Contents: Lab whump, kidnapping, defiant whumpee, clueless whumper, role reversal (sorta), knockout gas, swearing, caged whumpee
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Max’s head throbbed. He tiredly reached his arm up to rub his eye, groggily opening the other. He stopped, dumbstruck. This wasn’t his room…
The sight of bars greeted him, no further than 20cm away from his sitting figure. Past the bars, a large, sterile looking facility greeted him. The walls were all bare white, but a labyrinth of tables stretched the rest of the room, almost every surface covered with brightly coloured vials, scratchily written notes and mindlessly discarded needles.
Fear began to weigh down his stomach. Where was he? What had happened? He backed up to the end of the cage he was in, only managing to shuffle back about a step before he felt his back hit the cold metal bars on the other side.
“Oh you’re awake!” Max turned around and sprung to the other end of the cage, back now facing the lab. The man now stood, looking down on the cage. He was unable to make out a lot of details from the angle he was sitting, only able to distinguish the vague silhouette of a lab coat.
His face was slightly more clear, an innocent looking curious expression in his wide brown eyes. He had scruffy mid length black hair that looked poorly looked after and greasy. He’d tried to tie it into a low ponytail, but large chunks of his too short hair had fallen out and over his face messily, and there was an excitable, childish grin on his round face.
Max stared at him in disbelief.
“Who the fuck are you?” He asked, his voice hoarse
“Please, language. I don’t tolerate that kind of language in my lab.” He paused for a second, making uncomfortable eye contact with Max. “My name is Doug Gillen. I’m a scientist. Do you have any questions?” Max, who was trying and failing to properly collect himself, snapped back into speech, ignoring the strangely matter of fact way his captor spoke.
“Yes, actually, I do. First of all, What the fuck? What the fuck is going on? Where the fuck am I? What the fuck is-” Doug cut him off.
“Please, please, mind your language. I really don’t appreciate swearing. To answer your question, you’re in my lab. I needed a test subject, and you fit the bill perfectly. No longer close to family, drifting away from friends, no one will think much of you disappearing.” He adjusted his glasses “Anyways, we should probably get to -”
“No. No no no. You can’t- no. No. You kidnapped me? Oh fuck oh fuck oh fu-”
“What did I just tell you about language?” Doug paused for a second, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Anyways, I’d like to ask you a few questions now, if that’s okay.” He looked at Max for a second, not waiting for a reply before continuing. “What’s your full name? Even in all the time I was scoping you out as a potential test subject, you never brought up your full name. I’m curious, Max. What is it?”
The sound of his name coming from the mouth of his kidnapper sent a chill down his spine.
“You-stalked me!? You-you.” Max paused for a second to compose himself. “No, I’m not telling you. I’m never telling you anything. His voice was laced with venom. Doug tilted his head, seeming genuinely confused.
“Why not? I’m not asking for much here.”
Max stared at the figure in front of him with a mixture of disbelief and disgust.
“Why not!? You’re asking me why I don’t want to give information to my kidnapper!? If you think for a single fucking-”
“-Language-”
“‘Second that I’m going to comply with you, you must be insane. Hell, you probably are! I mean, no one sane would just fucking kidnap someone and-”
“Max.” Doug kneeled down to meet him at eye level. Quieten down for a second. Let me speak.” Max stared daggers at him, but stayed quiet. “Good. Now, I’ve got a proper cell for you. You’re the first human guest that-” Max quickly began to say something but was quickly drowned out by Doug, who just continued to speak. “So if it's a little different to what you expect I apologize. Anyways, I’m just gonna let you out of your cage and lead you there.”
Max looked up at the last sentence. He’s just gonna let me go loose? Doug was still speaking, but Max was no longer paying attention. This might be the only chance I get. He blinked, noticing Doug’s expectant stare. “Well?”
“Yeah, okay.” Max had no idea what he’d just agreed to, but Doug seemed satisfied. He reached into one of his lab coat pockets, pulling out a small key and beginning to fiddle with the lock.
