Their transformation.

It happens once a year, apparently. Whumper didn’t know they were a werewolf yet when the previous one came around. Whumpee had just disappeared for a week and returned covered in nasty clawmarks. 

“I was visiting my grandparents out of town,” they had said, waving off Whumper’s concern. “They have mean cats.”

Cat scratches the width of my finger. Sure. Totally believable. 

“You know I can’t do that,” Whumper mutters, checking over the chains one more time. They should hold Whumpee there at least until the transformation is over. That’s the worst part, apparently. It’s incredibly painful, and Whumpee explained that they usually end up clawing at their own skin on accident, just trying to hurry things along.

They theorize that if they can just hold still and let the transformation run its course over the 24 hours its supposed to take, they’ll be able to save themselves from most of the scarring. After that, they’ll be able to break free from the chains but they won’t make it out of the celler through multiple sets of reinforced doors. 

Whumper glances to the opposite wall, where there’s a sizable trough of water set up and a cooler full of raw meat. It’s not quite enough to feed a rabid beast for an entire week, but they won’t starve.

“I’ll take you out to eat when it’s over,” Whumper promises, brushing Whumpee’s hair out of their face one last time. “Wherever you want. Your pick. I’ll even pay.”

Whumpee forces a smile. “You’re too good to me. Thank you for… for not letting me do this on my own this time. It means a lot to me.”

“I just wish you’d told me sooner.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Then their eyes squeeze closed involuntarily and they gasp, their body going tense. “Leave!” They choke out.

Whumper stands but doesn’t move away any further. “Are you sure I can’t just stay for the beginning? I could comfort you-”

“Get out of here, Whumper! Run!” They let out a broken scream, writhing in the chains.

Blinking back tears, Whumper runs for the door.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

"Bitch who is 'we'!? You speakin' French!?"

New year, new whump OCs to help me flesh out their current vibes for a fic

fresh as fuck whumper forcing an overworked-underpaid nurse to fix up his various whumpees or risk the same treatment and also maybe kiss kiss fall in love :)? (she would push him into oncoming traffic if given the chance) ((why does he pay her more to stitch up one dude's wrench-beaten face than the hospital pays her in a month))

[rizzoto-whump]

Whumpee's back hit the cold, unforgiving floor. They grunted, spitting the warm blood from their mouth.

"I hate you, Whumper," they said, attempting to meet Whumper's gaze. "I hope you die soon, and straight to the hell."

Whumper lingered for a moment, then chuckled softly. "Yeah, I hope the same thing, buddy."

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee had been cruel towards the whumper countless times, hurting them without a second thought. The whumper just wanted to retaliate, they wanted to do anything to finally make the whumpee regret hurting them- but they went too far. The whumper had been clouded by anger during torture, and they panic once they realize what they’ve done.

[cepheusgalaxy]

Reluctant whumper who whumps people because they know that if they don't, the superiors will send someone so much worse

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

The Unexpected Gift

cw reluctant whumper, pet whump, captivity, carewhumper, caretaker new master, dehumanization/use of “it” as a pronoun 

“My lady?” 

She huffed, paintbrush hovering over the canvas in front of her. “Why on earth are you interrupting me, Julian?” she demanded without looking up. “You know I like to concentrate when I'm painting.” 

“Yes, miss, I know,” Julian replied from his place in the doorway. “However, I must inform you that Lord Donovan sent you a gift. It has just arrived, and he requested it be brought to you at once.” 

“Oh, how lovely,” Charlotte said, voice dripping with sarcasm. She set aside her paintbrush and turned to face Julian. “And I'm sure he expects something in return. Perhaps my hand in marriage, or something equally ridiculous?” 

Julian’s lips quirked up in an understanding smile. “According to him, the gift is merely a show of friendship. Although, I am sure neither he nor your parents would be opposed to finally marrying the two of you off.” 

Charlotte laughed, abandoning her easel for the time being and taking a seat on the sofa. She appreciated Julian’s good humor and their shared distaste for the supposedly inevitable union between her and Donovan. “Well, alright then—bring it to me. Heaven knows I need another pearl necklace or tea set or whatever he’s sent over this time.” 

