#I’m Whumpee

[whump-it-like-its-hot]

Whumpee laying sprawled out on the couch, wheezing, coughing, teary eyed. Their skin is red and blotchy, and their chest aches with each breath. They look absolutely miserable.

Caretaker walks in, appalled at the sight. This same morning, Whumpee was absolutely fine! What the hell happened?

They approach Whumpee, immediately putting a hand up to their forehead to check for a fever, but Whumpee swats their hand away. Their voice is hoarse as they speak, but it’s just audible enough for Caretaker to understand the two, simple words they mutter, a weary smile on their lips.

“…spring cleaning.”

[goforro]

afab whumpee who gets horribly sick during their period

- stuffy nose! whumpee having to breathe exclusively through their mouth, which leads to…

- sore throat! absolutely awful because crying hurts!

- cramps! whumpee’s already taken the maximum daily amount of painkillers so they either have to stay in pain or risk overdose! whumpee having to beg whumper for painkillers!

- caretaker trying to help cool down a low grade fever and accidentally making whumpee shiver violently instead! THE GUILT!!

- (emeto warning) nausea! dry heaving over the toilet for hours! waking up vomiting!

- dehydration from sweating & crying! the back pain getting worse!!

- heating pads making fevers worse but being the only thing that works!

- craving food but not being able to keep anything down!

[whump-in-the-closet]

when whumpee is pinned against the wall. by their hands, by their throat, shoved against it by their shirt collar. Just…the choking, the clawing hands, the suffocated begging. and whumper leaning in too close for comfort. the terror, the sudden shot of panic in whumpee’s veins and the floor-dropping sensation of being trapped. when they feel more like an insect pinned to the wall than a human with whumper’s eyes studying them as if they were under a microscope. just…caught. not even like an animal in snare, just caught off guard and disoriented and wide eyed.

[shywhumpauthor]

A Whumper with fire powers branding their Whumpee not just with their name or initials, but their handprints.

Two palms scarred against either side of Whumpee’s neck, fingers wrapping around their throat in a collar that can never be removed. Hands on their sides, just below their broken ribs, a touch that will never relent. Fingers wrapped around their wrists in shackles that won’t be unlocked. A handprint against their face, cupping their cheek that had already suffered so many punches. The small of their back. A single hand just between their shoulder blades. Dragging down their thighs.

Just. Branded handprints.

[letitbehurt]

Interrogation/torture scenes where Whumper is just as gentle as they are cruel.

Their voice is soft even as they slide a serrated knife beneath Whumpee’s skin, methodically drawing out screams. Between rounds, they crouch on their heels as if calming a scared child, tilting their head to peer underneath a sweaty curtain of hair.

They ask guilessly, as blood drips steadily from the knife in their hand, “Should we try this again?”

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

Ok but— feigned compliance turning into real obedience

[epiclamer]

This is the post you all have voted for… (i settled for smutty hurt x comfort since you guys were so close)

@save-the-villainous-cat happy two year anniversary baby <3

It wasn’t the end of the world, Villain had been injured in battle countless times before and it was never a problem. But, god, there was so much blood.

They weren’t a very optimistic person by nature, but things had never looked worse for them than at this precise moment. Stumbling blindly through friendly, neighbourhood complexes and past steadily blurring townhouses. Villain could practically feel their demise impending.

“Hey there, stranger~” The criminal gulped, eyes shooting around like a cornered animal looking for an escape. “You’re in pretty rough shape to be standing on two feet…”

Their eyes locked in on a figure—somewhere at the back of their mind they were flooded with a sensation of ease, though they couldn’t quite pinpoint why. They continued to stumble forwards and practically into the stranger’s arms anyways, for whatever reason it felt right.

“Easy— Easy there, Villain… just relax I’ve got you, I’ll take good care of you, huh?”

Warmth spread through the criminal’s mind at the sound of the other’s voice, then down into their muscles before seeping deep to their bones. They blinked and when they opened their eyes again they were laying in a tub, their feet resting at the tap where hot water poured down and into the bath.

For a moment they panicked, but a hand found its way to their shoulder and grounded them back to the present. They knew that hand, they knew that touch.

Hero.

“I’ve got you, baby~” They teased, grinning from ear to ear as they fiddled with the temperature to the water with their free hand.

It all came rushing back to the villain; the fight they had picked with their superior—on purpose—and whatever hope they had left dragging their feet to the hero’s house in a desperate attempt for attention survival.

