#whump request

[the-forsaken-princess]

Ok but. Using barbed wire as restraints. Keeps whumpee bound and causes pain at the same time.

[siren-of-agony]

Still not over that awesome possessive whumper piece of yours so here's another one . A whumper has let their whumpee be free for some time for whatever reason , but oh no they aren't able to reach them . They barge into whumpee's house and no sign of whumpee. Did another whumper take them perhaps 👀👀👀

Hi! It’s been 2 years since I got this request and I have now accepted that I will never actually write it-write it. But I need you to know that back when I got this ask, I spent multiple hours being incredibly unhinged w my love @for-the-love-of-angst and outlined this whole thing. So I‘m very sorry you’ll never get the full thing, here is what we had planned, a bit cleaned up

There are honestly no warnings because this is a literal Hallmark movie. Well, maybe pet whump if you squint very hard?

A Christmas Reunion

Establishing shot. A McMansion, absolutely decked out in kitsch christmas decoration. Snow is drifting lazily in front of a big window we zoom in toward. Through it, we enter a large living room, warm and cozy, with large couches in a u-formation. On the sides sit people of every age, including some children. On the middle couch, an old couple, maybe in their seventies, close together, holding hands, smiling at their family. At their feet, a person not much younger, their hands and ankles bound in what looks like Christmas wreaths. They seem annoyed. Child 1: Grandpa, Grandpa, will you tell us the story again? Of how Cinnamon saved Christmas and this family?

Grandpa Henry: Oh but I’ve told that every year, isn’t it getting boring?

Grandma Violet: I was there and I still want to hear it again! It’s a great story, Henry, love, let's not break tradition!

GH: All right, fine, fine. There was a time when my Violet and I didn’t get along quite as well as we do now-adays. We had been married for a few years, but we were fighting so often. We had made the decision to maybe spend some time apart, but couldn’t quite agree who our lovely Cinnamon would spend their time with.

We focus on GH free hand, reaching towards the hair of the person sitting in front of him. We see Cinnamon’s hair being pet, the annoyed expression on their face. A dreamlike rippling filter across the picture. We are entering a

FLASHBACK Another, slightly smaller McMansion. Movers are carrying boxes and furniture outside. A car drives up, parks haphazardly, and a Young Henry gets out, in a business suit, with a business bag, business hair. We understand: YH works too much and is never home. He is important in the field of business.

He runs towards the house and stops one of the movers.

YH: What are you doing in my house? With my furniture?

Mover: Your ex-wife gave us the official court documents. You should have gotten them, too. Didn’t your lawyer contact you to inform you we’d come over today?

YH curses. His lawyer had tried to call him, but he’d been too busy doing business.

YH enters his house. He ignores his stuff being carried out, making his way directly to a door with a small window, but he starts to unlock it without looking through. With a start, he realizes the door is unlocked already. He steps through the door. We see a nice room, cozily decorated. The big window has no unlocking mechanism. From the inside, the door has no handle, only a keyhole. YH looks around frantically. The room is empty. He unlocks his phone and calls somebody.

YH: Violet, you bitch! Where’s Cinnamon?

YV: Don’t talk to me like that! What do you mean?

YH: Where. Is. Cinnamon. I bought you another house, I gave you money, I gave you all my furniture. I get to keep Cinnamon! The court agreed! 

YV: But I didn’t agree! And anyway, I don’t have Cinnamon! Are you telling me you already lost our precious darling? I told you you spent too much time at work to care for them!

YH: If you don’t have them, where are they? Their room is empty! 

YV: You’re useless. I’m coming over. Search through Cinnamons room, maybe they’re just hiding. They must have gotten scared with all these changes.

YV hangs up. YH starts checking behind the curtains, under furniture. On the bed, almost covered by a pillow, he finds a note. He reads it out, as if he knows he’s in a movie and people might not be watching the screen

YH: ‘You’ve ruined my business deal with your smart business decisions and your wife’s gossiping revealing my affair. From the published court proceedings I know what you fought most about and I’ve decided to take it and destroy it, just how you destroyed my life. Getting them in that box wasn’t easy, but carrying it out, dressed as a mover. I will fit right in. You will never see your precious Cinnamon again.’

