i love a whumpee whos just completely exhausted after, especially if the sexual assault/rape was particularly violent. you'd think they wouldnt be able to sleep but they're getting the deepest sleep of their life. also good if theyre so tired and weak they need help bathing and are practically falling asleep during
every time that whumpee moves, even an inch, pain shudders through their battered body. the attack had lasted for a lifetime and it had been violent - extremely violent. whumpee hadn't even fought. and still whumper had been outright sadistic, hitting and biting, choking, manhandling whumpee and using their own body as a weapon to batter whumpee even as whumpee laid limp and sobbing.
now, though exhaustion coats their body like layers of heavy lead, but they have to drag themself home somehow. home to where they live with their friend, their friend who they know will be waiting up for them when they didn't get home at the normal time. their friend worries. it's sweet, even if whumpee rolls their eyes sometimes.
tonight, the awareness that they'll be there waiting when whumpee manages to drag their bruised, aching, beyond sore body home is both horrific and a thought that fills whumpee with so much relief that it nearly makes them collapse to think of it. all they can do is put one foot in front of the other until they make it in their front door. and that's as far as they get - they collapse as soon as they cross the threshold. all they want to do is sleep for a year. their eyes can barely stay open. but they can't rest yet.
whumpee's skin is stained, their body disgusting. tears well in their eyes as they think of it, slumped against the wall and flinching hard as soon as their friend approaches. "please," they manage to force out. "please i- i can't on my own. i need- i need to wash it off. i need to wash them- wash them off. please."
"okay. i- yeah. okay." their friend's hands are shaking. whumpee is too exhausted to even really talk, but they notice that. those shaking hands are gentle and careful, and a soft voice apologizes every time whumpee flinches. whumpee's head lolls over against their friend's guarding arm as they're held up in the tub, the washcloth feeling like sandpaper against their abused skin. but still, it's... it's good. whumpee feels raw and destroyed, unable to do anything but accept their friend's help. but it's good. it's the exact opposite of what whumper had done.
and they'll have to explain that, soon, won't they. they'll have to tell their friend what happened (as if they don't know, as if they haven't already guessed). for now, though, they lean heavy and helpless, against the person they trust most in the world. for now, they'll let their friend wash away as much of their rape as possible, and then they'll sleep. for a long, long time, they'll sleep.
