#STOP KNKSHAMING MY WHUMPER /J

[bright-whump]

They must simply move in with Caretaker afterwards, to feel safe again and protected!

CWs: pretty explicit NSFWHUMP — noncon (but mostly just touching) — somn0 (asleep whumpee) — extremely creepy/intimate whumper — whumper pov — obsessive/stalking behavior and victim-blaming language from whumper — home invasion — kidnapping — drugging

[[ 18+ ONLY, minors and irl (non fictional) kink/nsfw blogs DO. NOT. INTERACT. Please don't reblog to non-whump blogs. ]]

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Whumper loves to watch Whumpee sleep.

It’s not their fault, of course. It’s Whumpee’s. If he didn’t want Whumper’s attention, he shouldn’t look like that.

Like this. So perfect. So innocent and precious, with his pretty pink lips parted, hair messy over his face, eyelashes fluttering as he dreams.

Whumper wants to break him until he only dreams of them.

They get closer. There’s really no going back now. Whumpee would notice in the morning whether they do anything or not.

And they want to do something. So many things.

Whumpee’s breath is so soft against their hand as they reach out towards his face. They brush over Whumpee’s cheek, gently, and then tuck his hair behind his ear to get a better look.

And then they grasp the blanket, and slowly, slowly start to pull it down.

Whumpee shivers, and gives a tiny whimper, tucking his knees up to his chest, curling into himself, and Whumper wants to ruin him.

But for now they just look, admire, the pretty body before them, run fingers over Whumpee’s bare thigh.

If he didn’t want someone to come inside and touch him, he wouldn’t be dressed like this, in nothing but a thin shirt and boxers. He wouldn’t be so vulnerable, so easily accessible, with nothing more than two locks to break and an alarm to silence between them.

He must want Whumper, as much as Whumper wants him. It only makes sense. If not, he would have done more to make sure Whumper didn’t get to him.

He didn’t yet know Whumper existed, of course.

But he will now. Oh, he will now.

Whumper bites their lip, pushing up Whumpee’s shirt to touch along his hip. So pretty…so pretty…they want him. They want him to be their own. They want him in their bed. They want him to wear nothing—maybe a nice collar—and to be there for Whumper to stare at and touch whenever they want.

Whumpee won’t need to work anymore. He won’t need to do anything. It’s really a gift to him, everything Whumper is willing to do.

“I love you,” Whumper whispers, because they do. They do. And Whumpee should know. They even slip their hand down into Whumpee’s underwear, to touch him, to make him feel good. Just for him.

Whumpee doesn’t hear them, though. He gasps softly, but then keeps sleeping away, oblivious.

He keeps ignoring Whumper, and Whumper doesn’t like that too much. They’re doing so much for him…it’s only nice that he thanks them…

Maybe not enough…maybe just a little more.

They watch their pretty Whumpee’s face, tilting their head, and then finally Whumpee lets out a sound and moves, uncurling a bit and biting his lip. Trusting Whumper more…of course. As he should. As he’s meant to. Whumper would never hurt him; not unless they had to, and for his own good.

Whumpee’s hard, now, and Whumper is so kind that they tug Whumpee’s underwear down a bit more and lean over, taking Whumpee into their mouth, wetting him thoroughly before using their hand to stroke along him.

The sounds Whumpee starts letting out are sinful. Whumper feels so much, listening to them.

They love Whumpee. They want him.

They’re going to take him.

Mine. Mine, mine, mine.

Whumpee whimpers, wriggling, and Whumper could be cruel, could drag it out longer…but they don’t. Whumpee deserves better.

He chokes on a cry as he comes, and Whumper only wishes his eyes were open…but next time. They can’t wait to see it again, and again, and again, as many times as they want, forever…

And then Whumpee’s eyes are open, and his blissful expression turns into something horrified, and Whumper is forcing a kiss onto him to muffle his scream, shoving the syringe from their pocket into his neck so he doesn’t try again.

Whumpee writhes, sobbing, struggling against them, but Whumper expected it. Of course they did. Whumpee doesn’t know yet. He just doesn’t understand how important he is, how loved he is, how well Whumper will take care of him.

They hear something slip from Whumpee’s mouth against their lips, a name.

Caretaker. Oh, silly Whumpee—he thinks he needs help! And Whumper’s seen Caretaker. They don’t like Caretaker. Whumpee will never see Caretaker again, if they have any say.

“Ssh,” Whumper soothes, petting his hair, covering his mouth tightly so he can’t shout. “No. It’s okay. I’m going to take such good care of you, I promise. My sweet Whumpee…”

Whumpee tries to push them away, but then his eyelids grow heavy as the drug takes hold, as he’s pulled back into sleep against his will. He looks beautiful, fighting against it…looks beautiful always.

Eventually he goes still again, rough panting evening out to sweet little breaths again, and Whumper removes their hand to kiss those pretty lips again. They hum, and hug Whumpee, and tell him just how much they love him, no longer having to worry about waking him.

And then they pick Whumpee up, cradle him to their chest, and carry him off to their waiting vehicle, laying him gentle across the backseat.

“I’ll show you how much,” they say, brushing his hair away, stroking down his neck, then leaning to kiss it. “You’ll see. I’ll prove it to you.”

They shut the door, quiet. Careful not to wake any neighbors, or bring any attention to them.

Then they start the engine, and with a smile on their face, they bring Whumpee home.