YH curses again, running to the door, where he sees YV already running towards him

[Here we enter the part I had never fully planned out, but imagine a full on heist movie with this divorced couple trying to rescue their pet from a sadistic Whumper and falling in love with each other all over again.]

They stand back in their McMansion, empty except for the twig of mistletoe above them, a young Cinnamon still bound and gagged and slightly bloody sitting on the floor between them. They kiss passionately. The camera pans down to YC’s face. We recognize the annoyed expression. Ripple effect - FLASHBACK ENDS

We’re back in the living room from the first scene

GH: And that’s how we saved Cinnamon and Cinnamon saved us!

Old Cinnamon: I hate you all.

GV: It did break our heart, of course, when we told Cinnamon they could wish for anything they wanted for surviving such an ordeal, and instead of maybe a cozier couch, they wanted a bit more freedom, but who are we to go back on our word.

OC: I told you I wanted you to leave me the fuck alone.

GH: And we do, almost always, do we not! We understand that even family spends some time apart, but the holidays are a time to get together! 

OC: You really don’t need to abduct me every year, though. Do you know how embarrassing it is if someone asks you to come over for Christmas and you have to be like “Nah, I’m going to get abducted again.”

Everyone laughs heartily. Cinnamon is struggling against their bonds.

OC: Also, how often do I have to tell you that I go by Monroe now?

GV: Oh sweetheart, you'll always be our little Cinnamon. Now stop struggling against, you'll just hurt yourself again, and you'll have to cut the roast later!

OC: I’ll cut you.

GV: Cinnamon, Christmas is the holiday of LOVE!

OC: That’s Valentine’s day, you dumb fuck.

The camera starts moving back, through the window we first entered through. We exit the McMansion, still shining in warm light, vague Christmas conversation audio going on. The snow falls heavier. The last shot is a person from behind, we see their gray hair and recognize the sadistic Whumpers favourite Christmas sweater. In their hand, a knife

~FIN~

[montammil]

Stoic whumpee being stubborn about being able to bath themselves. Caretaker the whole time… Sure. What ever you say.

I hope this is okay!! I might've made the caretaker a little too worried, if this isn't what you had in mind, please don't be afraid to request again!

...

"I'm not a baby, you don't need to carry me," Whumpee grumbles. "I can walk fine."

"Are you sure? Your leg is still injured..." Along with so many other things.

Whumpee huffs and removes themselves from Caretaker's arms, as they're led into the bathroom. They look at Caretaker expectantly, ready for them to leave.

"Are you sure you don't need any help, because--"

"I'm sure, Caretaker."

Caretaker frowns and nods. "Okay, but if you need me, just call my name."

Just as Caretaker slowly closes the door shut behind them, Whumpee puts a plug in the drain and turns the water on, then gets undressed and into the tub. They seethe as the water hits some of their injuries, but it still feels nice.

When they try reaching for the shampoo, though, it falls to the ground, making a louder noise than they thought it would. They groan quietly when they hear Caretaker knock on the door.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, Caretaker, I'm fine."

"Did you fall?"

"I am not that light."

"Well..."

"It was a shampoo bottle. Now can you please let me have some peace?"

"Okay, okay!" Even though they can't see it, Whumpee imagines Caretaker putting their hands up in surrender. "If you need me--"

"--just call your name, I know." Whumpee slumps back into the tub exasperatedly. They listen to Caretaker hover behind the door for a couple of seconds, then they finally relax when they hear the footsteps quietly move away.

[itswhumpday]

Hardened and no-nonsense (can come across as callous/exasperated) Medic + inexperienced and slightly terrified Whumpee, and Whumpee needs stitches or other painful field treatment without pain meds available?

I went with firemen, because they are a blast. Haha! Get it! Anyway, love this trope. Thanks for requesting it.

A building had collapsed. Again. 

Caretaker barely noticed it anymore. It was just a part of living in a world of superpeople. They broke things to “save the city”, then ran off when it was time to pay the bill. And today seemed to be some major battle because the earth had been shaking more than usual and calls had been coming in from everywhere. 

