whumpy mumpy

whump side blog ✨️ adult • they/them • kinky ace lesbo

[whumpymumpy]

So uh I never did an intro post WHOOPSIES

Hi, I'm elliot. This is my super secret whump sideblog for all my freak shit lol. I use they/them.

I'm bad at remembering tags, but I will *always* tag nsfwhump (and art if you just wanna look @ pretty pictures)

Fav tropes:

-kidnapping/hostage/held for ransom

-tied up! gagged! maybe hurt a lil!

-videotaped whump/forced to watch

-occassional nsfwhump

My art/writing: #whumpymumpy

Slutty art: @smut-dumpster

[angst-master]

one thing I LOVE about non-con is whumpee in dishevelled clothing to actually imply that the non-con happened

the collar of their shirt scruffy and uneven

buttons not fully done up

BELTS!! either completely gone or ripped or undone

smudged make-up (or someone else's make up on them)

maybe the way others find out about the SA is because whumpee's clothes slip to reveal a bunch of hickeys/bite marks/bruises

torn or stained clothes in general

haphazardly layered outfits to cover as much skin as possible

or maybe whumpee is found somewhere and from the state of their clothes it is embarrassingly easy to piece together what happened, maybe they try to fix themselves up and the others let them because it is so terribly obvious that no one wants to take away their last shreds of decency

(bonus points if the whumpee usually takes great care to look presentable and being seen in this state is very unusual of them and immediately makes others worried)

[whumpymumpy]

Whump One-Shot: kidnapped & held for ransom 👀

Whumpee had just turned 18 when her world came to an end, but it seemed like the rest of the world followed suit. The morning was calm and breezy, with the mid-Atlantic humidity signaling the beginning of summer and the end of the girl’s final year of high school. Her mother scolded her for refusing to bring a windbreaker.

“It’s not that long of a walk,” Whumpee reassured her, picking pieces off of a slice of buttered toast. “It’s too much of a pain dealing with a noisy jacket all day.”

“It feels like rain should be coming in today.” Her mother crossed her arms, “as long as you’re fine walking in the rain without a raincoat, that’s fine with me.” She flicked her wrist and stared at her watch for a moment, before returning to packing her own lunch.

Whumpee, rolling her eyes, finished eating her simple breakfast and left the small, wooden table. She flung her backpack over her shoulder loosely, taking one step out of the front door.

“Love you,” the girl droned, as if routine.

“Stay safe.”

Whumpee closed the door behind her, looking up at the sky. Gray clouds taunted her bare arms and thin cotton shirt with an oncoming downpour, sprinkling droplets on the ground. Between the fatigue of her senior year and the oncoming stress of college, light rain was the least of Whumpee’s issues.

Her mother would be the last known person to see Whumpee alive.

Some neighbors claimed to see a rusty pickup truck cruise through the streets by her house. Her friends assumed she was running late for class, but by the time 5th period ended without a word from her, they grew worried.

With how quickly she disappeared in broad daylight, speculations of Whumpee being a stealthy and rebellious runaway were popular. Others pondered the dark reality of a standard child abduction. Even fewer dared to suspect Whumpee’s own parents of being culpable in their only daughter’s disappearance.

As the days turned into weeks, and as the news cycle slowly shifted to worsening global calamities, most forgot about the young highschooler with decent grades, a couple close friends, and a passion for the outdoors. The sob story about her heartbroken parents and empty bedroom collecting dust was recycled to death on the nightly local news.

Well-meaning peers begged for Whumpee’s parents to host a funeral, or at least one last candlelight vigil. They knew the statistics, everyone did. Months had passed without any good leads, and the story went from the local police department’s top priority to a future cold case just waiting to become the unspoken rumor of the city.

Despite what the others believed, Whumpee was very much alive.

The man had been unassuming. He leaned against the passenger-side door of his rundown truck, phone in hand. He called out to the young girl as she walked past.

“Hey!” The man shouted, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice, “you know how to use these good?” He limply held up his cracked smartphone.

Whumpee stopped, turning her head over her shoulder. She got a good look at the man that would later be described in countless news reports. He had to be in his mid 40’s, maybe 50’s. The man had a larger build with slight muscle, and grease or oil plaguing his hands. Heavy-set bags under his eyes and thinning salt-and-pepper hair outlined his face. Scars along his left arm peaked out from his shirt sleeve.

