#traumatized whumpee

[survivesurvivingwhump]

The whumpee is kidnapped or otherwise has a run in with the bad guys and are “rescued” by the whumper who has installed themselves on the team and finally takes the opportunity to force themselves on the whumpee once they're alone,bringing them back home, to praise and celebration for their daring rescue immediately afterwards.

it all happens so fast. one moment whumpee is captive and the next moment they're being rushed away to safety, and then whumper, who they remember seeing around before but is new to the team, is ushering them away somewhere private. medical check, they say, smiling reassuringly and tucking the blanket around whumpee's trembling shoulders. just gotta make sure you're okay.

the blanket is pulled away. their clothing is moved, hands start gently but firmly prying apart their thighs. i just have to check you out, okay? this'll be quick. whumpee squirms, trying to get away, and whumper won't let them go. they're forced against a desk, or a wall, or a bed, or down onto the floor, whumper on top of them. and it- it happens.

well good news, whumper pants into their ear, too close and too warm, when they've climaxed and collapsed on top of whumpee, heavy and hot. i can confirm that you weren't raped.

whumpee can't breathe. they can't think. they're pulled to their feet and their clothes are fixed, whumper's hands brisk and confident. the blanket is re-wrapped around them. they flinch and can't stifle whimpers and whumper soothes them, rubbing their shoulders and telling them it's okay, you're safe. you aren't there anymore. like it didn't just happen. like it never happened.

and then they're back outside and everyone is there, everyone is happy and celebrating, everything is so bright and so loud and so fast. whumpee's body freshly aches in new places and they don't know what to do. whumper smiles at them. everyone is just so happy they're okay.

[survivesurvivingwhump]

Psychic Whumper can make Whumpee feel whatever physical sensations Whumper is feeling. So when Whumper has consensual sex with someone else, Whumpee feels it. Does the other partner even know what's going on? It's bad enough when it happens at home, but sometimes Whumpee is in public and struggles not to react. The worst part is that since Whumper isn't actually touching them, Whumpee doesn't know if they can call it assault.

what really gets me about situations like this is the thought of like... if this is an ongoing thing. not constant but frequently enough. the exhaustion of it, the terror that it could happen at any moment. the way their body feels like a toy that belongs to someone else, that's played with when they're bored and put away when they're tired of it. is it even really assault?

it's invisible. there's no proof, no evidence. things are happening to whumpee's body, but they aren't. there's nothing happening to them.

and then the point where they just can't take it on their own anymore. they need to tell someone. and so they find the person they trust the most, the one who will believe them, the one who won't be disgusted and unable to look at them the same away again.

so whumpee and caretaker work out a plan. they figure out what level of company whumpee can tolerate - if they need caretaker to be sitting in the next room over, or if they can tolerate caretaker sitting on the floor beside their bed while they huddle inside it, hiding from the world as they gasp and tremble their way through another assault. sometimes, they can even stand to have caretaker hold their hand, anchor them in the actual world around them.

(if they didn't feel like they'd be doing something horrible and violating to caretaker by allowing it, whumpee thinks maybe they'd want to be held. but they can't. they just- they can't let that happen. even the thought feels like they would be assaulting caretaker by being in their arms while their body experienced that.)

[survivesurvivingwhump]

Whumpee hitting a punching bag at the gym as a way of releasing the anger they wanna take out on Whumper. At a certain point they start getting lost in that anger, imagining the bag as Whumper's hanging body as they scream and tell Whumper to go fuck themselves, at one point even referring to the bag by Whumper's name. When they snap out of it they realize that everyone else is staring at them so they quickly leave out of embarrassment. It was cathartic to let it out, but now they feel like they've advertised just how broken and traumatized they are to everyone there.

"give 'em here."

whumpee has been sitting on a bench at the side of the gym for several minutes, breathing hard and staring at the ground, only lifting their head to glare at anyone who approached. that made them think twice, and after the first couple, nobody tried. whumpee was left alone to the pain radiating up their forearms from their brutalized hands, the exhaustion and trembling ricocheting through their whole body, and the shame that hangs over them in a thick, dense cloud.

they hadn't even heard caretaker walk over.

"what?" whumpee snaps. they wish it sounded different - it came out more tired and wounded than anything, defensive like a cornered animal as opposed to actually intimidating.

"your hands," caretaker says, calm and steady. "you really fucked 'em up, so give 'em here, let me see."

"i can take care of myself. i don't know how much of that you saw, but i'm not some kind of broken doll. whumper didn't ruin me." it doesn't feel true. it all feels like an enormous, embarrassing lie as a matter of fact. but whumpee has to say it, because they need caretaker to believe it. even if - and maybe especially because - whumpee knows that it isn't true.