Before they left, the Caretaker saw the rookies getting ready. It would be their first mission. They looked so excited: eyes gleaming, hands nervously checking their equipment. Caretaker hoped they would get a good first run: something chill, to ease them onto the job. They would have many years like Caretaker had to regret going into this career. They could have a couple of days to believe they were heroes. 

The building was pretty standard. Most people were already outside. Caretaker stayed out to help with first aid. Some of their comrades went inside to search for the rest of the victims. Everything was running smoothly: people were being put into ambulances and evacuated, bit by bit. 

Which, of course, was when the world went to shit. Figures. 

The Caretaker’s walkie-talkie blared. Their team was going to be split in two because they were the closest location to the attack. Supervillains trying to destroy City Hall. Caretaker didn’t know why they kept building that place up since it got blown up all the time. 

“Some of ours were inside.” Said dispatch as the Caretaker got into the truck. “The rookies. They were picking up donations for last week’s victims.” 

Caretaker swore. The truck lit up its lights and sirens and they raced to city hall. Another truck had arrived and was already trying to put out the fire. Caretaker runs inside, with two others right behind them. One separates once they enter the hall. The ceiling has a gaping, flaming hole, which isn’t very encouraging. As they went from room to room, their colleague gathered the people who could walk and started walking them back to the entrance. Caretaker was alone. But that was fine. That had happened many times before. 

Caretaker helped a worker whose desk had fallen on her and handed her off through the window to a colleague. The rest of the floor was mostly evacuated. Then, as they walked past the elevator towards the stairs, they heard whimpering. 

“Hello?” They called out. 

“Here!” They heard, from below, through the elevator doors. Caretaker quickly took out the tool and got the doors opened. The elevator car was halfway here, halfway down. The cables were all twisted and it looked like it was the only thing holding it in place and keeping it from breaking down. “I- I’m here.” 

Called the person again. Caretaker carefully looked inside. At the bottom of the car, laid one of her rookies, Whumpee. Boxes and boxes of donations were around them on the floor under the little light coming from her flashlight. Their body however, was on the floor. An insane amount of blood covered the floor of the elevator. 

“They had—” They tried to say, eyes so pained they were unfocused. “They had donations— The… the elevator.” 

“Shh. It’s fine. I get it. Let’s get you out of here.” 

Caretaker assessed. Down was always better than up, especially in a flaming building. They raced down the stairs into the basement until they found the entrance to the elevator. Luckily, the doors were already opened there.

As soon as they arrived, they noticed the rookie was breathing too fast. “Stop that.” Caretaker said, drier than they meant to. “You’re going to hyperventilate.” 

The rookie looked at them with tears in their eyes. 

“I thought you’d left.” 

“Why would I leave? You’re stuck with me. Now, where are you hurt?” 

They pointed. 

“My leg. It’s pretty busted.” 

One look confirmed it. It was badly dislocated. But not broken. 

“We need to get you out of that elevator before it falls. Got that?” 

Rookie shook their head. 

“I don’t want to.” 

“I didn’t ask. Give me your arms.” 

Caretaker pushed the boxer aside and grabbed the Whumpee’s arms, slowly dragging them. Whumpee yelled, but didn’t squirm. Caretaker grabbed them by the shoulders and finally got them out of the elevator, grabbing their knees before they fell. 

That, of course, didn’t help their injury, and they yelled again, staring to hyperventilate again. 

“Hey, hey. No. None of that.” Caretaker placed them down on the floor. They took out the cylinder of oxygen at their back, opened it and placed the mask on their face. “This is a burning building and we have to get out of it, right?” 

Whumpee was looking at Caretaker as if they were speaking Greek. 

“Right?!” They pushed. 

“Right.” Rookie said in a small voice. 

“And what to we need to make that happen?” 

Rookie blinked and then looked at themselves. 

“For me to walk?” 

“Fantastic. And how do we do that?” 

Caretaker placed themselves in front of their dislocated knee.

“No.” 

“Yes. Count to three.” 

“No! You’re going to do it on two!” 

“They give you too much training on that school! One!” 

“No, no, no, no!” Rookie cried, hiding their face, but otherwise firmly secure by Caretaker’s experienced hands. 

“Two!” 

“Just go already!” Whumpee yelled, read in the face!” 

“Three!”

“You’re supposed to go on two!” 