“I’m sorry to bother ya,” the man called out again as Whumpee slowly pivoted. “I’m trying to call my wife and this darn thing isn’t working. She’s so particular about which milk we get and I don’t wanna mess it up again.” He let out a chuckle, and Whumpee awkwardly did the same.

“Here,” she calmly stated, stepping towards the man, “I can show you.”

“You’re a real lifesaver, you know that?” The man looked back up at the girl, malice flooding his gaze. He swiftly flung the truck door open, a rusted pair of handcuffs looped in the interior handle clinking. The man lunged forward, grasping the girl’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Whumpee shouted, yanked towards the inside of the truck, “what are you doing?!” Adrenaline coursed through Whumpee’s veins as she struggled, thrashing against the man’s bruising grip. her wrists quickly became bound in metal and latched to the door. With an arm snaking around her torso, he pulled Whumpee into the passenger seat and closed the door.

Whumpee pressed her foot against the door, pulling her wrists against the cuffs. Her skin ripped, glowing bright red with abrasions and blood. She let out a sob as the child lock engaged, keeping the door firmly shut.

The man hurried into the driver’s seat, with coins and cigarette butts shaking in the dirty cup holders as he slammed his door shut. The center console was the only thing that stood in between the man and her.

Whumpee, with her back turned to him, felt her heart skip a beat when cool metal pressed against her shoulder blades.

“You’re gonna sit there,” the gravelly voice demanded, his words barely above a whisper, “and you’re gonna fuckin’ behave, alright?” The gun shook in his hands.

She turned around slowly, her hands still in fists. He pulled the gun back slightly, the barrel staring back at Whumpee.

“Alright?” He growled, louder than before. He pointed the gun higher, aiming right for her face. She mindlessly nodded, realizing that the dichotomy of “fight or flight” wasn’t entirely honest. She learned, the hard way, that she was the type to “freeze.”

“Get down on the ground,” the man commanded, pointing the gun lower. Whumpee looked down at the gap between her knees and the dash, staring at the trash and dirt.

Muttering something incomprehensible and certainly profane, the man lifted his arm and brought the butt of the gun down against Whumpee’s forehead, a hollow thud echoing in her skull. Whumpee’s head swayed as dull pain radiated across her face. She opened her mouth to scream, to plead, to cry, but could only manage a hoarse whimper.

“I said, get down on the fucking ground.” The man tightened his grip on the glock, “and don’t make me cover that pretty little mouth of yours, you hear?”

Whumpee complied, gently and silently kneeling on the rubber floor mats with her back to the glove box. Her wrists hung limply above her head. The edge of the seat rested uncomfortably at the base of her head. He shifted the truck out of park, the vehicle quickly jerking forward.

Tears welled in Whumpee’s dark eyes as she tilted her head forward, pushing her knees into her chest. Her thoughts raced, her ears flooded with panic that hummed along with the rhythmic jerks of the truck engine. She tugged at the metal cuffs, to no avail. Whumpee cursed her skinny and perpetually shaky arms.

“Hey,” the man shouted, pushing the barrel of the gun against Whumpee’s head, “stop that.” He continued to mutter under his breath as he whipped the truck along the winding road. Whumpee glanced up at the windshield, no longer seeing familiar houses or city streets. Her heart sank as her eyes met open farmland and the tops of scattered houses peaking out from the rear windshield.

Whumpee took a deep breath, ready to become a statistic.

The residential and city skylines that the girl grew up around slowly turned to wooded farmland, and her heart sank. Every few moments, a car would pass in the opposite direction on the country roads, and Whumpee contemplated sitting up and screaming, flailing, and pleading for help. By the time she mustered up the courage to do so, they would be gone and the barrel of the gun would still be pointed at her.

Whumpee twisted her wrists in the cuffs, her fingers going numb from being held over her head. “I have a mom,” she pleaded, glancing up at the man, “and a younger sister. They will know I’m gone.”

Her comment was met with silence.

“My name is Whumpee.” She shook, holding back stronger words and stronger tears, “what is your name?”

The girl flung backwards as the man slammed on the brakes, her spine cracking against the glove box, “will you shut up?” He screamed, holding the gun right in front of her face.

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You’re about to be fuckin’ sorry!” The man pulled his hand back, striking the girl across the cheek with the glock. Her head swung to the side, cheekbone and nose radiating with a white-hot pain. Blood dribbled from her nostril as the man returned to driving down the winding country road.

Whumpee sputtered and sniffled, her nose thoroughly broken and bleeding down her face and into her lap. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she tugged on the handcuffs once more, desperately reaching for her nose. Her ear began to ring in a soft yet piercing tone.

