#cute whumpee

[nexfox-art-writingblog]

Fox Ears

Next

CW: touch starved pet, institutionalized slavery, buying a person, pet whump, pet kitsunemimi, intimate whumper

AN: Hiiiii! I've decided to go back to the original storyline! Also, I'm doing a little bit of editing to the old chapters before reposting them. Thank y'all for being here and I hope you enjoy!

Their hands were tied to the floor in front of them with a long silver ribbon and their eyes were covered with a blindfold of the same material. The woman gently lifted their chin and they completely melted into the soft touch. They looked adorable, not resisting in any way.

“How much is this one?” she asked, her eyes roaming over the kitsunemimi in front of her. They had long black hair that wrapped around their arms and down their back, creating spirals on the floor. Their skin was pale and blemishless with a light pink across their cheeks. They wore a long slitted skirt and a short crop top that left their legs and stomach exposed.

“2,000 silver. Best price. It’s a well-behaved pet and’ll do whatever you ask. Also, wears it’s emotion clear on it’s face so you’ll always know what it’s thinking.”

She tilted the kneeling pet’s head from one side to the other, admiring how they melted and how their hair fell across their face.

“Their ties are made of genuine silk and the jewelry’s pure silver.”

“Hmm, very well. I’ll take it.” she said, withdrawing her hand and pulling out her checkbook

The fox whined cutely after it, tilting their head slightly to the side. They leaned forward involuntarily.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll pet you plenty more when we get home.”

The pet smiled and sat back, wagging their tail lightly across the floor.

…

Upon entering, the kitsunemimi immediately knelt on the floor and looked up at where they thought their new master was.

She smiled lightly at them and bent over to remove their blindfold.

The woman before them was tall and dark. Her hair fell in big, loose curls that framed her face and cascaded down her back. She had soft-looking lips and siren-like eyes. The house was filled with white and silver everywhere they looked. Several large pillars were spread around the room and a magnificent spiral staircase was to their left.

The woman grabbed their chin softly so they could only look at her. “My name is Hiral, little fox, and yours will be Kitsu. Do you understand? You may speak.”

“Yes, Mistress Hiral. Thank you.”

“Good pet.” she said, petting Kitsu’s long hair

Kitsu visibly melted into Hiral’s touch and wagged their tail gently. Hiral looked quite pleased and continued doing it for a moment, enjoying the pet’s expression and how soft their was.

“Alright, Kitsu. Let’s go into the sitting room and I will tell you how things will work around here.”

Hiral turned and walked promptly away and Kitsu crawled prettily after her.

“You may walk, little fox.”

“Yes, mistress,” replied Kitsu before standing up to follow Hiral down the corridor a little unsteadily

Along the way, there were tall, marble walls and an arched ceiling covered with several intricate paintings and silver boundaries to every one. The walls were covered with tall paintings of other wealthy and important-looking people. At the end of the hallway, there was a painting of a young Hiral and two other people. Kitsu kneeled in front of the painting and whined softly after the real Hiral.

“What? Oh, do you like that painting, little fox? That's me and my parents. Maybe I'll have them come over and visit you, if you're good.”

Kitsu wagged their tail and smiled up at their mistress. Hiral smiled back and gave them a quick pat before walking off again. Kitsu spared one last glance at the painting before following after.

...

When they got to the sitting room, Hiral sat on one of the luxurious couches and Kitsu knelt in front of her.

“Alright, obviously all of the rules you were taught in your training will still stand unless I tell you otherwise. You are permitted to interact with my other pets, but you may not touch them and they may not touch you. Your only job in my house is to look pretty unless I ask you to do something. You will listen to me and only me. If you are good you will be rewarded and if you are bad you will be punished fairly. If you want something, you will ask me for it. And as I said before, you are permitted to speak as well as walk. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mistress Hiral. Thank you for your generosity.”

“Of course, my pretty fox. Now come sit up here with me.” she said, patting her legs

Kitsu tentatively climbed up onto the couch and straddled Hiral, resting their head in the crook of her neck. Hiral, little surprised, clicked on the massive TV that took up almost the entire wall and began carding her fingers through Kitsu’s long, black hair, making Kitsu completely relax into her. She smiled down at her puddle of a pet and began watching her show.

Taglist: @kim-poce @druidx @acetheaxolotl7 @crow-with-1-knife @hypnokittynicole @star-mochi-draws @mothmxwhump @teamwhump @boonasaurusrex

[the-baby-storyteller]

self harm tw, conditioned whumpee, fear of punishment

"I was just," Whumpee sniffed, shoulders curled inwards, "I was just trying to be good."