“Four!” Caretaker pulled the leg back in its place and Rookie screamed in pain. Whumpee slumped back, their eyes rolling back, their body covered in sweat, breathing heavily. 

Caretaker slapped their face lightly. 

“Hey. Wake up. This is still a burning building. We have to get out.” Whumpee blinked, in pain, their breathing difficult. Caretaker held the mask closer to their face. “Deep breaths, rookie. You can do it. I’m right here.” 

Caretaker sat them down. Whumpee slumped, looking like they would fall. Their hand grabbed the mask and they took two deep breaths before nodding they were ready. 

Caretaker stood them up, one of their arms around their shoulders. They were carrying the Rookie more than helping them, but it was alright. They stepped once. Then twice and Caretaker had to use their injured knee. They gritted their teeth and gave another step. 

Together, they would make it out of this burning building.

Thank you for reading all the way here! Reminder I take requests, I just take a VERY long time to get through them.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Personally, I would love to see a continuation of your Living Statue. 😊 - forthetaintedsorrow-whump

Here you go 😈

Part 1

Living Statue, Part 2

CW: gothic horror, body horror (kind of), general gothic creepiness

Whumpee’s consciousness returned in agonizing increments, and with it came the terrifying sensation of stone.

Ice cold, heavy beyond comprehension, stiff and immovable. Devoid of life, dead and bloodless but still somehow alive. Painfully, horrifically alive.

Whumpee gasped for air and found none. His chest was paralyzed, his lungs useless. And then he found he didn’t need to breathe. Breath meant nothing to a body made of stone.

“I see you have regained consciousness.” A female voice, eerie and distant, crawled into his stone ear. “How does it feel?”

A whimper rose and fell in whumpee’s throat. His vocal cords too were paralyzed. He blinked a pair of eyelids that couldn’t obey, and a blurred scene swam into his mind.

A long gallery, stretching into darkness, lit only by candles. Stone figures lined the walls, frozen in various poses: a hand reaching forward, a head arched backward in agony, legs bent as if sitting. All human. All turned to stone and arranged into a sickening collection.

His heart didn’t beat. His breath didn’t catch. Only his mind felt the surge of panic, the vast depths of utter helplessness.

The two black wells of the woman’s eyes loomed in his sightless vision, transfixing him with their strange calm.

“How does it feel?” she repeated, stroking a white finger along his cheek. How could he still feel her touch when he had no life? “My crowning treasure, so new and so beautiful.” She flickered in and out, merging with the candlelight like a ghost. Her cold hand remained on his stone skin, her fingers entwining with his own.

The full horror of his situation dawned on whumpee then, settling over his stone heart and body and lungs.

He had become a living statue.

@forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumping-to-conclusions @whumping-out-of-time @lady-wallace @ghostbies

[how-much-for-a-whump]

Could you please do Oscar Nero whump from general hospital?

Also love your page, it’s amazing 🤍

Hi, of course I can. But since you didn't say which exact whump you want, I picked it myself. Hope you don't mind.

And thank you for those lovely words. 🧡

[stoic-whumpee]

Prompt Game

Send me a song and I will make some whumpy prompts inspired by that song.

[whump-blog]

Before I make a request (if you’re still open for that and have time / motivation), do you have a list of sorts of things you don’t like / that make you uncomfy?

Hi anon, I'm always open for requests, so if you want to send me something, please do so. Time and motivation are a tricky thing, but even so you can be guaranteed that even if it takes a long time I will always give you an answer.

In this post here (I also added the image at the end of this post) ordered the things I like the most to the things I like the least. Even so, of the things that appear in the "no" part, there are some that I could do.

The ones that I wouldn't do are lady whump, unhappy ending, mind control, betrayal (in like careatcker turned whumper, if it's in another context maybe yes) and no caretaker (I can accept that in the first part there is no caretaker as long as they appear later, this has to do with comfort and relatively happy endings, I don't like hurt no comfort)

And the rest of the things in the "no" part are things that are not my favourite but in certain contexts I can write, just not as the main point of the plot.

None of this is something that would "tirgger or squick" me, so if you want you can take a chance and send me your request even with things listed as "no", the worst that can happen is that I will reply saying that I don't want to write that or that I will avoid that topic in what I write or put it in a way that I like more.