The man flicked his eyes between the road and the girl, keeping the gun trained for her torso. Whumpee pushed her knees further into her chest, wiping away tears and blood with her shoulder.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” the man shook his head as he slowed down to turn onto a dirt and gravel road, “you made me, you see?” His voice was calmer than before, the explosiveness replaced with something mirroring sympathy.

Whumpee coughed, “I’m sorry.”

“We can get through this without me hurting you any more. You just have to behave, Understand?”

“I understand.”

They continued in silence, only entertained by the whirr of the engine and Whumpee’s persistent sniffles. She jostled from side to side as the truck bounced along the gravel. Whumpee continued to knock her head against the glove box, unable to catch herself.

The truck came to a gentle, yet squealing halt, crunching the gravel underneath the oversized tires. The man pulled on the emergency brake and shut off the truck, getting out of the driver’s seat and slamming the door behind him. Whumpee jolted out of her pain-induced daze, frantically watching the man’s shadow lurk around to the passenger door. As the door swung open, the handcuffs pulled Whumpee’s wrists out of the truck. She stumbled to the ground, half-crouching, and looked up at the man.

It was almost the evening, as the sunset painted the sky in enviable tangerine, magenta, and purple. A pit formed in Whumpee’s stomach.

He reached to the door handle, undoing one of the cuffs while maintaining a strong grip on her wrist. The man slid the handcuffs out from the interior door handle, swiftly returning the cuff to her wrist, barely giving her time to relish the lack of harsh metal scraping her skin.

The property they were on was serene: surrounded by groves of trees and overgrown flora sprouting from the rock pathways. The house itself, a short ranch-style home, was weathered. Bricks and side paneling were overcome with lichen and caked-on mud seemingly growing from the ground.

“Inside.” The man commanded, looping his arm around Whumpee’s and leading her towards the covered front porch. He fumbled with his keys as Whumpee desperately looked to either side for a neighboring house.

“Don’t bother,” he grunted as he found the right key to fit into the lock, “this has been my family’s land for generations. Not another house for miles.”

The lock clicked and the door slowly creaked open, revealing a dark and dusty corridor flooding with sunlight. Whumpee stumbled in, eyes tracking the long wooden family table to her immediate left and shelves of miscellaneous trinkets scattered about. Just beyond the table stood the outdated kitchen, which smelled of something dank.

“This way,” the man pulled Whumpee the opposite direction, guiding her down a short hallway with two doors. He gently pushed the door on the right open with his foot, gesturing with his gun for the girl to step inside. With his elbow, he flicked the lightswitch on, revealing a spare bedroom with a foreboding, wooden Windsor chair in the middle. Just beyond the chair stood a tripod with a video camera.

“Sit down.” He nodded his head. Whumpee froze, reality settling in.

“Did I fuckin’ stutter?” The man boomed, haphazardly waving his gun toward the chair. “Sit the fuck down!”

Whumpee complied, placing her cuffed wrists in her lap. The chair squeaked as she put weight on it. The backrest, mere wooden bars, dug into her back.

The man sighed, averting his attention to the chest of drawers in the corner. He retrieved the roll of silver duct tape from the top of the chest and returned his gaze to the girl.

“Hold out your hands.” He commanded, sticking a small key into the handcuffs. With a twist and a click, the cuffs were undone. Whumpee was free, but she wasn’t truly. “Put your wrists on the armrests.”

Whumpee did what she was told, gently laying her arms along the armrests of the chair. She felt the grooves, notches, and wear on the polished wood. The man violently ripped into the duct tape, wrapping it around the girl’s wrists and armrests. The tape pulled at her arm hairs, causing tears to well in her eyes.

After his handiwork was done, he did the same to her ankles. He pulled her legs apart and bound herankles to the legs of the chair, completely immobilizing her.

“There,” he grinned, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He tucked his glock into the waistband of his blue jeans and turned his back to the girl, messing with the tripod and angling the camera.

Whumpee gently twisted and turned in the chair, each movement causing the duct tape to squeak and bite harder. She looked down at her cotton shirt, decorated with a fresh splattering of blood from her nose. The girl could only imagine the grisly sight of her appearance right now.

The man stepped to the side, revealing a small blinking red light on the camera trained right at her.

“The deal is simple,” he announced from behind the camera lens, “remove the chip in my arm for your lovely girl back mostly unscathed.” He twisted the camera lens, zooming in on Whumpee’s face, “does that sound like a good deal?”