Max took another look around the lab.There was a door, about 20m to his left. The lock finally clicked open, and Doug opened the hatch in the side, eyes gleaming with excitement. Max quickly scrambled out of the cage, ignoring the aching in both his legs as he stood, handcuffs immediately clicking onto his wrists, Doug taking a firm hold of the metal.
The first thing Max noticed when he stood was Doug’s height. It had been hard to tell earlier, from where he was sitting, but he was short. Max wasn’t a super tall guy, maybe around 5’10, but he stood almost a foot taller than the scientist.
Max blinked.
Doug was just stood there, loosely holding the middle of the handcuffs with one hand, and fiddling with the keys with his other.
Max yanked his arms quickly away from Doug, who, not expecting it, let go of the handcuffs for a second, quickly snatching them back, using his free hand to pick a small spray bottle out of one of his oversized lab coat pockets and spraying his face with a bit of water. Did… did he really try to use a spray bottle to punish me? Like a cat? Max felt more and more confused the longer this situation continued. Max looked down at Doug, who was now trying to shove the spray bottle back into one of his many bulging pockets, clearly filled to the brim with things he didn’t need.
Max looked down at his handcuffs again. This scrawny, clearly deficient in some vitamins, scientist seemed to have no sense of self preservation. He claimed to know about Max, but still seemed entirely unfazed being entirely undefended infront of someone whose biggest hobby was boxing.
He knew he couldn’t fight like he normally would, not with the handcuffs, so he clasped his hands together, slowly bringing them up. He almost felt bad, this Doug person seemed harmless enough, but-
No. He kidnapped me. He stalked me. He deserves this.
Max clobbered him around the side of the face, the hard metal handcuffs striking his unprepared face painfully. Doug lurched back, a pained squeak coming out of his mouth as he felt his now bloodied cheek. He looked back up at Max, pleadingly, with fear in his wide, innocent eyes. Max had to shake away any sympathy. He kidnapped me! He stalked me! He raised his hands again, swinging again.
And again
And again
He kidnapped me!
And again
He stalked me!
And again
Doug was on the floor by now, his face a bloodied mess, his hands weakly raised in a pathetic attempt to keep Max away. Small, cracked whimpers escaped his broken lips, but he wasn’t able to speak anymore. Max continued to pummel him, all empathy for this guileless man replaced by pure blind fury.
He noticed, between strikes, that Doug was trying to reach back towards one of his pockets, trying to pull something out, but being thrown off with every punch. It took him a few tries, but he eventually managed to grab the item firmly enough to pull it out. A gas mask?
Realisation dawned upon Max, and he sprang up, rushing towards the door.
Too late.
A faint hissing sound was audible from somewhere above him.
No no no no no no no
He covered his mouth and nose with his hoodie sleeve. It didn’t help. The walls seemed to sway as he stumbled to the door, falling forwards and catching himself on the locked door handle.
His head was spinning
Spinning
Max couldn’t stay upright. Even while holding onto the door handle, he couldn’t help himself from slipping, falling onto the floor. The walls kept spinning around him, his eyelids struggling to stay open
No no no no no no
I was…
I was so…
So close…
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So this is the first time I'm ever posting my writing anywhere, and while its not my best work, I've decided that I need to try to post it anyways, because if I don't now, who knows when I will.
Cw: knives, restraints, manhandling, mouth whump, implied torture/amputation, noncon touching (non sexual)
“Open your mouth.”
Whumpee shook their head, eyes brimming with tears as they twisted against their restraints. The coarse fibers of the braided rope dug deep into their wrists, chafing the skin and rubbing it raw. Despite the terror that shook their entire body, their blood stained lips stayed firmly shut.
“Whumpee.” Whumper growled, their hand slipping into their back pocket and pulling out a small butterfly blade, perfectly polished and freshly sharpened.
Whumpee whimpered, their eyes going wide as Whumper slowly brought the knife to their lips.