I feel this post has become too long to answer something relatively simple, but I still hope I have made my point. Thank you for your ask :D

[mischefous]

im so sorry if this sends twice tumblr has acted strange for me ;~; but for the whump request can we have Sky waking up from a prophetic nightmare? or super injured?(near death maybe?)

Don't worry Anon! I got your other one hehe. And thank you for the requesttt!💙 you have a splendid day!

HYLIA how many times have I drawn Warriors?! make it 5 times MWAHAHA! he felt like a good fit for this situation. As a Captain, he is well-equipped to handle this. Sky definitely needed that hug T3T

I didn't know how to describe crying i sowwy if it looks stoopid ahhhhh

[pathologicalreid]

Spencer x fem!reader fic based on “Work Song” by Hozier?? Whatever storyline or category you want!!

work song | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, near death experience, blood, gunshot wound, hospitals. word count: 1.77k a/n: hozier song request makes my brain go brr. i hope the people of tumblr enjoy this bc i most definitely enjoyed writing it.

boys, when my baby found me

Your hair whipped your face as you spun around through the labyrinth of a warehouse that your team had found themselves in. It seemed like an impossible task, trying to navigate this space, but you had already cleared over half of the space.

A small noise, like a shoe squeaking, caught your attention, causing your ears to rise like an animal hunting for prey. Turning a corner, you had your flashlight and firearm raised, coming face to face with Morgan. The both of you relaxed ever so slightly, no longer ready to pounce.

Ricocheting throughout the warehouse, you heard a deafening gunshot. The sound bounced off of the metal walls of the building, making it almost impossible for you to determine where the sound originated from. Meeting Morgan’s eyes, he nodded his head to the left, signaling for you to go that way while he went right.

You affirmed his tactics, turning slowly and making your way to the left. The rusted building was now so eerily quiet that goosebumps were sprouting across your body, even under your bureau jacket.

Continuing your way down the narrow passageway, you saw movement inside of a room. Sliding your back along the wall, you peeked into the room, seeing two bodies on the ground. You whispered almost imperceptibly into your radio, calling for medical. One of them was the local officer that the BAU had been working the case with.

The other one was Spencer.

You pivoted so that you were entirely in the doorway, facing the UnSub, he raised his gun at you, but you were already pulling the trigger, hitting him square in the forehead. Breathing heavily, you lowered your firearm before scrambling over to Spencer.

I didn’t care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her

In your ear, you could hear Morgan shouting, “Y/N, Reid, sound off, dammit!”

Something needed to happen. You needed to do something, but you had such severe tunnel vision that the only thing you could think about was Spencer.

He was gasping for air on the metal ground of the warehouse, lying in a pool of his own blood. You observed in horror as the red puddle spread with each passing moment.

Launching into action, you tugged your jacket off, stuffing the fabric onto Spencer’s side in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Even Kevlar vests had an Achilles heel, and the UnSub had managed to strike him precisely where there was a gap in the material. All the while, you were muttering the words, “Stay awake.” Just those two words, over and over again, like a prayer.

You hummed, using one hand to apply pressure to his wound and lifting the other so that you could smooth his hair back. His skin was alarmingly clammy, and you knew that, even with your attempts, he was losing too much blood. “Y/N,” he muttered, sounding like he was using all of his strength to say your name.

Gently, you hushed him, “It’s okay, Spence. Don’t talk, you’re gonna be just fine,” you insisted as his blood soaked through the knees of your jeans. You weren’t sure who you were trying to console at that moment.

“It makes sense-“ he said, being cut off by a cough, sending blood spurting out of his mouth. If his lung was collapsing, there was nothing you’d be able to do. You tried to shush him again, but he had more to say – he almost always did. “That I’d see you while I’m dying.”

Choking on tears, you leaned your face onto your shoulder so that you could wipe them away without moving your hands. “I’m here, I’m really here,” you urged, he wasn’t hallucinating, and he wasn’t dying. Not on your watch. “It’s me, Spence. I’m right here,” you told him carefully.

He opened his mouth again to speak, and you wanted to tell him to save his strength. You also didn’t want to deprive him of his words. “You…” his voice trailed off as he searched for the words, “You’ve always been my favorite dream.”