“No!” Whumpee yelped, lurching forward with her shoulders, “let me go!” Like a wild animal about to be speared, she screamed and thrashed about as much as her bound limbs allowed.

The man clicked a button on the camera, and the blinking stopped. He threw the tripod to the side, ignoring the camera as it clammored to the ground. Throwing his hands atop of Whumpee’s taped wrists, he got inches away from the girl’s face. His warm, wet breath plagued her skin as he shot daggers into her eyes.

“Do we want to try that again?” He whispered, “Do we want to yell and bitch again?”

Whumpee shook her head, “let me go, please. I don’t know what you’re talking about” Her voice was barely audible over the shakes and sobs.

“I know you don’t,” the man stepped back, returning to the camera, “but I do know that mommy dearest, Senator , does have some good connections to get the job done. Isn’t that right?”

The girl froze, “You know my mom?”

“This time,” the man chuckled, “really sell it for me, alright?” He clicked the button on the camera, and the ominous, blinking red light continued.

“The deal is simple, Senator. Remove the damn chip in my arm or your lovely daughter here loses a finger. No cops, no feds. You know the drill.”

The man rolled up his sleeve, revealing multiple, scattered slices in various stages of healing along his skin. “I tried it myself, but I can’t get the job done,” he admitted to the camera.

Whumpee whimpered, staring directly into the camera lens and wriggling in her seat.

“I’ll be in touch,” the man confirmed before stopping the recording. “Excellent showmanship!”

“Ple-e-ase,” Whumpee strained, shaking her head, “I don’t want to do this, I want to go home.”

The man chuckled, kneeling down at eye-level and cupping a rough hand on her blood-stained cheek, “until I get what I asked for, you are home.”

---

The man left the girl alone in the spare bedroom, with nothing but the sickening camera lens to stare into. The duct tape began to fold onto itself the more Whumpee bent her wrists and struggled against the binds. She felt the tips of her fingers go numb as she loosened the tight fists she had kept her hands in. Small, crimson crescents had burrowed themselves into her palms.

“Fuck!” She whisper-shouted, tossing her attention to the locked door painfully close to her reach. She kicked out her legs, only to be immediately halted by the duct tape around the cuffs of her jeans. The chair she sat atop creaked.

Whumpee’s brow began to sweat the more she exerted herself fruitlessly. The man would be back any moment, she knew that, but she still had to try. She tossed her shoulders from side to side, angrily yanking her wrists along with them. The tape held on fiercely, pulling at the individual hairs in her skin.

With one triumphant pull to the left, the right side of the chair lifted off of the ground and tilted, knocking the girl onto the ground. Still bound in a seated position, Whumpee’s left shoulder and leg took the brunt of the impact onto the dusty carpeted floor. Her head bounced twice against the ground, causing her world to spin and dance. A thud echoed throughout the sparsely decorated room as she regained her focus.

A set of hurried footsteps approached the door, which clicked unlocked and swung open.

“What the fuck did you do?” The man shouted, frustratedly throwing his hands up in the air. He crouched to the ground and tilted his head, facing the girl as she sobbed into the carpet. “Didn’t think that one through, huh, Whumpee?”

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry-” Whumpee pleaded.

“Stop saying that!” He exploded, pushing himself back onto his feet, “stop saying you’re fuckin’ sorry when you’re not!” The man viciously grabbed the back of the chair and wrenched it back upright, ignoring Whumpee’s lulling head.

“Please let me go,” Whumpee offered, “I’ll do anything you want, just, please.”

The man, hand still on the back of the chair, began to tug the girl out of the room. The legs of the chair caught on the floor, bouncing the girl as she helplessly watched the man drag her out of the bedroom and down the hall.

He shoved the chair at the head of the wooden family table, pushing her seat in as if to eat a hearty, home cooked meal. The man sat down next to her, uncomfortably close, and glared.

“You think you’re smarter than me?” He interrogated, hand hovering over his pants pocket.

“No, no I don’t.”

The man fished out a small pocket knife, unsheathing the shining blade, “you think you’re better than me?”

“I never said that,” she blubbered. The man ran his finger along the girl’s hand, which trembled and flinched under his touch.

“You know,” the man stated, an intimidating coolness in his tone, “I told your mother that you would lose a finger if she didn’t pay up.”

Whumpee whined, pulling herself as far away from the man as she could. “She hasn’t had enough time, please.”