Hero’s touch was warm where it laid by their collarbone, heating the skin to a feverish degree as it began stitching the villain back together. See, Hero’s powers only worked through touch (something the villain had learned a very long time ago purely on accident), but as much as their touch held only kindness, it did not extend to their healing abilities.

Because, god, did it ever hurt. Painful in some sick and horribly pleasurable way that Villain couldn’t seem to stop craving.

Their collarbone snapped back into place, the bone mending itself back together and their eyes flew open along with the sob that was wrenched from their throat. They flailed, partially to escape the hero’s torturous touch, partially to fall further into their grasp.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay… deep breaths remember?” The crime-stopper’s hand moved down their chest, giving their upper half the gift of a breath as they pained the rest of them.

The villain’s relief was only present for a fleeting moment, as they felt the hero’s fingertips trace the edges of the gash to their chest. Already the ripped skin pulled taught and their torn muscles seized up, under command of the other’s touch.

Villain knew what was coming.

They squirmed, the bath water submerging their legs in its warm embrace, Hero’s hand teasing at their wound, they couldn’t help but try and pull away. “Please—”

The hero shushed them, bringing their free hand to cup the villain’s chin. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” They pressed their hand flat against the gaping hole that should have been the villain’s abdomen, jolting them.

Villain screamed, it was dry and rugged, they recoiled from their nemesis but the only other thing there to hold them was the bath water. “Please, H-Hero, please—” Three more seconds and the criminal was sure to pass out.

Then it stopped. Before the villain could beg again, before they could lose consciousness, the pain stopped.

Cautiously, the villain’s eyes fluttered open, their enemy smiled sweetly back, fingertips now tracing the completely untouched abdomen of the villain’s. They looked normal, they looked okay, even after everything the hero had managed to restore them to their previous glory.

“You okay, gorgeous?”

Villain’s eyes met the hero’s once more, they were gentle yet somewhat mischievous. They nodded, brain completely fogged, maybe from the pain, most likely from the hero’s distracting gaze.

The area still pulsed with the ghost of a previous slash, but there was nothing, just the heat from the hero’s hands. It left a sweet aftertaste on their exhausted mind.

“Think you can handle another round tonight?” They waggled their eyebrows in emphasis, removing one hand to shut off the water to the bath as it began to cover the villain’s stomach.

Villain glared, but only for a moment, some of their usual snideness returning to their demeanour. “Can y-you be a little nicer?”

Hero hummed, eyes glued to their own hands as they made their way down to the inside of the criminal’s thighs, their hands beginning to resume their previous healing glow even under the water. “Really? I thought you liked it rough?”

The villain’s cheeks turned red, but they didn’t have time to retort before the hero placed their hands back against their skin and shut them up with a moan.

[whump-a-saurus]

i had a vision please let me just

cw: begging, kinda dehumanizing, attempted murder i guess, bad writing

a whumper breaks into someone’s house (with the intent of killing them). they got a knife or gun in their hand. they find the whumpee and basically chase them all around their house until eventually backing them up into a corner.

at this point, whumpee genuinely believes that they are about to die, so before they can even really think about what they’re doing, they drop to their hands and knees and beg for their life.

most of it is just crying and saying “pleaseplease dont, please-” over and over again. at some point they grabbed onto the killers pant leg like a child would in their desperate attempt for mercy. they don’t even remember doing it to be honest.

once that little outburst is over, whumpee realizes that their begging was not only humiliating, but most likely pointless. whumpee stays frozen in place, like a deer in the headlights, not daring to look up like it’s the only thing keeping them alive.

whumper is unnaturally quiet, and they stay quiet for way too long. whumpee can’t tell from the position they’re in, but whumper was uncharacteristically amused by this little show. normally they would have killed and their victims by now, maybe they’re getting soft.

after a few more minutes of deafening silence, whumpee finally gets enough courage to try and look up at them. their eyes almost reach their face when whumper grabs their hair, and slowly (but roughly) leans their head back down.

now whumpee is confused. are they still going to kill them? are they going to let them go? that seems way to easy… whumpers hand is still lingering on their head, in a way that could almost be mistaken as comforting.

whumpee was almost going to say something when whumpers hand starts moving, they flinch violently as they feel fingers ruffling their hair, as if they were a dog.

whumpee has a feeling they aren’t going to be let go anytime soon.

(sorry for the horrible writing i’ve never really done one of these before, and also i’m really tired)

[snakebites-and-ink]

Feel free to expand on the weirdly loving handler and living weapon thingy you blessed our eyeballs with 👀👀

F-feel free to share more 👀👀

The thingy in question

With pleasure :D

I hope you wanted a lot more because this got long.