An uncertain look flashed across Julian’s face. “Right, yes. Well, I must warn you, this present is a bit different from the ones Lord Donovan has given you before.” 

Charlotte adjusted the fabric of her skirt, smoothing out a sea of blue satin. Already bored of the whole ordeal, she said, “I don’t have all day, Julian. Just bring it to me.” 

“Right away, my lady,” he replied with a nod, before swiftly exiting the room. 

Late afternoon light formed golden panels on the floor, and Charlotte’s gaze followed it out the window. Her mind wandered as she studied the gardens outside, which she had been in the middle of painting before the interruption. She hardly noticed Julian and one of her other servants return to the drawing room until he coughed, announcing his presence. 

“Lady Charlotte,” Julian said as he crossed the room to stand in front of her. “Your gift from Lord Donovan, sent with his deepest affections and admiration.” 

Charlotte shook herself out of her thoughts and turned to face him. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt the color drain from her face when she took in the sight in front of her. Standing just behind Julian was another of her servants, who was holding onto a delicate silver chain. The chain was connected to a pair of cuffs which were locked around the wrists of a young man whose gaze was cast on the floor. 

“Is this some sort of practical joke?” Charlotte choked out, looking at Julian for answers. 

He shook his head. “I am afraid not, miss. Lord Donovan said that a lady of your standing deserves such a gift. You may read his letter at your convenience.” 

Charlotte’s eyes returned to the “gift.” The man was fairly young—about her age, she figured—of average height, and worryingly thin. His clothes hung loosely from his frame and they were worn; the neckline of his shirt fell to one side, revealing a prominent collarbone. He had a small, upturned nose and his face was framed by messy, dark locks. Charlotte’s first thought was that he needed a haircut. 

“I—I really don’t know what to say.” Charlotte glanced at Julian again, floundering. “Why in God’s name would Donovan send me such a thing?” 

“It seems that he acquired it in his recent travels,” Julian answered. “However, he said that if it displeases you, you may return it at once and he will figure out something to do with it.” 

The man’s shoulders tensed at that, but he made no other move. His eyes remained obediently fixed to the floor. 

Charlotte’s chest tightened and she replied hurriedly, “No, no—don't send him back. Heaven knows where he’ll end up.” Wherever it was, she could only expect it would be much worse. She had heard stories of the way people treated their pets, and it was horrifying enough to keep her up some nights. 

“Well,” Julian began, “if you wish to keep it, I can arrange for accommodations to be made. For the time being, would you prefer to have it sleep in the cellar, or perhaps the shed in the garden?” 

“Dear god,” Charlotte breathed in shock. “Nothing of the sort. He can sleep in my chambers.” 

The man looked up at that, a pair of piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. They were filled with equal parts shock, fear, and gratitude. It broke Charlotte’s heart. Then, just as quickly, he lowered his gaze back to the floor. 

“My lady,” Julian interrupted hesitantly, “with all due respect, that would not be proper.” 

“What is improper,” Charlotte spat, beginning to lose her temper, “is that a man sent me a human pet as gift with no warning. Now here I am, completely unprepared and unequipped to accommodate him. He may sleep on the floor in my room, and that is final. I will not be locking my gift in the cellar. Are we clear?” 

Julian sighed, then nodded once. “Yes, my lady.” 

She turned her focus back to the man—her gift—and asked, “When was the last time you ate?” 

Those blue eyes found hers once more, fearfully searching her face as though Charlotte’s question was some sort of trap. “I eat when I am permitted, Mistress.” His voice was soft and hoarse. 

“Julian, have him given a proper meal immediately,” Charlotte instructed with a huff. “I would also like him bathed and given a fresh set of clothes. After that, you may bring him to my room.” 

“Certainly,” Julian said. 

Once she was left alone, Charlotte returned to her easel. She stared at it for several minutes, trying will her mind back into the space it entered when she was painting—contented and focused. But her stomach was still turning from what had just happened. Her hands trembled. 

Charlotte grabbed the canvas and threw it across the room, knocking over a lamp with a loud crash.