Caretaker's face spasmed in pain. They rushed down to Whumpee and held their shoulders. They felt Whumpee flinch.

"No Whumpee, you are good. You're-," Caretaker paused, huffing. Dealing with Whumpee was an ordeal that had them walking on eggshells. "You're not good or bad. You're not a possession or an animal. You don't have to be good or bad." They ducked their face down to try to meet Whumpee's eyes, but Whumpee steadily avoided them. Caretaker sighed. "You're just you. Nothing you do can be bad."

Whumpee refused to meet their eyes, shaking anxiously.

"N-No, please Caretaker- Master-"

"Enough of that, Whumpee." Caretaker quickly cut off, standing. Maybe it was brusque, but they would not have Whumpee talking like that anymore.

Whumpee gave a light cringe and abruptly shut up. They looked like they wanted to cry but were holding it in.

Probably for fear of punishment, Caretaker dragged a hand down their face.

"Whumpee," they said, tone lighter this time and coming back down to Whumpee's level. They didn't touch them, seeing their fear, but made a point to try and get in their field of view. Whumpee was adamantly avoiding looking at them, though, and would turn every time they caught a glimpse of Caretaker.

That's fine, Caretaker convinced themself, as long as they listen to me.

"I am not your Master, no one is, and I don't want you calling me that. I do not have any control over you." Caretaker stated firmly.

Whumpee looked on edge yet almost forlorn at the same time, a wild, lost look appearing on their face. To Caretaker's surprise, they turned sharply to Caretaker. They looked like they wanted to say something, to refute, but Caretaker continued before they could begin.

"And, I don't want you hurting yourself. I know you think you were being good," They said quickly, "and I'm not angry at you or going to hurt you, but there is no harm happening in this house and that includes you doing it to yourself. Even if you think you deserved punishment."

Whumpee stared at them, confused, eyes filled with unshed tears.

"B-But Master," They stammered.

"Ah-," Caretaker countered, "No master remember?"

Whumpee flinched and reeled back.

"C-Caretaker," Whumpee muttered quietly. "I-I can't." They whimpered and bit their lip, quivering and looking down.

"If I can't do that, then I cant be good for you," they whispered, "And if I can't be good for you then I-I- please-"

"Whumpee, Shhh," Caretaker pulled their arms around Whumpee, pulling them in. "It's okay, shh." They started to rock Whumpee lightly as they sobbed and shook into their arm. They could feel Whumpee's tenseness, as if they still couldn't justify being in Caretaker's arms but didn't want to pull away. "You don't have to be good for anyone. I don't want you harming yourself. That won't make me happy."

Whumpee looked up then, eyes wide and glistening with tears. "It won't?" They asked.

"No Whumpee, it won't" It does the opposite, in fact, Caretaker thought.

"Then, what would?" Whumpee asked, staring up at Caretaker with the giant saucers they had for eyes and reminding Caretaker distinctly of an owl.

They chuckled, wiping Whumpee's tears with their finger, watching Whumpee squeeze their eyes shut adorably as they did so.

"The only thing I want is for you to be safe and happy. Not as a test or a trick. You don't have to try to appease me. Just, truly."

They stared down and Whumpee blinked, not understanding. They would in due time; Caretaker was set on it.

"It's okay sweetheart," Caretaker continued their rocking and started patting Whumpee's head, "Just stay here and calm down."

[whump-place]

Caretakers that are famous/important figures in the real world; a prestigious doctor, lawyer, painter, etc., when they end up taking care of a nobody whumpee.

Especially if Caretaker is well known for being cruel/mean to anything and anyone they don't consider worth their time, but that has a soft spot for Whumpee!!

Whumpee being all scared for Caretaker's reputation or looks, thinking that they might hurt them but that ends up meeting a soft and caring person that would do anything for them.

Wouldn't that be the cutest?

[abhainnwhump]

Caretaker leaves little notes around the house to remind struggling Whumpee to do things like drink water, sleep eight hours, eat regularly, and bathe.

[oopsiwhumpeditagain]

clingy whumpee because they're scared to be alone. alongside a physical touch love language caretaker.

[whumpasaurus101]

“It’s alright,” Villain whispered against Hero’s ear, ensuring SuperVillain couldn’t hear, “I know you’re hurting, you don’t have to be strong for me.”

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee had tried to hold on to who they were for a long time now, thinking about their friends and family every night during torture. The whumpee thought they needed to endure just for the people they knew, but they wanted to give up, they wanted to rest and give in. They had followed more and more of the whumper’s ruled, and they were ashamed- but they were safer.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Kitty Elliot AU #2

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: past abuse

The catboy ate with gusto, and Ambrose prayed he wouldn’t get sick from eating so much so soon.

