祝日 / Permanent Vacation
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Keni
Stranger Things
occasionally subtle
Discoholic 🪩
Show & Tell
DEAR READER
JBB: An Artblog!
dirt enthusiast
No title available
Cosimo Galluzzi
styofa doing anything
almost home
Peter Solarz
★
Xuebing Du
RMH
YOU ARE THE REASON
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
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@whumplump
Masterlist
This is a list of all the content I've written so far.
Last updated on June 2025, dunno if gonna update it
I write pretty much anything, including nsfwhump. Just send an ask and I'll be working on it as fast as I can go
The only things I don't write are: whump with minors; and bad caretaker. Only.
The rest is the rest
List under the cut
Denial
CW: rocky recovery, maybe?
Caretaker stopped in front of the paper towel shelf, contemplating which brand to choose with a very short thought window. They had to think fast. They had left Whumpee in the checkout line and knew how nervous their friend must be at that moment, abandoned to their own fate, like a child left waiting while their mother fetched a forgotten item.
Caretaker finally made their choice and hurried back, but was startled to see that Whumpee wasn't where they had left them, in the priority line. They searched for them through the checkout lines, mild despair tightening their heart, when they finally found their friend waiting their turn to pay for their groceries in a regular line.
“Whumpee! You scared me. Why didn't you stay in the priority line?" they asked, approaching.
"I'm not priority," Whumpee retorted, unable to hide the annoyance in their voice.
Caretaker didn't respond, immediately understanding the reason behind the resistance and already anticipating the argument that would ensue if they insisted. They were in public, and they didn't want to stress Whumpee out more than their friend already was. As the line moved, Caretaker noticed that Whumpee had hidden their necklace, tucking it inside their coat. The autism identification necklace, which after much insistence and negotiation they had convinced Whumpee to request one after their diagnosis. But Whumpee refused to wear it. "I look like a cow wearing a collar with a bell, I'm not wearing this”, they had said.
They finished paying for their groceries and left the market in silence. Caretaker didn't comment on the use of the necklace until they got home, where Whumpee tossed the object onto the coffee table with disdain and went to their room to isolate themselves.
Posting ocs is so embarrassing. Here's my stupid loser I guess. You can kill me if you want
Which OC?
Zaphir
TW: Non-con, drugging/paralysis, abuse, coercion
-
“...Alright, here we go.”
Whumper tossed the syringe to the floor, the clattering sound was loud in the quiet room. It was cold too. He didn’t even bother to give Whumpee a blanket. “Feel it yet?”
The person on the bed could barely move. The numbing sensation spread from their legs to their arms, leaving a tingly warmth in their wake. A hint of confusion appeared for a brief moment on their face before it relaxed again.
“I assumed you didn’t like how the last session went.”
It was hell.
The man stood beside the bed, eyes peering down on Whumpee’s empty stare. It almost looked beautiful if it’s not depressing. He sighed, not in annoyance, but in acceptance.
“You were screaming, thrashing and cursing out bad words at me. I didn’t like it at all. I wanted you to cherish everything that I give you.”
He brushed a thumb across their forehead, pressing down a bit with unnecessary force. Whumpee thought they would be safe tonight, that Whumper had finally given up on them. But when he unbuckled his belt, they knew they would be in for a long night.
I can’t feel anything.
“I know what you are thinking,” Whumper said, grabbing their ankles to part them away. “As much as I love listening to your cute noises, half of it wasn’t even for me.”
Then stop touching me, you fool.
“Tonight is for my pleasure, not yours.” He reached for the rope before stopping himself at the last second. “No need for restraints. You just gotta lie down and take it.”
“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a cruel man.”
I hope you die.
-
I will edit this later but I'm very sleepy right now so I'm going to leave this here and go to sleep, okay?
@yet-how-they-creep @nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @jennyyy007 @theforeverdyingperson @valravnthefrenchie @risk606 @heyyitsworld @failgiao @possumhoe
(do tell me if you want to be removed from the taglist, no pressure at all)
One of my favourite phrases for a Caretaker to say to a stoic Whumpee who insists they don't need help, who says "No, I can do it" is:
"I know you can, but let me do it."
I like it because it shows they don't look at Whumpee with pity, and that they know Whumpee is capable, but everyone needs help sometimes, and it's good to just let your guard down and let someone help for once.
Whumpee may or may not say thank you afterwards, and depending on that, the scene gets even better.
Whumper strapping Whumpee to the passenger seat, and trapping their arm out of the car window.