“I’m giving you one last chance,” Whumper growled, digging the knife into Whumpee’s bottom lip, drawing a bead of blood. “Open. Your. Mouth.”
Whumpee shuddered, every last bit of defiance draining from their body as they parted their lips with a sob.
Whumper’s other hand flew up, gripping their face by the chin. Their thumb forced between Whumpee’s teeth, tugging their jaw open further.
Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut, tensing as they felt the blade slip past their lips, the flat of it resting against their tongue. A metallic taste filled their mouth, cold and threatening. They didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. One wrong move and.. shit..
“Speaking is a privilege,” Whumper drawled out, wrenching Whumpee’s head up and angling the knife. “One that can easily be taken away, do you understand me?”
Oh how I love defiantly obedient whumpees. The ones who do what Whumper says but are full of spite. The ones who spit out the word “sir” at the end of each sentence, or wait until Whumper goes to strike before dropping to their knees. The ones who use sarcasm and humor in the worst moments, only succeeding in pissing Whumper off more. I love the ones who do as they’re told, but ensure that Whumper must fight them each step of the way.
Add an iron collar and attach the whumpee’s cuffs to the collar. This is reduces the whumpee‘s movement and use of their hands and arms. This is especially useful if your whumpee has a violent streak and has a tendency to attack their whumper or tries to defend other whumpees. If you have captured a team of would-be heroes, I recommend placing the leader in this type of restraints— this makes the leader helpless and dependent on their team to help them eat and drink, if you decide to feed your captives. The whumpee restrained in this manner also can’t get up if they fall, which is excellent for those who attempt escape often.
Masterlist
“Good morning, Whumpee.” Whumper walked into the room, letting the door fall closed behind them. Their hands were clasped behind their back in a businesslike fashion.
Whumpee shifted in the confines of their cage, short enough that they had to sit- or kneel, by Whumper’s demand- and suspended in the air at about waist height. They had been left there for long enough that they didn’t know how much time had passed. That being said, they were a little salty.
“Found the time to visit? I thought you were far too busy. I’m not getting in the way of your appointments, am I?” They reclined in their cage as much as they were able to, pretending like the bars didn’t dig into their back.
“Oh, don’t worry, I cleared my whole schedule. I want to take my time with you.”
“How considerate.” Whumpee took a deep breath and yawned, hopefully looking bored. “Sadly, something came up while you were away, and I actually have to cancel on you. I hope you can understand. Which way to the exit?”
“You talk too much.” Whumper frowned, though the lack of any actual anger sent red flags flooding through Whumpee. “Luckily, I have just the thing to break you of that.”
They unclasped their hands from behind their back, revealing a leather muzzle dangling from their fingers.
Whumpee slammed themselves as far away as possible. The cage swayed unsteadily on its chain. “Absolutely not- you are not putting that thing on me.”
Whumper took a step closer, eyes glinting as Whumpee shrank further into themselves. “Oh, doll, do you think it’s a choice you get to make? What have I told you?”
Whumpee swallowed heavily. “I belong to you. I exist to- to please you.”
Whumper hummed in agreement and reached out.
“But- but you said you like to hear me scream,” Whumpee said desperately. They cringed at the flimsy argument, hating themselves for it. Hating themselves for the warring inside of them between obedience and rebellion. Hating that they were considering obeying at all.
“Oh, I do.” Whumper grinned. “And believe me, I will make you scream soon enough. But today I want to see you obeying me, and to do that, I can’t have you talking back.”
Whumpee’s breath caught in their throat. As they stared at the piece of leather in Whumper’s hand, everything else seemed to fall away. They suddenly couldn’t gather much thought past the repetition of what it was, trying to make sense of it. It was a muzzle. A muzzle. Like you would put on a dog that bit someone. The thought of wearing one was humiliating and degrading and so very wrong.
Their vision blurred.
“Whumpee? You still with me?”