He looked filthy, dust and dirt and bruises. His hair looked gray and matted, and from a glance Ambrose could see his underwear was practically hanging off of him.

“Do you have a name?” he asked.

The catboy paused in the middle of drinking, his tongue peeking out before disappearing.

The young man stared at Ambrose, unblinking. His mouth opened and closed silently before shaking his head. He went back to the water.

“My name is Ambrose,” he said. “Is there something I can call you?”

The catboy glanced up and blinked in confusion. 

“Uh- I could make something up?” the young man lifted a shoulder in a shrug before resuming eating.

Ambrose’s mind worked, trying to come up with a list of names. Alex, Conner, Jason, Max, Elliot, Felix.

“How about Max?” No response. “Conner?” Nope. “Elliot?”

The catboy looked up, licking a stray drop from his lip. He opened his mouth and closed it again, a faint squeak from the back of his throat.

Hardly a sound, barely a meow, but it would do.

“You like Elliot?” The catboy nodded before going after the bread on the plate.

Ambrose watched Elliot finish eating. The fruit was gone, but Elliot had made a face when he ate it. Clearly not a favorite item, but he probably couldn’t afford to be picky. Ambrose made a mental note not to give him fruit.

Elliot didn’t seem to know what to do with himself now that the food was all gone. He just stared at Ambrose, still crouched on the floor. His hands and feet were under him, as if he thought he might need to pounce or run.

Ambrose rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. Elliot’s eyes followed the movement.

“How about a bath? With some nice, hot water?” he offered. Elliot’s eyes glanced over to the basin and pump in the corner and back to Ambrose.

“Upstairs, I mean,” clarified Ambrose. “I have a better bathroom on my floor.”

Elliot turned and slipped back under the bed. Fair enough.

“Alright,” he said, picking up the dishes. “I’ll let you rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, I suppose.”

He washed the dishes and cleaned up before heading upstairs. Ambrose hesitated outside Elliot’s door. It was silent.

Ambrose shook his head, still in disbelief. He trudged up the staircase that led to his room. 

What a day.

He lit some incense at the small altar, and told Janus about his day. A habit he never could bring himself to stop, even though it hurt.

Ambrose took a hot shower, scrubbing the day’s work off his body. 

He hoped Elliot would stay for a while, or at least until he was strong enough to leave. He could use the company.

Even though he lived in a small town with plenty of people who knew him, he was still lonely.

A friend, a real one, would be welcome. 

Ambrose slipped into bed and fell asleep.

___________________

He knocked on Elliot’s door after breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast in hand.

“Good morning,” he said, opening it after no response.

He caught a flash of tail disappearing under the bed. Huh. The sheets had been used; Elliot had slept in the bed, and that was progress.

“It’s just me,” he called out quietly, closing the door behind him. “I have some breakfast for you.”

Elliot’s face poked out from under the bed. Cute.

Ambrose set the plate out, a few feet from the bed. Elliot crawled out again to eat. 

He still looked wary, especially with Ambrose standing instead of sitting, but food was apparently more important than fear.

His claws weren’t out, which was a concern. His fingers looked fine, so he wasn’t declawed, but the marks on his body indicated violence.

What if using his claws was beaten out of him?

Ambrose scanned his body, taking in the wounds. There were scars on his back, raised and long. Bruises were everywhere, green and sickly yellow, purple and black. A prominent one in the shape of a boot lined his side.

Ambrose wasn’t wearing shoes yet, and maybe that was why Elliot was comfortable at his feet despite the clear history of being kicked.

Ambrose crouched down, and Elliot flinched. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Have you thought more about having a bath?” 

Elliot’s ears and tail twitched. 

“I just think it might be nice to have a wash. Don’t you want to be a little cleaner? Maybe get your hair and fur brushed?”

Elliot hesitated before taking another bite.

“You can pick out some clothes to borrow afterwards,” he offered.

Elliot didn’t seem convinced. 

Ambrose chewed the inside of his cheek. “I have some cream downstairs. You can have some after we’re done.” 

Elliot’s head shot up, his eyes wide. “I promise,” Ambrose said. “You can have a whole mug.” He hoped it wouldn’t hurt his stomach, which was likely, but it was his only bargaining chip.

Elliot wiped his face with the back of his hand, nodding. 

“Great. We’ll get it done after you finish eating, okay?” 

Elliot went back to his eggs, and Ambrose sighed in relief.

Food, water, a bath, some clothes, he checked off in his head. Pain medication, maybe. Slave for those bruises. And we can get rid of that awful collar.

Elliot cleared his plate in a scant few minutes, looking up at Ambrose expectantly.