Speeding across the streets, letting anything in the path hurt Whumpee's arm. The desperation of seeing yet another obstacle approaching. The excruciating pain of a scratched, bruised, perhaps broken arm. And the helplessness of not being able to retract their arm, or move from the spot.
The police aren't going to interfere. They don't have time for another idiot with their arm out the window, do they?
Sugar is such a sweet name to put for your blog. What's the inspiration?
a friend calls me sugar so I adopted the nickname.
also "lips like sugar" by echo & the bunnymen
tummy :)
scratch my bellaayyy!
“Boooorinnng…”
Whumpee whined, lying on the bed with a small huff. It’s a little habit they had, saying things out loud whenever they were alone at home. Just in case someone put a camera in their house and were watching them right now.
Just in case.
It’s like making a performance to an invincible audience. They wanted to be noticed, no matter how messy and fucked up that sounded. They wanted to be seen.
“If you are watching me, you are a freak.”
Silence.
Whumpee sat up, looking around the room with playfully narrowed eyes. They smiled. Gosh, they actually wish someone were watching them right now.
“Am I not that interesting?”
They sighed, standing up and walked to their closet lazily. Being alone made them feel weirdly self-conscious. Actually, maybe they were the only person left on earth and were slowly going crazy. It’s possible, right?
The thought of it made them shudder. They didn’t want that, to be utterly consumed by loneliness.
They opened the closet door, peeking at the empty space under the hanging clothes. Without hesitation, Whumpee tucked themselves in. Surrounded by the darkness, they let out a soft sigh.
“You can’t see me now…”
They muttered, soft and small. Maybe if they stopped talking, stopped going out and stopped living, no one would ever notice.
They had no family, no friends and peers. Their life was basically useless now. But it’s okay, they lived a good life. They drank coffee every morning, did some exercise and met nice people. Even though not all of them were nice, and Whumpee wished those people would suffer in hell.
“Hey…”
Knock knock
“Hey…open up.”
Knock knock knock
“Open up. I wanna play with you.”
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“Open up!”
…
“Just kidding. Open up, yeah?”
“Whumpee?”
-
Since it's an open ending, I will tell you my interpretation about it
Whumpee died from lack of oxygen and the supposedly stalker was too late to introduce himself
@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @jennyyy007 @theforeverdyingperson @valravnthefrenchie @risk606 @heyyitsworld @failgiao @electrons2006 @possumhoe
“Huh…”
Whumper’s friend entered the room, not expecting to find Whumpee on the floor. The boy was lying on his stomach, fingers gripping a red colored pencil tightly as he focused on coloring.
The brown puppy pajamas he was wearing didn’t help his case either.
“What the hell did you do to him?”
Whumper shrugged and walked over, patting Whumpee on the head. The boy responded with a soft giggle. Whumper smiled.
“Seriously…”
His friend glanced at the door and then back at Whumper, narrowing his eyes playfully.
“You stopped locking the door, didn’t you?”
“Why should I?”
Whumper crossed his arms, looking down at Whumpee with a hint of satisfaction in his eyes.
“He doesn’t know he could leave if he wanted to.”
~
@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @jennyyy007 @theforeverdyingperson @valravnthefrenchie @risk606 @heyyitsworld @failgiao @electrons2006 @possumhoe
Obsessed
CW: stalking; harassment; idol Whumpee, toxic fan Whumper.
There, Whumpee didn't need to pretend. Their characteristic had become special, cherished, desired. They quickly ran their two pens over the album cover material, signing their signatures precisely with two different handwritings. Being ambidextrous had that charm. Even the security guards at the fan-meeting seemed eager for a demonstration.
They said goodbye to the excited fan and welcomed the next one.
“Hello," they greeted, already taking the offered album to be autographed. Always cheerful. Always good-looking. Always good for the cameras.
The conversation flowed naturally. "I'm your biggest fan", "I love your songs," "you look good," "I brought you a gift." Standard.
Whumpee politely accepted the small pearl bracelet, with a sincere hint in their artificial smile.
“To bring us closer," the fan said.
Whumpee thanked them as usual and complimented the accessory. Unaware. Clueless.
The fan continued talking.
"It's kind of hard to see you with the curtains."
Whumpee didn't understand. They looked back.
"Curtains?"
"From your apartment."
Whumpee's smile faded.
"Why are you hiding from me?" the fan said.
Whumpee stood still, listening.
"You changed your phone number. Again. I need to talk to you, but I only have once a year and a hundred thousand bucks for it. Is this how you say you care for your fans? Don't you think that's unfair? It's not fair to me. Don't you care about me? You can't do this to me.”