Fingers snapped in front of their nose. They jumped, flinching. Whumper laughed and ran a thumb over their face. Whumpee quivered under the intimate contact that held them at the edge of panic. The hand drew back, and they found themselves leaning forward after it for half a second, desperate for the small comfort it provided. They quickly stopped themselves and pulled back again.
Whumper clicked their tongue. “Don’t pull back, you were being so good. Sweet. Come here for me, so I can put this on you.”
“I- please. No,” they whispered. Their eyes ached from holding back tears. They tried to muster up some courage, to say something clever, but nothing came to mind. They were numb with fear. Somehow, wearing that muzzle seemed like accepting Whumper’s crazy notions. If they couldn’t actively argue with Whumper, how long would it be before they started to believe them?
“Don’t be difficult.”
“It’s not being difficult for me to- I’m not a dog! You can’t make me wear that!”
Whumper raised their eyebrows, unimpressed. “You belong to me, don’t you? I can make you do anything I want, and it’s time you learn that. It’s perfectly reasonable for me to keep my belongings in line. Now, come here.”
Whumper’s tone edged into dangerous territory- the voice they used when they were done with Whumpee’s disobedience, and it would be punished if it continued.
Whumpee ground their teeth together and leaned forward, inches from the front bars of their cage. Whumper’s hands slid through, holding the muzzle.
They tapped Whumpee’s chin. “Open up.”
Whumpee did, closing their eyes. The bit slid into their mouth, weighing heavily on their tongue and not letting their mouth close properly. The leather stretched tightly over their face, digging into their cheeks and pulling at their hair while it was fastened behind their head. It would leave red marks, if not bruises.
Through the leather they felt Whumper’s hand on their face again, running possessive lines over them. Whumpee opened their eyes, shuddering at the sight of Whumper’s adoring grin.
“Oh, that silence is beautiful. I thought I’d like the sight of you like this, but this… you’re just so precious, Whumpee. With your eyes all wide and scared. That little crease between your eyebrows. You can’t talk back to me, can’t defend yourself. I might just have to keep you like this.”
Whumpee’s heart wrenched. Their eyes pooled with tears that fell before they could do anything about it. The tension seeped out of their muscles, leaving them empty and numb and wracked with sobs.
Whumper sighed dreamily and crouched level with them, cupping Whumpee’s face in their hands.
“How lovely,” Whumper murmured to them, tilting their face upward. “I can’t wait to see you break for me.”
Whumpee sagged against the bars, limp and pliable in Whumper’s hands.
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Tag list: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @twistedcaretaker @lonesome--hunter
Message me if you want to be added or removed!
-The whumper grabbing them roughly by the chin and forcing them to look them in the eye
-Or pulling them closer so they can cut/burn/whatever them in just the right spot
-OR carefully turning their head so they can “admire” their work, and the whumpee is either too exhausted or too conditioned to resist despite their gentle touch
-Caretaker trying to turn a semiconscious whumpee’s head to look at a face wound, but they flinch away thinking it’s the whumper
-”Don’t look at them/it. Look at me. Just me. Focus on me and everything will be okay.”
-Caretaker telling a feverish whumpee who’s lying in bed to turn their head to the side so they can hold a cold compress to the back of their neck
-Or so they can clean a wound
y’all understand
Whenever whumpee is freaking out because of something, the only way to calm them down is by saying they're a good pet and patting their head.
Caretaker desperately trying to tell them that they're not a pet, that they don't need to be good, but Whumpee just isn't having it.
Definitely had a breakdown about how they think they're a bad pet, they're clawing, sobbing, on their knees, begging to be told they're a good pet, maybe even lifting caretakers hand to pet their own head, trying to convince them that they're a good pet.
Ties their hoodies super tight because they need the feeling of a collar, even though they have scars from their last one, they need it because they don't know what else to do.
Whenever they mess up, they bash their head against their fist, or scratch at their skin till blood draws, etc.
Whumpee running into Whimper and is told they're a bad pet, and Whumpee spirals.