You can have:

Cuddles with undertones of power dynamics

Handler gently guiding/maneuvering a currently very dissociated living weapon (possibly after a hard mission/battle/something else that was difficult for them to go through)

Dogged loyalty and devotion

Weapon too conditioned to fully understand what they’re feeling

Both protective of each other but express it in different ways according to their roles

Denial. Denial that the living weapon is really a person, denial that one or both of them have gotten too attached/emotional about the other, denial about the ways the relationship is unhealthy, whatever else.

Can’t express their love/care the way two people normally would but find other ways to show it to each other.

They get each other in a certain way that no one else does, see sides of each other that aren't shown in many other situations

The drastic contrast between violence on the field and tenderness in private

And it comes in different varieties

Flavor 1: “I take care of my things.”

Very possessive

Heavy on the dehumanization

Handler/owner won’t let the weapon forget that they’re no more than an object in their eyes; every kindness and comfort serves as a reminder of this because each one is the handler taking care of and maintaining a thing that belongs to them.

—But they’re a very valued object. Maybe they’re expensive. Maybe they’re irreplaceable. Maybe the handler is very picky discerning about what kind of living weapon they’ll work with and others don’t fit the bill. Maybe they’ve saved the handler’s life more times than anyone else the handler has worked with on the field. Regardless of the reason, the handler won’t even entertain the idea of tossing the weapon aside like any other object.

A form of ownership that looks a lot like love. It’s hard to tell where the lines are drawn between sole ownership and monogamy, between maintenance and tenderness, between carefulness and caringness.

Handler definitely will not share. This weapon is theirs and theirs alone. You are not taking it on a mission without them.

Flavor 2: Basically BDSM but more questionable in the “safe, sane, and consensual” department.

Heavy on the affection & fondness. Probably in both directions.

Handler treats the weapon as more than an object, but never as a peer. They’re beloved but ultimately expected to obey.

One or both of them delight in their unequal roles.

Likely some kind of tension and want between the handler and the weapon. Also probably in both directions.

Some dubcon intimacy going on. I’ll let you decide how dubious and how intimate. Suffice it to say, the weapon is conditioned to do what their handler tells them, and that conditioning doesn’t just disappear when they leave the battlefield.

Maybe there is some consent involved, at least at some stage. Maybe they volunteered to become a living weapon out of their own desires.

Flavor 3: Stuck in this situation and doing what they can to be nice

Handler knows this is a weapon but it looks so human

Surely the conditioning can’t completely eliminate their emotions. They must be able to feel the difference between kindness and callousness even if they don’t show it. It would be cruel not to give them gentleness and comfort when they’re past the point of being able to seek it out for themself.

Finding excuses for the “unnecessarily” nice treatment. It’s to keep them operating in peak condition. It’s to reinforce their loyalty to their handler and contrast with the violence of the enemy. It’s because it would be more unnecessary work for the handler to break the habits they formed interacting with actual people. It’s because the handler has fallen for those doe eyes.

Would probably decondition them if they were in any place to do so. But they have to answer to a higher power, whether that be a commanding officer or a greater moral good, etc. so instead they focus on making the aspects that they can control of the situation they are in more merciful and comfortable even as they continue to use them as a weapon.

Flavor 4: Love each other but both believe the dehumanization.

Conditioned like you wouldn’t believe

Maybe the handler has fallen for propaganda. Maybe they took the weapon at their very conditioned word. Maybe they’ve gone through some kind of conditioning themself. Regardless, they see the living weapon as just that: a living weapon. Definitely not a person, but not some lifeless, inanimate thing either.

There’s a deep, non-sexual intimacy to the relationship between a weapon and its wielder. To depend on another to save your life time and again, to destroy foes you could never overcome with your own bare hands. To trust someone so deeply you respond to their orders faster than you can assess a threat or target yourself, so completely you don’t even think to question them. To participate together in the intense acts of killing and fighting for your life.

That forms a bond no one else can truly understand. No relationship in polite society compares with one founded on mortal peril and unquestioning faith.

In the end one is a person and one is a weapon, but they’ve both developed a love for the other. Their relationship is built on the difference in their roles and functionally inextricable from that difference, yet is defined by more than roles alone. If you asked them what they were to each other they would say “It’s my weapon” and “They’re my wielder” with absolute surety, but they would say it with love in their eyes and fondness in their voices.

