#these whumpers in my head have like. pretty ass supervillain vibes

[corpwhump]

For your song game; Me and Mr Wolf by The Real Tuesday Weld

Perhaps a little unconventional, but:

Two whumpers that trade off being whumper and whumpee. Two whumpers that revel in a daytime game of cat-and-mouse, where they compete to see who will end up in chains that night.

A normal looking conversation at the bar between them in public conceals sly attempts to drug each other. Maybe they come home late at night to the other person lying in wait in their living room with a rag soaked in chloroform and cuffs hanging from their belt, hiding behind the door just waiting for it to open. Maybe the one who came home sees the faint imprints of boots on their normally spotless floor, and smirks a bit before grabbing a kitchen knife, ready to go out and meet their companion.

No matter who wins, after each night of screams from whoever was bested, the victim is let go, and a twenty-four hour grace period goes into effect for them to recover before the next game.

They both know it's dangerous, they both know that one of them is likely to die if they keep this up. But they love it. They can't resist egging each other on: it gets more dangerous every time they play.

A restaurant date conceals bandages beneath their sleeves, scars beneath a nicely-pressed collar. One of the whumpers absently plays with their steak knife; they know their drink was drugged when they left to go use the bathroom. They know the other whumper so well at this point that this version of the game has started to get predictable. Boring. Their date questions what they're thinking about.

They sigh, and then look up with a smile, a dangerous glint in their eye.

"You know what? Why don't we up the stakes a little."