"i know," caretaker says, almost with a scoff, like that's obvious. it's the last response that whumpee would've expected. "whumper fucked you up, kind of like you did your hands just now, but they didn't ruin you. that's ridiculous."

whumpee doesn't know what to say. they sit there, studying caretaker, trying to find the catch. the joke. the trick. a minute passes. two. they still can't find it.

eventually, caretaker speaks again. "can you give me your hands? i just want to clean them up, make sure you didn't do too much damage. would that be okay?"

slowly, silently, whumpee turns. they pause for another moment, one last chance for this to all fall apart. it doesn't. they hold out their hands.

[survivesurvivingwhump]

Whumpee getting recaptured with their team and they’re the only one who knows Whumper, and what they could do. Whumpee treating Whumpee like an ex they’re reunited with in front of their team (“Whumpee, my love, I haven’t seen you in ages…why don’t we go for a spin, just for old times sake huh?”) Whumpee sacrificing themself so the team can go free and Whumper rapes them in front of their team, whispering promises of how everything can go back to how it used to be, still acting like an old lover (“that’s it, good job Whumpee you got this. I promise soon you can be mine again. You can forget about how hard it is being a person. All you have to be is mine” while Whumpee pretends to like the idea while having a panic attack)

the way it’s happening in front of the team, augh. especially in the mindset of like - whumpee is pretending to like this, pretending to want this, but it’s so obviously a lie. no captive can ever consent to sex obviously but it’s also just so clear that they don’t actually want this. whumpee’s team knows them. they see the way they breathe when they’re panicking, the deadened, horrified look they’re trying to hide. the sick shame in how their body tries to turn away and hide even as whumpee wars with their own instincts to try to make it seem like they’re going along with it.

“you can forget about how hard it is being a person” whumper murmurs as they’re raping whumpee. whumpee’s team, who have worked so hard to show them that they’re a person worthy of respect and autonomy, maybe not even knowing what happened to convince them they weren’t, hearing this and being overwhelmed with anger and grief.

they can’t stop it. they can’t make it stop. they can’t even reach out to comfort or soothe whumpee or promise that this changes nothing. that they KNOW whumpee doesn’t want it, they know this is an act. they can’t do or say anything at all.

[survivesurvivingwhump]

whumper who has the power to control and enter dreams. they rape whumpee every night, but theres no evidence of it. the marks, the physical pain don't carry over when they wake up. whumpee looks in the mirror every morning, feeling the ghosting of hands around their neck with not a bruise on them. wishing there was SOME kind of physical proof of their suffering and then feeling disgusted with themself for even thinking that.

whumpee knows that people are noticing. how could they not? whumpee is exhausted and it’s getting worse. they dread going to sleep at night, and they avoid it as much as they can. they know that every night is going to bring a new violation, a new round of horrifying, painful abuse. even when they do sleep, they don’t get any rest. they’re getting irritable, jumpy, they’re fraying to the point that they don’t know how much longer they can keep going before they’re going to break.

and every day they look at their friends, the people around them, and they want so badly to say something. they want to tell someone what’s being done to them, but the thought of what they would actually say makes them choke on shame and fear. what would they say? nothing is even happening, nothing real. how are they supposed to whine and cry about abuse that doesn’t exist? they can feel hands on them but their body was never touched. every night they’re raped, brutally and violently, and every morning they wake up to phantom pain in a body without a mark on it.

if there was something they could point to, something that they could do to show what was happening was real, maybe it would be different. but even the thought of wanting that makes them feel sick. maybe they’re dreaming. maybe it isn’t whumper at all, and they want to be raped. (maybe their friends will all know that immediately, as soon as they try to explain.)

[survivesurvivingwhump]

I love the many ways Whumpee's mentality can deteriorate during a domestic/covert violence situation. They could become irritable and reckless, lashing out at their loved ones for seemingly minor reasons. Or they become withdrawn, avoiding socializing and attempting to be unnoticed as they go throughout their day. Maybe they seem fine, at least to most people. But those close to them can sense something off. Its like Whumpee is not all there.

yes!!!! YES

"sorry." whumpee's voice is quiet. it hadn't been, before. they'd not... it wasn't yelling, but they'd snapped, and it had been loud, and unfair. they press their hands over their face. shame and guilt churn in their chest. "sorry, that was- you didn't deserve that."

there's a strange, somewhat strained quiet over the room. they can barely bring themself to look up at caretaker, but they have to. they have to see how badly they've fucked it up. except that, when they do look, the dominant expression on caretaker's face is concern.

"something's going on with you," caretaker says.

whumpee flinches and looks down again. their body aches. the truth lodges in their chest and sticks there. they can't say it. they want to - that's maybe the worst part. that they do want to tell caretaker about what's happening. about whumper. about the pain, and the fear, and the way they feel like they've been gutted and their insides filled with something poisoned, rotting. but they can't. they just- they can't.