Caretaker snapping at them one time, and saying they're a bad pet, even though they're desperately trying to break that mentality, and Whumpee just goes silent, stone cold. They drop to their knees, begging for forgiveness, maybe they're even rolling around, gripping, pulling their hair.
🚨THE ONES FOLLOWING THIS MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME PEOPLE, THE PROMPTS BELOW HINT AT SA, STARVATION TACTICS, AND INCLUDE DISORDERED BODY IMAGES!!!🚨
Whumpee gaining weight or something about them is off, maybe they have a pimple or their nails aren't clean, something minuscule, but they rush out of the room, dropping to their knees and sobbing, begging for forgiveness, saying they'll fix it, and caretaker is just confused.
Whumpee scarfing down whatever food they get because they're worried about being a bad pet and not getting food.
Caretaker (romantic) thought Whumpee was better, or pretty much better, so they take it a step further, making out, stuff like that, and Whumpee hates every second, but they're terrified of saying no, but halfway through they just start sobbing, apologizing and begging caretaker to stop, who does, immediately.
Backtracking off of the last one, maybe Whumpee has some serious scarring in those areas because of Whumper, so when they get to that point, Whumpee has to warn Caretaker, but when they see it all, they just kinda cry and hold onto Whumpee.
Whumpee spending hours in front of the mirror, searching for pimples, weight gain, body hair, literally any imperfections and getting rid of it because they need to be the perfect pet.
Whumpee is having a hard day and is currently sobbing or something, so caretaker is carrying them to bed, or maybe they just grab their shoulder, but Whumpee freaks out, hysterical, rolling on the floor, begging not to make Whumpee do that stuff again.
Caretaker having a bit of a rough day, so Whumpee thinks it's their job to make them feel better, so they take off their clothes, silently crying, and caretaker has never been more confused in their life.
Whumpee just went through something terrible and doesn't want to let go of caretaker, literally cannot stand to be outside of their embrace since they were rescued. For some reason (you decide) they need to be taken away or out of their arms. Whumpee is screaming, sobbing, maybe even ripping out their hair or acting utterly hysterical, doing anything to get back to them, because that's their safety.
Caretaker is trying to calm Whumpee down, trying to get them to understand that they need to go or need to let go, but they can't.
The best example I have of this is in Infinity war when Peter is begging not to go, clinging onto Tony.
I need to start somewhere, so how about-
A whumper who is surprised when the whumpee actually breaks, when they actually cry and plead instead of staying resilient and defiant like whumper had thought, oblivious of their power until now.
idk what type of whump do I put it as tho, help appreciated
Like two enemies (superhero/villain, an angel/a demon, you get the idea), but they go from coworkers (or other typically same side related shit), through enemies, to friends/lovers
Like for example:
Whumpee was a ruler, and soon-to-be whumper was their advisor/knight. After an event, the whumper turns away from the "good" side, and became an enemy of whumpee. Whumpee, pursuing the good path, fights them, but the whumper decides (in spite of them) to ruin everything for whumpee in exchange. They destroy the kingdom, kill people, ruin whumpee's reputation, all to get one thing — something super duper important like the position of the ruler. Whumpee, seeing that, has to come up with a better plan to get rid of whumper for good. They form a rlly good one, and "give in" to the whumper, agreeing on everything.
And that's when the whump rlly comes. Before the plan can be finished, they have to play for a bit.
JUST IMAGINE THE POSSIBILITIES
whumper picking the clothes, and actually everything for whumpee. Getting all their sense of personality stripped away
Whumper could call the whumpee stuff like "doll" or similar
Imagine whumpee being treated as a trophy
What toll is it all taking on whumpee's mind
Maybe whumpee was REALLY powerful and whumper has to take steps to contain them in a very specific way
Where is whumpee kept? A cell? Maybe a luxurious room with golden bars?
The humiliation, just imagine
What's the difference between whumpee's usual appearance and whumper's preferred one?
What clothes is whumpee forced to wear?
Restraints?? Branding??? Maybe some really luxurious looking restraints
Like you get the idea