“What I didn’t tell her,” the man spun the blade in his hand, “is how you would lose that finger.” He pounced his hand towards the girl’s wrist, squeezing violently. “Open up your fuckin’ fingers.”

Whumpee clenched her hand in a fist, gaping at her hand and the torment that was imminent. The man let go of her hand, electing to move his grip to the tip of her ring finger and fully extending it with a harsh yank.

“Please don’t do this,” Whumpee cried, tears free flowing down her face, “please!”

The man sat, stone-faced, and began his handiwork. He made a thin lateral, straight cut along the length of the girl’s finger, nail to knuckle, ignoring her squirming and desperate pleas. Red droplets began to slowly form along the incision.

“Where to start, where to start,” the man muttered to himself, placing the blade along the top joint of her ring finger. He dug the tip of the blade deeper into her skin, circling the joint. Whumpee felt nauseous, biting the inside of her cheek and maintaining her last, fleeting bit of stoicism.

“Stop!” Whumpee shrieked, fighting harder to pull her hand away from the man, to no avail. “Don’t-”

The man moved his blade to the second joint, giving it a similar, deeper cut across the knuckle. Whumpee clenched her jaw, tears welling as she stifled a cry and fought against the pitiful scream that she knew was soon to come.

Returning to the top joint, the smallest one, the man began to slice away chunks of skin and sinew, as if whittling a stick. Whumpee tried to scream. All that came out was a slight hiss of air, weak and almost inaudible. The pain was a blinding white heat she felt all throughout her body. Her breath hitched into a choking gasp, legs kicking fruitlessly in their binds.

“Please!” She yelped, her entire body trembling and convulsing.

Another slice, severing the tip of her finger off from her hand. The man cocked his head, staring at the small, fleshy pile of discarded gore that landed on the table beneath the girl’s hand. He wiped his bloody blade on the girl’s shirt, swiping it clean before continuing.

“Easier than I thought,” he stated, unable to hide a slight smirk.

Whumpee caught her breath in her throat, praising any and all gods for areprieve from the pain. She turned her head away, leaning forward and huffing. The man, blade still in hand, gripped her skull and forced her attention towards her mutilated hand.

“Please-” she sputtered, unable to look away from the blood-splattered scene before her.

“You know,” the man fidgeted with the small bone in his hand, “you keep saying that, yet you never tell me what you want.” His voice oozed with condescending malice.

“St-stop.”

He chuckled, “But, I’m not done.”

The man quickly went to work on the next segment of her finger, trimming away at the flesh. Whumpee choked on a scream and bile as she fought against the duct tape that pinned her to the chair. The man didn’t even hesitate, finishing off his work by slicing off the section of the finger as the girl coughed and gurgled. She expelled a small puddle of vomit onto the table, which mixed with the scraps of her finger and splatterings of crimson.

Her vision grew dark around the edges. She weakly turned her eyes up to the man, who met her gaze. Whumpee’s head was locked in place, her mind stalling, as she processed the chunks of muscle and bone that laid before her. She saw the tip of her own bone poking out of what remained of her left ring finger, the pale color staining red and blood weeping from the severed wound.

She was going to be sick again.

Whumpee wasn’t even aware that she was still crying, sobbing viscerally between the wails she choked on. The rest of her body had gone limp as he wiped the knife onto her shirt once more. Sick fascination crept into her mind as she continued to stare at her hand.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured, tilting his head and folding his knife back into his pocket, “you can keep the rest. For now.” The man gestured at the rest of her fingers, which hung limply from her hand at the edge of the armrest.

“Please,” she gasped, unsure of what she was even pleading for.

“I just needed the one, to make a statement, you know?” The man sheathed his blade and collected his spoils, “be a good girl and we won’t have to do this again, alright?” He patted the girl’s cheek, grinning.

Dread tied another knot in Whumpee’s stomach as she succumbed to the shadows that claimed her sight.

[justlikeotherchemists]

CWs: implied beating, restraints, hand whump.

Team Leader no longer fought the restraints tying them down to the chair. The beating drained them of any remaining energy, so the only thing they could focus on was breathing through the pain.

"Here's how it's gonna go," Whumper grabbed Team Leader's chin, admiring their already bruised face. "I will now call Teammate, and you will tell them to drop the case: say it's been solved, send them on vacation... whatever. Just make sure they stop."

Team Leader met Whumper's gaze and blinked once, exhausted and resigned. Whumper let go of their chin and pressed the button on the phone. The dial tone echoed in a nearly empty room.