Sniffling, you shake your head, “I’m not a dream, I’m right here.” You told him, watching carefully as his eyelids grew seemingly heavier, “baby, open your eyes.”

in the low lamplight I was free

His skin was pallid. Even in the dim, orange light of the warehouse, you could see a sickly sheen forming on his skin. His body temperature was dropping, and it was all you could do to not cover his body with yours as you tried to keep him warm. “Spencer, please,” you rasped, urging him to open his eyes.

Your only solace was that his chest was still rising and falling. His breathing was rickety, but he was still breathing, and that had to count for something. “Spencer,” you cried, watching as blood sept through your jacket, flooding between your fingers as you tried to keep him in one piece.

“Love, open your eyes,” you begged, your eyes flooding with tears until everything was just a blur of red.

His heart was beating, you could feel it beneath your hands. A weak, unsteady beat under your trembling hands. “Baby, please, oh my god,” you pleaded, verging toward incoherent babbling.

You were second-guessing if he was still breathing. If his heart was still beating. With that realization, you screamed.

when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

At first, you were just screaming, letting the vibrations of your vocal cords portray your emotions, and then you screamed for your team. You had never felt more alone, kneeling in a puddle of Spencer’s blood, and no one was coming to help you.

This couldn’t be how it ended. You refused to acknowledge it, even as you felt the life leave his body.

Leaning your head to the side, you spoke into your radio, “I need medical. I’m in the upper west wing of the building. The suspect is dead, I have an officer and an agent down.” Tears continued to stream down your face.

You heard footsteps behind you as people piled into the room, but you didn’t dare take your eyes off Spencer. Not when there was a chance that it would be the last time you looked at him while you were both still breathing. “Agent,” someone said, but it didn’t register. They kept repeating themselves until two strong arms wrapped around you, dragging you away from Spencer.

Now sat on the floor, you clocked the paramedics that were now frantically working on Spencer, packing his wound, and cutting off the Kevlar vest.

Breathing heavily, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Rossi approached the local officer, checking his pulse. Emily was hovered over the UnSub, collecting his weapon from his corpse.

You were still being firmly held back, trying to pry the tattooed arms of Derek Morgan off of your torso. “Stop, let me get to him. I need to get to him,” you struggled against his grip, but any attempts at freedom were futile. The medics were saying awful things about a weak and thready pulse and pneumothorax.

Clinging to any semblance of hope that you could find, you listened to them talk about Spencer’s pulse, knowing that a pulse meant he was alive.

Your breathing quickened as you looked up at Morgan, Hotch was hovering behind the two of you, “I should’ve called for medical sooner.” Your voice was miserable, you had sat there with your jacket to his side for far too long. He could’ve gotten help from professionals.

“You radioed almost five minutes ago for medical,” Morgan informed you. “The EMTs just couldn’t find you in this damn maze.”

While you had no recollection of calling for help when you first found Spencer, you also knew that Morgan would get no pleasure out of lying to you.

You heard one of the paramedics say there was no pulse, and you didn’t remember anything that followed.

no grave can hold my body down

Crumpled in a ball, you picked at the crusted blood in your fingernails as you focused on the steady beeping of Spencer’s heart monitor.

According to Emily, who had been there when you woke up in the hospital, you had passed out around the time that the medics lost Spencer’s pulse. The doctor said it was just a result of stress. Thanks to some IV fluids and hydroxyzine, you were able to be discharged.

Spencer had been out of surgery for several hours now. The doctors had been careful to use the term “if he wakes up”, while you had made sure to say “when he wakes up.” You were playing the most horrendous waiting game, and there’s nothing worse than playing a game you have no interest in.

You were now donning a pair of black sweatpants and an old Academy t-shirt. Being the only team member permitted to see Spencer while he was still sleeping – girlfriend privileges, as Morgan phrased it – you waited with only the noises of his monitor to keep you company in the ICU.

Nurses came in and out, trying to manage his pain without the use of narcotics, making sure his blood transfusions were helping, and every once in a while, they’d check on you.

At this point, you had been nursing the same cup of ice water for hours, remembering the last thing Spencer had said to you: You’ve always been my favorite dream.