"i can't," they say. it's quiet and grief-stricken. it's an admission at the same time that it's a denial of the truth. and caretaker hears the part underneath the surface.

i can't tell you means there's something to tell.

"that's okay. i mean, it's not. it's not okay, whatever is happening, it's not okay, you're not okay, but-" caretaker breaks off, exhaling sharply. "i just mean that you don't have to tell me until you can. but just- i'm here, okay? try to... no matter what, i'm here. call me at three in the morning, i'll come get you. okay?"

whumpee nods silentl.y they can't speak. if they do, they'll say other things, too, things that they just can't say. and they don't deserve this, fuck, they don't deserve it. they're being sharp, snappy, awful. they don't deserve it. no matter how bad they might want to call, they don't deserve to.

[survivesurvivingwhump]

i like the concept of a whumpee who has been raped, violently, now being in a situation where they are repeatedly pressured, coerced and raped (though they wouldn't call it that) in a domestic context. maybe they entered the relationship voluntarily, maybe this, too, was pressured out of them (i have sent asks before about an aromantic whumpee forced into romance, maybe this is part of that). they doubt the legitimacy of the pain they're going through-- maybe they think they need to be grateful, because whumper is providing for them, helping them, or maybe they know this is horrible, but this isn't as bad as it could be. they have it good (maybe whumper reminds them), whumper is affectionate, whumper just has needs like everyone else, it's their duty to fulfil that.

whumpee knows how lucky they are. they know how bad it can be - getting fucked can hurt so much worse than this. unwanted sex can be a violent, awful thing. they've been raped before. this is nothing. this is just... this is just sex. they don't like it, they don't want it. they keep trying to figure out how to get out of it, and it doesn't work, but it's... it's fine. they can handle it.

sometimes they cry. they lay in bed with whumper and they cry. they shake. they flinch and look away and can't force themself to act like they're enjoying it.

and whenever this happens, whumper stops. they look so concerned. they peer at whumpee's face, cupping their jaw, stroking their cheek. "i'm not hurting you, am i?" they ask. they don't pull away, don't give whumpee any space. they just lay there, pressed against them, still. voice and hands gentle but everpresent. "does this hurt?"

"no. it- it doesn't hurt." and it's the truth. whumpee tries to smile, tries to spread their legs farther, make themself look more appealing. the sooner whumper finishes, the sooner this is over.

"good," whumper murmurs. "good. can you at least try to look like it, then? i know you're trying, but it's hurtful when you look at me like that. you know i won't hurt you. i can get what i need without hurting you."

"yeah," whumpee breathes. "i know. sorry."

[survivesurvivingwhump]

caretaker helping whumpee to cover or change a scar left by a branding iron. either blotting it out completely with one big, new burn, or else carefully augmenting it to look like something else: turning whumper’s insignia into a crude spiral pattern, or a their initials into a butterfly. caretaker hates to do it, hates to cause whumpee such obvious pain, but when whumpee lets go of the leather strap they’re biting down on, they don’t beg caretaker to stop—they beg them to keep going. they just can’t have that mark on them anymore.

it's impossible. it's fucking insane. caretaker can't do this. they can't do it. and yet here they are, with the meticulously cleaned tool in hand, heated so hot it's glowing. they'd talked about this, extensively. over and over, they'd talked about it, and whumpee has been firm every time in what they were asking for, and who they were asking for it from.

i'm sure there are like- like plastic surgeons who do this sort of shit, caretaker had argued, and whumpee had rolled their eyes and said as if i could afford that. besides, the procedure shit, the meds, the strangers, i just- i can't. i need it to be you. i know this isn't fair. this is a fucking awful thing to ask of you, and if you really can't then i won't hold it against you, but i- please.

so here they are. and here it goes. and the sound of whumpee's screaming, the smell of the burn, it feels like a mistake as soon as it starts. the leather strap drops from whumpee's mouth, their scream coming clear and loud without the obstruction. caretaker is just pulling away to stop, even though the marks from whumper are only maybe three-quarters obscured, when they make out what whumpee is saying.

"please don't stop, you- please- keep going, i- please-"

caretaker finishes the job. they finish the job, then drop the tool in a bucket of water, catch whumpee around the waist, and yank them in close, tight. they'll have to get medical help after this. they'll have to have the burns treated - they're serious, and infection is no joke with burns. but for now, they're going to hold whumpee hard to their chest, feeling them shuddering and sobbing but gripping onto caretaker with more strength than they should probably have.

"i'm sorry," caretaker gasps against whumpee's temple. "i'm sorry. i know that hurt, i- i'm sorry."

but whumpee just shakes their head. presses their face into whumpee's neck. "no. thank you. thank you, thank you." they gasp, jolting. nearly convulsing. their face is hot and wet against caretaker's skin. "tha- thank you."