"Hello?" Teammate's voice came through the speaker after a few moments.

"Hi, Teammate, just checking in on your project," Team Leader put in an enormous effort to sound calm and even vaguely cheerful.

"Oh, it's going well! With the evidence I found, we should be able to prove Whumper's guilt."

"Great," Team Leader threw a glance in Whumper's direction. "Do hurry up, though."

Whumper's face darkened. They quietly put the phone on the nearby table and grabbed Team Leader's pinky, slowly bending it as a threat.

"Yes, I will. Leave it to me!" Teammate replied eagerly.

Team Leader's face contorted as they tried and failed to stifle a yelp.

"Is everything alright?" Teammate asked with concern.

"Y-yesss," Team Leader hissed. "I'm just busy. Gotta go. Good luck with your investigation," they rattled off as soon as they managed to steady their voice, somewhat.

"Right, thanks. Talk to you later!" Teammate said.

They sounded relaxed, completely unaware of what was happening.

The moment the call was over, something snapped, and Team Leader screamed.

Tag list: @whumplicity

[jordanstrophe]

The Basement Whumper

Because that’s what they got dubbed <3   They got a masterlist

CW: Held captive, gaged, restrained, creepy/nice whumper 

Whumper swung the door open, staring down at their hostage bound to a pole on the floor. Their gaze was met with wide frightened eyes staring back at them.

They didn’t look as scared today, they must be getting used to their new environment. They swung a bag in hand onto the table, digging through it. Whumpee let out a muffled squeak, trying to get their attention. Their little captive was asking for the gag to be removed as usual. Adorable.

Whumper sighed at their own thoughts. They were starting to get too attached to them. Good thing they haven't learned their name yet, that’s about the same as naming something that’s yours; an inseparable bond. 

“Yeah yeah, give me one second.” Whumper muttered, when Whumpee let out another muffled ‘hey’.

They pulled out a coil of rope from the bag as Whumpee’s noises slowly died with fear. Whumper tilted their head back with a smirk. “Don’t worry, this isn’t meant to hurt you. Unless you fight it, of course.”

Keep reading

[whumpsday]

Allergic Reaction

@medwhumpmay Day 3 (Alt)

Medwhump May Masterlist

content: bugs / insect bites, torture, less-than-pet whump, itching/hives, starvation, dehydration, most def scientifically inaccurate (i did get hives once but know nothing about fire ants) but i'm just having fun

-

“How’s my little ant farm doing?” Whumper asked, chipper.

It was a question Whumpee was wholly unable to answer, bound and gagged as he was, but his state was plainly visible nonetheless. He was in hell.

He laid on the bottom of the large glass tank, anything that might move too much and hurt Whumper’s precious fire ants bound firmly to its floor: ankles, wrists, waist, neck.

What wasn’t protected by the tight straps was bumpy and red, as painful as bee stings and ten times as itchy as anything he’d ever felt before. Just allergic enough for full-body hives without that pesky anaphylaxis. Not that it would have been pleasant even without the allergy.

They crawled over him like he really was their home. Down his face, under his clothes, up the soles of his feet, not an inch of him remained–those covered by the restraints notwithstanding–that hadn’t been bitten. That he couldn’t feel tiny legs traversing without a care, punishing him with tiny, agonizing bites whenever he so much as twitched.

Whumpee had been squeezing his eyes shut for what had to be weeks on end. He couldn’t even try to beg with those.

It didn’t even need to be getting out, at this point. He’d take anything. Painkillers. Benadryl. More food. More water. Anti-itch cream. A scratch of Whumper’s nails. Whatever relief he could get.

He whined, wordless and pleading.

Whumper paid him no mind, instead prattling on about the ants. They sprinkled food over Whumpee’s body, cooing at them–Whumpee still wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he immediately felt the ants swarm each bit that landed on their skin, shuddering at the sensation.

“Ah-ah-ah. Stay still,” Whumper warned. “You know your job. That’s how you earn your meal, when they’re all done. Be good, now.”

Whumpee whimpered, but stilled, not daring to upset Whumper–or the ants, for that matter. He could already feel the new bites coming in. His skin screamed at him to at least try to wiggle, to try to rub up against the dirt covering the smooth glass floor for what little friction he could get, but he ignored it while he could.

He waited as the ants made quick work of the food. Eventually, he felt water trickle into his gag, and a slurry of blended food after that. He gulped it down greedily. It was never enough. Maybe Whumper was too used to feeding ants.