There was something so peculiar about being with someone who read so much, especially when he said such eloquent things while bleeding to death. You sighed, slumping back in the chair, you looked back at Spencer, only to be surprised that he was looking right back at you.

You jumped slightly in the chair, leaning over so that you could look at him, “Hey,” you whispered, maintaining the reverent tones of the Intensive Care Unit. “How do you feel?”

He’d lie to you and tell you he was fine, but you could tell by the way his heart rate increased that it was a lie. His eyebrows furrowed as he clocked the white patient ID bracelet on your wrist and your bloodshot eyes, “You’ve been crying,” he observed.

Despite yourself, you smiled softly, “I thought you were dead.” Your voices were each raspy, yours from screaming and his from being intubated.

Slowly, he unfolded his arm so that his hand was extended to you. Without a second thought, you placed your hand in his. He hummed softly, “And leave you? Never.”

I’ll crawl home to her

[itswhumpday]

dude; we need a comfort aftermath to the werewolf fight that ended with the whumpee passing out

Your wish is my command! This is part five of my Werewolf Whumpee "series". The stories are connected, but each part can be read independently.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

---

Caretaker always thought waking up at dawn was a sign their life was going great. They were sleeping right and they would be well-rested and able to be productive the rest of the day. 

Today, however, as the sun rose above them, they kept thinking they wanted to be asleep so bad right now. 

First off, their cats were dead. They were pretty sure. They didn’t know how many of the three or which one, but at least one had been killed last night. They’d searched the woods everywhere, but they had found were the people that were now laying on their lawn right now. 

Which brought them to the second point: Whumper, the black wolf that had tried to killed Whumpee and Caretaker, wriggling in pain under the sunlight, nasty bites covering their transforming body. 

Which of course, led to the third point. Whumpee also laying on the ground, unconscious, their shoulder almost opened in front of them as Caretaker clinged to their fur. 

And then, the pièce de résistance: Caretaker themselves was still bleeding pretty profusely from their own bites. If they were bring honest, not much could be worse. 

The early sunlight was painting everything in a golden light that was incompatible with what they had just lived through. Still, it allowed them to take a deep breath, try to think. What were their options? 

They could call emergency services. But Whumpee would probably get upset. It would bring attention to the fact there are wolves attacking and bring about hunters and whatnot. So that was out of the question. 

Take care of them right there, then. They had acquired a lot of medical supplies since Whumpee always came back with a scrape or two. Going inside would be the real hell. And they still weren’t sure about what to do about Whumper. Whumpee never spoke of the rest of the pack, so they didn’t know if it was a friend or foe. Still, it didn’t feel particularly right to let them out here, where anyone could see them from the road. Caretaker stood up, trying out their legs. They were a bit shaky, but still sturdy enough. Theirs hands went around their middle, putting pressure on their ruined shirt. They looked at Whumpee with pain in their heart and started stumbling towards the house. Like in an airplane: take care of themselves first, then the rest.

Inside, the house felt like another world. Completely normal, bathed in the sunlight. It was the blood dropping on the kitchen tile that made them focus on the task. They limped to the bathroom, grabbed the medical kit and opened it. Ripping out their shirt and sitting on the ground, they haphazardly placed the bandages. They would surely get lose pretty soon, but they just needed it to stop bleeding for now. 

Caretaker gave themselves ten seconds. They could rest for ten seconds, then they’d get up and help Whumpee. They leaned against the cold tub and it felt fantastic against their flushed skin. The adrenaline was starting to come down, which could not mean great things for their pain. So once the ten seconds were out, they grabbed the kit and stood up. They grabbed the couch’s blanket and brought it with them. 

Back outside, not much seemed to have changed. Whumper had sunk their claws at the ground, their back arching and their chest filling and emptying in unsteady huffs. 

It was Whumpee who worried them, though, because they were uncharacteristically still. They were still breathing, but the puddle of blood around them didn’t look promising. 

Caretaker laid the blanket down and, thank the heavens Whumpee was out, rolled them into it. They grabbed two sides of it and started pulling. Their middle complained, red stains blossoming in their fresh bandages and stars dancing on their visions. They took a couple of seconds to breathe and pulled again. And breathed and pulled again. Somehow, they managed to only fall on their back steps. Caretaker leaned against the house and breathed and breathed and breathed and kept their hand on Whumpee’s head, as a reminder they had to stay awake, there was still work to be done. 

