"The average whumper"
I was reading through the #whump poll tag and noticed some of the options were chosen by an overwhelming majority of the whump community.
So from that data I constructed the average whumper as per the whump community!😄:
The average whumper...:
...is between 21-30 years old
...is aro/ ace
...is neurodivergent
...lives in North America
...likes cheese
...is Imagening whump scenarios before sleep (and plays the whumpee in this scenarios)
...'s favourite (whump)colour is red
...starts liking whump before the age of ten
...'s favourite media to consume whump in is fanfiction
...doesn't reveal their fondness for whump to family/ friends
The average whumper's favourite kind of whump...:
...is hurt/ comfort
...is physical whump
The average whumper's favourite kind of whumpee...:
...is human
...is strong/ confident
...defiant
...is morally gray
...gets stabbed in the stomach
...has scars on their back
...has a bloody nose
The average whumper's favourite caretaker...:
...is male
...says "it's okay, I got you!"
...is good
The average whumper's favourite tropes are...:
...knifes (in all variations and sizes apparently)
...feeling the forehead for fever
...hidden injuries
...broken ribs
...bleeding
...infected wound
...bloody knuckles
...changing bandages
...beatings
...whimpering
...old scars
...severe fever
...stabbings
The average whumper's least favourite tropes are...:
...no follow up/ care after injury
...painless magical healing
...death
Let me know, if you can find yourself in this description!😁
Most surprising find from my "research": The whump community reeeeally loves stabbings And knifes. (not that I wouldn't; of couse I do). But if there's a knife mentioned in a poll, it WILL have the most votes!)😄
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blessing and a curse: #DEAN_SWEEP + s1 dean winchester covered in blood (not his) + an unexplained fuck or die curse. i love the world
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it was alarming to see dean pull into the parking lot of the motel like a maniac, the impala nearly scratching the next car over as he swerves and parks head-in. something was very wrong - even in the most urgent of emergencies you’ve never seen him treat that car this way. before you knew it he was kicking the door open, hand encircling your wrist tightly.
“dean, what-“ you start, noting the unruly state of his hair- even more than usual- the blood on his face and hands, and a panicked and fussy demeanor that was unlike the dean you knew. “are you hurt? should i-“
at that moment, dean makes a noise that the people in the rooms next to yours definitely heard. it didn’t even seem possible that it came from the man in front of you, a pained but nevertheless obscene moan, his eyes shut tightly as he clutches onto you. it’s then that you notice the tent in the crotch of his jeans, stretching the fabric there tightly. dean looks flushed, pupils dilated and lips parted. he doesn’t quite look embarrassed, just- in a state of unabashed arousal. heat shoots up your spine and your pussy starts to pulse palpably- both of which you ignore.
“listen to me carefully,” dean swallows. his voice is more gravelly than usual, almost hoarse, and laced with desperation. “i’ve been cursed. i’ve been cursed, and-“ he rubs his hand over his mouth, “and i need to fuck you. now.”
“what?” the curse part of it registers, of course it does, but at that moment the gravity of the situation escapes you - you feel hot, you’re in a tank top and sleep shorts but it’s suddenly really, really warm in the room, with dean crowding all up on you and his proposition- no, plea- lingering in the air. is a person supposed to smell this good covered in blood and dirt? and has his neck always looked like that? like- impossibly thick and- inviting?
his grip on your wrist tightens. “are you- are you okay with that, or- i mean, if i don’t come inside someone in, like, 20 minutes, i’m going to die, but you know i-“ he groans, low and guttural, “i don’t-“
“how do you want me,” you say in lieu of an answer, with maybe more conviction than necessary. dean’s eyes are shut tight, and he’s breathing heavily. “dean. how do you-“ but before you can even finish, he’s lifting the hand that he was holding, pinning it above your head against the door. and god, he’s so close to you, and the sweat- it’s so intense and overwhelming, like an aphrodisiac rising from his body, the smell of him enveloping you from all sides.
“is that a yes?” dean says, body pressed flush against yours now. you feel so heady, and his weight on you, hot and heavy, feels crushingly good- “i need a yes. please. please.” he’s looking right into your eyes, the tips of your noses nearly touching. but though he’s asking, you can feel his hips moving- twitching, almost, like it’s out of his control.
a beat passes and his hips jerk upwards, dragging his cock against your thigh. dean moans, though he stops himself almost immediately, biting down on his lip hard enough that you think it might start bleeding. “fuck- i’m sorry, it’s-“
“dean, stop- yes. god, yes- please,” you interrupt him to answer, tugging at the waist of his jeans with your free hand. he lets go of you briefly to unbuckle his belt. you couldn’t help but stare at his underwear then, at the wet spot on the front of it and the string of something sticky connecting the fabric and tip of his cock as he pulled the garment off.
you feel his cock between your thighs, the head of it so wet that he isn’t worried about chafing. it ruins your shorts, now sticky with dean’s precome, and he buries his face in your neck mouth open- tongue laving over your scent and sweat. he licks his lips- he seems more like himself now.
“should i- um, finger myself, or-“ you start, voice too breathless for your liking. next thing you know, after all this, he’s gonna accuse you of falling in love with him.