Some ants crowded around the border between the gag and his mouth, trying to steal his food, as if they weren’t already given a plentiful bounty before he got a single drop. They nibbled at his cheek, his chin, wringing more weeping from him.

Please. Please make it stop. Please let me out of here. I’ll do whatever you want. Anything. Why do you treat the ants so much better than me? I could be just as good as an ant. Please help me.

“Be good,” Whumper repeated, their footsteps trailing away, leaving him to his hell.

-

Oneshots taglist:

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@reborrowing

@paperprinxe

@what-if-i-just-did

Everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter (i was inspired by having seen your own take on fire ant whump years ago!!)

@whumpy-wyrms

@all-hail-pigeons

@wolfeyedwitch

@starfields08000

@jumpywhumpywriter

[jordanstrophe]

When whumpee gets captured, they put on a stoic face for their abductor.

-But they can’t mask their shaking. It’s visible enough their hard expression hides not one once of fear.

[mintflavouredwhump]

A whumper who has the captured whumpee pinned to the wall like a preserved butterfly specimen. Giant sewing pins pierce into their limbs and torso, staining their clothes with fresh blood every time they struggle to break free. It doesn't help that the whumper keeps telling them how pretty they look all pinned up.

[whumpsandwhimpers]

for the emoji game:

🐇⏰🦟

-an otter

HELLO OTTER! Otter anon?? That's what I'll call you!! Thanks for sending an ask for this ask game!

Sorry this took AGES but I finally finished it!! HOPE YOU LIKE!

Contains: Creepy/intimate whumper, blood drinking, scared whumpee, bound and gagged, noncon touch (nonsexual), noncon kissing (nonsexual), female whumpee, male whumper

Good Bunny

...

"Timer starts now, Bunny," the mosquito hybrid said to the bunny hybrid, placing the egg timer down onto a nearby table. His proboscis quivered in anticipation as he stared down at the her, restrained with arms bound tightly and painfully behind her back using rope. Her mouth was wrapped tightly behind layers of cloth and duct tape, keeping her nice and silent.

Bunny stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes as he approached. Even if they'd done this countless times before, she still hated it. The basement that had been her cell for nearly a month now felt even colder as Mosquito knelt down next to her, gently pulling her into his arms. Cradling her. Then, almost tenderly, he pierced her neck with his proboscis.

Bunny let out a whimper, which was immediately stifled both by her gag and Mosquito's hand.

"Shhh, darling. That's it. Good girl…"

He started to drink, slowly and steadily, as the timer on the nearby table ticked away, the sound loud and painful to her sensitive ears.

The minutes passed agonizingly slow, Mosquito's arms remained wrapped around Bunny's smaller body. He held her just tightly enough that it was a struggle to move, but loosely enough that she wasn't up against his body. As more blood was slowly drained, her already cold body started to become even colder from the loss of blood. Her skin started becoming paler again, and like always, she started to tremble, more and more violently as the minutes passed.

Then came the part Bunny hated most. As she started to tremble, Mosquito pulled her even closer, now pressing her roughly against his body for warmth. And even if she didn't want to, she found her eyes flitting shut as she leaned into him, just for a chance to be warm. Her head involuntarily lolled against his chest, and Mosquito started to stroke her ears, pressing them flat against her head. His hand continued to stroke them almost tenderly, even nuzzling his own head against hers.

She wanted to throw up.

She didn't know anymore how much time had passed until the timer finally rang to signal the end. Mosquito smiled, finally, finally pulling his proboscis out of her neck. He gently kissed the top of her head and caressed her plump cheek, pinching it slightly.

"You were so good today, Bunny. I'm so proud of you. You're getting better at this everyday."

Bunny looked up at him, her black eyes shining with tears she was too exhausted to shed. Her eyelids drooped heavily, and her ears remained flat against her head. They rarely popped back up anymore.

Mosquito smiled, stroking her ears once more, before finally releasing her gently onto the floor of the cell. He picked up a blanket from the corner of the room and carefully swaddled her into it, tightly enough so that it was impossible for her to move, then patted her head.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he whispered, bending down and kissing her temple.

Bunny keened very weakly, watching from where she was laying sideways on the floor as Mosquito stood and wiped the blood—her blood—off his clothes. Then he smiled and exited the basement. The door shut with a heavy clang.

Her neck was already starting to itch and swell into an ugly lump where Mosquito had drunk from her, her head twitching involuntarily in a feeble attempt at relieving it. Bunny shut her eyes, breaths shallow and ragged, too tired to try to wriggle out of the blanket, and too weak to do anything other than shiver, twitch, and wish for warmth.