Flavor 5: Handler doesn’t realize how deeply gentle their treatment affects the weapon

Maybe the handler considers it basic human decency. Maybe they consider it more efficient to keep their weapon in top condition. Maybe they’re just a naturally gentle person. Regardless, they treat the weapon better than any handler or trainer before them but (at least initially) don’t think much of it.

No one else has shown the weapon any sort of kindness since before they were a weapon.

Taken by surprise when the weapon breaks down crying in a tender moment

Handler is kind because it just makes sense. Cruelty doesn’t serve any purpose. It doesn’t have especial meaning to them.

In contrast, the kindness means everything to the living weapon. They become deeply devoted to the handler over it.

Maybe the handler finds out how much it means to the weapon. Do they try to tell them it’s no big deal? Do they make it more of a point to always show that kindness now that they know how important it is? Do they worry this means the weapon needs more conditioning?

I’ve had this on the mind a lot can you tell

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee hadn’t even registered the fact that he’d been rescued, they were too dazed and confused because of the cocktail of sedatives the whumper gave them on a regular basis. It takes a very long time for the whumpee to realize what’s going on, and even then, they think it might just all be a dream.

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[goforro]

thinking about a whumpee that just…doesn’t cry.

- their friends haven’t ever seen them display sadness, disappointment, or anything like that. anger, maybe, but never tears.

- whumpee who doesn’t cry when they’re rescued. Maybe they’re staring blankly, maybe they’re biting their rescuers, maybe they’re just quietly appreciative. whatever it is, they don’t cry.

- whumpee who actively avoids conversations that might trigger them. they’ll get up and leave the room if whumper’s name is even whispered. does caretaker follow them? how do they find them?

- whumper *finally* breaking whumpee. maybe they taunt caretaker while whumpee’s still in captivity. maybe it’s while they’re being carried away in handcuffs.

- “I won, Caretaker. Your little firecracker cried for me.”

- caretaker being in shock. denial, even. whumpee *cried*? maybe they don’t believe whumper at first, until they look over at a hysterical whumpee.

just. UGHHH. best trope hands down

[justbreakonme]

Whumpee liked many things about Caretaker.

They had a soft, kind voice, with soft kind hands, and even softer, kinder eyes.

They laughed a lot, and made him laugh too, and didn’t seem to notice when he laughed too long or too loudly or too gracelessly.

They gave him food, nice things, and clothes that fit, and a bed (a real bed, just for them!), but… There was one thing in particular that Whumpee liked the most.

See, Whumpee had never needed to be broken. They’d never dare intentionally step out of line, not even in their wildest dreams or most terrifying nightmares. But, they were flawed. Deeply. And made many mistakes.

But, where Whumper had attributed those mistakes to malice, Caretaker merely corrected him, forgave him, helped him.

He remembered fondly (oh how strange to remember anything fondly) the day Caretaker first brought him home. He had tripped over the edge of the welcome mat, and fell hard, knocking the coat rack down with him.

He had been braced for blows, or at best the yelling and screaming that always reduced him to tears, but, instead, Caretaker had crouched down and asked if he was okay. He had stared, blankly (stupidly), at them, covered in coats and scarves, until Caretaker had moved to help him. He’d flinched, and Caretaker still hadn’t struck him. Instead, they offered a hand, and helped him up.

Caretaker smiled, awkward and toothy and more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen, and apologized, (apologized, to him, of all things!) making a little joke about how welcome mat wasn’t very welcoming.

Whumpee had stared for a moment more, still braced for this all to be a trick. Then, it was like something inside him broke, like a rubber band snapping, and he laughed. He’d laughed, hysterical and ugly, till tears came to his eyes, and then couldn’t stop them.

He’d begged through tears that he was sorry, that he was trying to be good (an old habit that had still never died, despite having every reason to), but Caretaker still didn’t raise a hand against him.

He didn’t remember all the details, after that, only that Caretaker had brought him into the kitchen, and given him a mug of something warm and sweet, and sat down across from him. And had let him cry, only interrupting to assure him that he was not in trouble and to hand him a tissue.

Yes, Whumpee liked many things about Caretaker. Their heart most of all.

[shywhumpauthor]

Nothing better than a Whumper who wears thick, heavy rings backhanding a Whumpee across the face, the rubies that decorate their fingers splitting a gash across Whumpee’s cheek

And the little gasp that follows the impact

[letitbehurt]

Whumpee losing their voice to screaming, unable to answer Whumper or beg them to stop. The only sounds they can make now are quiet gasps and high, broken whimpers.

[whumpy-wyrms]

so scared and helpless