“i don’t have any lube- is that-“ he stops abruptly as his hand reaches into your underwear. his fingers swipe over your pussy- soaking through the fabric- and a self-satisfied look washes over his face, “i mean, obviously.” you almost roll your eyes but his lips are crashing against yours for the first time- you’re so painfully aware of everything about it; you want to brand this memory into your mind- the feeling of those lips, that impeccable cupid’s bow, perfect, full, pink, plush-
his lips are parted now, tongue darting into your mouth wickedly, and how he’s managing to do that in a situation like this is beyond you.
then your panties are at your ankles and there’s two fingers in you, thick and skilled- it draws a gasped whine out of you, the sudden stretch of him inside, twisting and curling at all the right spots.
“that’s it, sweetheart, come on- loosen up for me,” he says, almost under his breath. you can feel his impatience, rightfully there. but somehow he doesn’t feel rushed- just desperate, a little sloppy, and maybe even needy. “you’re so fucking wet.”
“dean,” you whimper, squirming under his touch. “dean, just fuck me, come on-“ it’s too soon and you know it, but the begging escapes you anyway- you feel white-hot, and the sensation of his fingers inside you are somehow electrifying, reverberating through your whole body. it’s something about his desperation, the fact that he needs you, needs his cock inside of your cunt-
“this whole thing is bad enough for you, i don’t want to hurt y-“
“and if i want you to?”
his lips quirk up, the first thing closest to a smile you’ve seen since he kicked open that door. “is that how it is?” his fingers start to move faster, your slick by now surely dripping down from the tips of his fingers if the lewd, wet sounds of squelching are anything to go by. “didn’t know that about you.”
you bristle. “there’re lots of things-“
“-i don’t know about you. yeah, alright, princess,” dean finishes for you. “let’s focus on me, now, yeah?”
but you can’t even let that simmer in infuriation because he immediately adds another finger, making it three digits that are readying your cunt for his cock, that are brushing the spot inside you that make your toes curl. it’s not long before dean decides that’s all you were gonna get - he has a deadline to meet, after all.
he pulls his digits out of you, coated in slick. he licks at it a little, just a dart of the tip of his tongue on his skin. god, the cheek, it’s just unbelievable- dean grins, lines his cock up, and-
he bottoms out in one thrust, the stretch hurting for a split second before it dissolves into a tautness in your cunt from being stretched too wide, too fast. you gasp, fingers splayed on the back of his neck. “dean, dean-“ you whimper, “that’s- oh- slow down, slow-“ he’s relentless; after the first thrust in, he sets an impossible rhythm and it’s driving you crazy. the noises falling from your lips are constant, an endless stream of moans and whines, begging for him to have mercy, or perhaps to make you come already.
“fuck, you’re tight,” he sounds wrecked now, “fuck.” and he keeps pounding into you fast, like he’s trying to go even deeper with every single thrust. the grip he has on your waist is bruising, the pain adding to the pleasure of his cock.
“this is,” dean pants, “such a bad time to have incredible stamina.” oh, this is so not the time.
“dean fucking winchester, i’m going to-“
“oh yeah, that’s it, talk dirty to me-“ but this only goads you,
“-put a gag in your fucking mouth!“ your voices overlap and you’re both breathing so heavily; you feel his hips stutter ever so slightly at your words, before he shuts his mouth and returns to his original rhythm.
“oh, you fucking freak,” you whisper, “you wanna be gagged? can’t ever shut your goddamn trap so you need a bit to drool around, isn’t that right?”
dean falters then, but he’s red, so red, so you take it as a good sign. “next time, princess.” you say scathingly, teasingly- the same way he said it to you just earlier. “next time, i’ll shove my panties in that hole of yours, how’s that sound?”
those green eyes are burning into yours, with equal parts desire and anger. he opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again. his mouth opens again, but-
“fuck, dean- you’re bleeding,” you reach your hand up to his face, thumb brushing gently under his nose, smearing his blood over your fingertip.
dean lifts his finger to his philtrum. he stares at the blood for a beat, and that intense look that was in his eye dissipates. “are you on the pill?” he asks you suddenly. it beings you back to reality a little.
“right, you- right.” you swallow. “yeah, it’s fine.” he nods.
“just so you know… i’d like that.” dean looks away, his hips picking up speed again. “or. i’m not opposed to it. i guess.”
oh, this is just precious. “sorry, i’m not following. is this still about the- the gagging, with my-“
“shut up,” he hisses, licking his top lip clean where a drop of blood had reached from his nose.
“ask for it properly,” you say, breathless- because after all, he’s still the one driving into your cunt like there’s no tomorrow - literally. “use your words, dean.”
dean groans. “i- i-“ his thrusts are irregular now, chasing his high, “want you to gag me, shut me up-“ his noises aren’t stopping, now, either, driving you both to the crest. “i’m close, i’m close- fuck-! want- in my mouth-“ he says brokenly, still unable to get all the words out.
“they’re gonna get wet with your spit, dean, and then i’m gonna make you wear them-“ and dean comes right then with a cry, pressing hard up against your ass, cock spurting hot inside of you. your cunt squeezes around him, spasming as you come down from the high.
his face is buried in your neck again, but you don’t need to see his face to feel the embarrassment radiating off of him.
you both start at the same time,
“at least you’re not dead.” “not. a. word.”
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