She wished she could throw up.

General Tag list: @thelazywitchphotographer

[afearsomeartisan]

Bloodied man losing a fight, voice broken with arousal: “Oh, you’re good”

[nonconwhump]

Imagine whumper saying this as whumpee’s beating them up🧍‍♂️

[whumpologyy]

"Please."

Whumpee's voice was raw and hoarse from days of screaming. They licked their dry lips and tried again.

"Please, I can't again, not today.....please......"

"Please what?" Whumper's voice was calm, casual, as they glanced up from readying their tools.

"Please don't hurt me. Not like -- not like yesterday."

Whumper looked at them, almost amused. Then their expression flickered with something akin to consideration, and they stepped closer.

"Alright. I hear you. I won't hurt you today."

Whumpee's shoulders sagged in relief, but it was short-lived. Whumper's grin widened, a glint of amusement sparking in their eyes.

Instead of striking, they leaned lower, lips brushing Whumpee's collarbone. They froze. No blow, no sharp pain — only the unbearable press of Whumper's mouth.

Whumper felt them tremble and chuckled. “See? I can keep my promise. I’m not hurting you. I’m enjoying you. That’s better, isn’t it?”

[valhalo]

[pillforthesorrow]

Caught Stealing (2025)

[the-bar-sinister]

Whumpee with a gag inserted in their mouth. Whumper leaning in close and tracing whumpee's open lips with the tip of their finger.

[thriftyshark530]

"if you hurt him"

"If?" Whumper cuts in, chuckling at the notion from caretaker. "I already have".

Caretaker's eye begins to twitch as they watch a sickening grin appear over whumpers face.

"And it's going to get a lot fucking worse for him if you don't do exactly as I say, capisce?"

[alittlebitofwhump]

Best ways to transport whumpee

Pull at their hair. Even better if they are bruised up and standing up hurts. "ah, wait, no, ah!" as you pull them up and drag them along without mercy. To ease the pain at their scalp they have to push themselves to comply and feel the pain in their legs/back/chest/wherever.

Grab their upper arm, hard enough to bruise, and roughly guide them wherever you want them to go.

When whumpee is hiding under a bed or laying on the ground, grab them by their ankles and pull them away. They will desperately try to grasp at anything with their hands, but it's no use.

History whump. Tie their hands together and tie the end of the rope to the back of your cart. Comfortably ride your horse as whumpee is forced to walk along in the sun. Don't give them water. Let them almost collapse from exhaustion. If they fall and trip the cart will pull them along and their wrists will be bleeding.

Wrestle them down, tie their hands behind their back, blindfold them, and force them to walk with you, tripping and disoriented. Maybe you can let them fall on their face a time or two.

Forcefully carry them with you between two people. Let them struggle and fight, but it's no use. They are not strong enough.

Threaten them with a gun. Make them come "willingly". Make sure they know that if they don't do what you tell them, they are dead. Whumpee complies with slow and careful movements, not wanting to, but also knowing they have no choice.

Throw them tied up in the back of your truck. They try so hard not to hyperventilate, but the claustrophobia is making them panic. Every turn and bump is throwing them around. It is dark and hot. They try to follow the road, but quickly become completely disoriented.

Put a shock collar around them and zap them if they don't do what you say.

Once you have sufficiently broken whumpee, you don't have to force them anymore. A simple tilt with your head or squeeze of their hand will make them comply. Eyes down, defeated, pathetic. Make whumpee follow you in public, just to prove to both of you that you are completely in control of them.

[snarehare]

Mock execution that stops just a little later than you'd think it would.

Whumpee made to dig their own grave. They're driven out, they dig the whole thing, they're made to lay down in it, but Whumper doesn't get them up. Whumper starts shoveling the dirt in on top of them, to the point that their head is covered, and only uncovers them once they're sure that Whumpee has actually begun to suffocate.

Or a Whumpee who's taken out back. Made to kneel, gun to their head. They beg and plead, but the gun actually fires. Maybe it just fires into the ground beside them, or maybe it fires into Whumpee, just not in a fatal place. Still- Whumpee wasn't expecting them to actually fire it.

Maybe it's not the first time a mock execution has happened. Maybe Whumpee goes through the motions thinking it's another intimidation tactic. But then Whumper starts taking that extra step- and that's when Whumpee starts to panic and beg, but at that point it's already "too late".