They didn’t know how long it had been, but they got up and dragged Whumpee up the stairs. They looked ridiculous on the kitchen floor, still half wolf, still massive, covered in fur and blood and dirt and leaves. Caretaker opened the medical kit and fumbled and fumbled, unsure of what to do. They weren’t a vet. They were hardly even good at taking care of humans. And whatever had happened to that shoulder was far from their possibility. 

So they covered the wound with the blanket to try and stifle the bleeding and sat next to Caretaker. They must have dozed off once or twice, because the sun was traveling up the wall in front of them. 

Caretaker blinked, noticing Whumpee was murmuring. They looked down, the transformation almost done now. Whumpee was covered in sweat. Their bite was still pretty bad, but bone was no longer showing, which Caretaker considered to be a good thing. Supernatural healing, then. That’d be good. 

They got up and almost fell back down. They pain brought tears to their eyes and they had to grab to the kitchen counters to stay upright. Breathe. In. Out. They dragged themselves to the backdoor again and looked out. The Whumper was still there, also almost human again. Their bites would take longer to heal. They weren’t as deep, but there were many. Caretaker wanted to be a worse person, but they weren’t. 

So they went outside and grabbed the older man by the armpits, dragging him to the garage. They left them in the corner near a sink and pulled out some tarp to cover them with. Whumpee was always cold when they woke up. And thirsty and hungry and in pain. But there was only so much they were able to do right now, especially without knowing if this would come back to bite them in the butt. The door to the outside would be unlocked. But Caretaker went back inside and locked the door to the house. 

They were able to make it to the couch. The stars that had been jumping around in their vision were taking over. Alright, a break then. Just a break. Three minutes. Then they’d check on whumpee. 

---

This was getting pretty long, so I cut it where it was. I'll try to post the rest tomorrow since it's already pretty late here. I wanted to get it out as a belated Christmas present. So merry Christmas!

I still have three other requests on my inbox. As usual, my request box is always open, I just take a long time to get to them. 

[blackrosesandwhump]

for the drabble challenge: #13, "hunger"? (or if you don't like that one then #66, "bedside manner")

Featuring my oc Victor from The Chimera Chronicles. From @whumpster-dumpster's list of prompts.

#13 Hunger

CW: experimentation, starvation, captivity, half-fae whumpee

A creature is clawing its way out of Victor’s stomach, talons hitching on the boy’s insides. Hunger.

He curls up tighter on his side, pressing a hand against his abdomen. A deep growl bursts from his gut. How long are they going to keep him like this? How long until they let him eat?

“Number Seven.” Steele’s voice comes from the other side of the cell door. Victor jumps but doesn’t move. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

Victor has no choice. He has to say something. He mumbles into the pillow, just loud enough for the doctor to hear.

“Hungry.”

[sasuga-whump]

Heyyy

The clip you uploud from hanaoni was sooo good, thanks! I was wondering if there is a whumplist or if you know if part 2 and 3 of the movie also have good whump in it?

Hi Anon!

Thank you, glad you liked it! There's quite a bit of whump in Hanaoni as it revolves around demon boys fighting each other lol. I'm happy to make a list for it! Can't remember much about parts 2 and 3 as it's been a while but I'm sure there'll be something!

If you would like to see the clip anon is talking about you can find it here, or I also have a GIFset here!

<3

[how-much-for-a-whump]

I noticed a long time ago that I'm not the only one who got attached to your blog. But you know, we often wander around here and give 🤍s to your gifs. Just wanted to tell you that we really like your posts.

It's been a while since the last time I saw a snakebite whump, so this might be a good time for you to seize the opportunity to make some snakey whumpy gifs, don't you think?

Reading this makes me so happy. Thank you!

I'm glad you like my posts. You know, 🤍 aren't everything but I really appreciate it.

...

Hmmm. When was the last time I saw snakebite whump...? 🐍

Quite rare, you don't see a snakebite very often. However...

I know beautiful snakey whump. I made more gifs than I'd expected so there will be 3 posts! Hope you'll like it!

[thisgameissonintendo]

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