Whumpee returned the album and discreetly removed the bracelet. Surely, the hidden camera implanted in the accessory must have already recorded a good angle of their face for the fan to satisfy themselves later that day.
"You're mine," the fan declared, leaning over the table.
The guard next to Whumpee found the behavior suspicious and asked the rude fan to move away. Their time had run out.
The fan pressed the autographed album against their chest and gave Whumpee a sickly smile, whose face showed fear. They watched the fan's sadistic smile quickly fade. The fan left.
But Whumpee knew they would see them again. In a year, or that night later, through the window.
A story for this prompt.
Deadly Secrets
CW: medical setting, mention of blood, unsafe decisions taken regarding medical treatment.
Caretaker didn't want to wait for Medic to finish speaking. The healthcare professional was declaring the patient's condition upon arrival and the condition they should be in at that moment, after an emergency care session while unconscious. Caretaker followed them, as they didn't know the way to Whumpee's room, but they weren't paying attention to the words. No matter what the doctor said, they would only be certain of Whumpee's condition after they laid eyes on them.
The doctor hurried down the corridor, forced to quicken their pace to match Caretaker's speed. They reached the room, and the scene was already visible through the glass window, but the emotions only surfaced when they opened the door.
The hospital bed had disheveled sheets, but no body lay upon it. The IV line beside the bed was hanging loosely, the needle exposed, and a small, but still frightening, amount of blood oozed from the metal tip. The patient who should have been resting on the disheveled bed, with the IV strapped to their arm, was on the other side of the room, frantically putting on a blood-stained shirt and stuffing their belongings into a dirty, slightly torn bag. Their eyes widened as they saw the two people enter. The shock lasted a second before they continued to prepare to leave.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Caretaker confronted them.
"Lie back down, Whumpee. Now," commanded the doctor, who rushed to remove the bloody IV line from the floor.
However, Whumpee did not obey. The needle puncture in their arm was stopped with their shirt sleeve.
Caretaker tried to stop them from reaching the door, but Whumpee stood firm, despite their pale complexion against the backdrop of dozens of wounds scattered across their body.
"I'm leaving."
“No, Whumpee, you're injured. And you can't go until the police arrive—"
“I'm not going to press charges."
Caretaker's eyes widened, looking at Whumpee as if they'd heard the most absurd sentence in the world.
"But, Whumpee... What Whumper did to you has to..."
"No. Nothing happened. Forget all about it."
Medic tried to convince the patient to stay, appealing to their medical authority, but Whumpee had already passed Caretaker who, shocked, was unable to stop them from opening the door.
"I want to forget it myself."
And they left.
Whumpee who doesn't want to report what Whumper did to them.
If they are in the hospital, they find a way to leave before the police arrives and starts bothering them with questions they'd rather not respond, or even think about it.
If Caretaker tries to get something out of them, they will refuse to say it with all their might.
It may be because of fear, that if they report, Whumper will come back to kill them or worse, or they just don't have the energy. Experiencing hell already hurt a lot, and being forced to talk about it will only make the feeling flow back. They can't do this anymore. They just want to forget about it.
And they hope everyone forgets about it too.
They are determined to take this to the grave if necessary.
Whumpee with impaired hand movements.
After suffering extensive and severe tendon injuries, or other type of injury for that matter, Whumpee lost some of the movement, strength or resistance in their hands.
Hard to brush their teeth.
Hard to hold a cup.
Hard to cut things when eating.
Hard to write.
Caretaker, who is their friend, partner, physical therapist, or other, tries to get them to engage in activities to exercise their hands and perhaps regain some movement. Baking together, handling stress objects, learning sign language.
It may help, or may not. Maybe Whumpee recovers. Maybe Whumpee doesn't want to move their hands ever again.
Whumpee who wants revenge for everything Whumper did to them.
Caretaker can tell Whumpee's been off but they assume it's just trauma. However, Whumpee is planning how to get rid of their tormentor.
Caretaker arriving at the scene: perhaps Whumpee is pointing a gun at Whumper, or threatening them some other way, maybe torturing them, rambling about how Whumper ruined their life and everything they were and wanted to be. How Whumper destroyed everything.
Whumpee may or may not proceed, while Caretaker witnesses the scene.
Perhaps Caretaker arrives and Whumpee already committed the murder.
Perhaps Whumpee regrets it afterwards, realising they've become a monster just like Whumper.
Perhaps not.
Interact with this post if people can always drop random whump asks in your ask box👀