“Good,” he said, and he could see the bare hint of a smile on Elliot’s face.

Ambrose let them upstairs, Elliot trailing silently behind him. He began to run the hot water, checking the temperature every few minutes to make sure it wasn’t too hot.

Soon the tub was full, and Ambrose fetched a towel and washcloth for Elliot.

But when he got back to the bathroom, the catboy was gone. Ambrose set the towels aside, pushing down his panic.

“Elliot?” he called. No answer.

Shit.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em

@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings

@zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone

@snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda

@loserwithsyle @bitchaknso @cepheusgalaxy

[pyrepostings]

whumper who is " kinder " to their whumpee than to their equals. Whumper who recognizes that toys need maintenance and pets need enrichment, but the humans require no respite between their duties.

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Caretakers that go

um

you're sad, I don't

what should I do

what should I do oh god I'm terrible at comforting people but

hey uh

wanna have some candy??

oh no why are you crying

I'm sorry please don't cry

oh okay um you're welcome

do you want some more??

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

whumpee is cursed, so every night, they turn into a nonhuman creature, a beast, and can only transform back to their human self once the sun rises. one night, they finally are caught by the villagers who have been trying to hunt them down for weeks (because while in their monstrous form, whumpee has to hunt, and therefore a lot of the villagers’ livestocks were killed and eaten; it’s something whumpee has no control of). whumpee is wounded and bleeding from the villagers’ pitchforks and whatnot. but as a last effort to save their own life, they’re somehow able to break free from the cage and run away.

but whumpee needs a shelter to hide. they don’t know where they are, but their legs give out when they reach caretaker’s house; caretaker, one of the very few people in the village who refuse to join in on their community’s witch hunt against whumpee, because violence — no matter who it’s against — isn’t something caretaker stands for.

caretaker hears noises outside their house, and is shocked to see whumpee, still as a four legged beast, pass out on their front porch. and caretaker knows the two options available for them are (a.) call the rest of the villagers to let them know the beast is here, and (b.) do the opposite and save the beast from the villagers.

the right thing for caretaker to do is option A, caretaker knows that, but, looking at the beast lying unconscious on the muddy ground in front of their feet, bleeding and injured, caretaker doesn’t have it in their heart to send whumpee to their death.

so caretaker drags whumpee inside their house so they can help nurse them back to health, having no idea that whumpee — the beast — is in fact the human they’ve been harboring romantic feelings for for a while.

[1whump-dump1]

Elite - Season 4 Episode 4. (Part 2.) (Part 1 here.)

[saffitaffi]

(Taglist)

@whumped-by-glitter @scoundrelwithboba

[whumpasaurus101]

Hold a tiny whumpee in your hands, and as they begin to beg for forgiveness, slowly squeeze your hand and listen as their breath starts to hitch, their eyes widening in panic as they begin to squirm.

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee would sleep as much as they can- because in their dreams, they were surrounded by their friends, they weren’t hurt at all. In the real world though, the whumper would torment their every waking moment. The whumpee just wanted to be comforted, so night time was their only comfort.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Kitty Elliot AU #1

Masterpost

Next

Warnings: starvation, confinement

Ambrose was cleaning up when he noticed a guest had left a trunk in the room. He sighed.

Mr. Horneswood was long gone; he had left hours ago. He picked up the handle to move the trunk downstairs so he could swing by and pick it up later.

It was heavy, heavier than expected, and a soft whimper came from the box.

He dropped the trunk in surprise, and the trunk yelped.

“Hello?” he called out.

Nothing. Did he imagine it?

Ambrose hesitantly knocked on the trunk. 

Someone knocked back. Shit.

“Oh my god- okay- uh- hang tight, alright? I’ll get you out-”

The latch had a padlock that wouldn’t budge, and he ran down the stairs. There was a hammer in the shed outside, and he frantically searched the toolbox.

He sprinted up the stairs, tool in hand.

“Just hang on-”

Ambrose hit the lock as hard as he could, over and over, cries coming from the trunk.

“It’s okay- it’s okay-”

The lock finally broke after a few tries, and he fumbled with the latch. He threw open the lid, panting.

Inside the trunk, curled up and trembling, was a catperson.

He stared up at Ambrose with frightened blue eyes, tears running down his filthy face.

His ears were pinned back, tail tucked between his legs. He was only wearing boxers, and his skin was covered in marks, old and new.

“Hey, buddy,” breathed out Ambrose. 

The catboy shrank back into what little space there was, curled up so tight it must be painful. His ribs and bones jutted out from under his skin.

“You can come out,” coaxed Ambrose, “it’s okay.”

The young man practically leapt out of the trunk, startling him. The catboy scrambled for the far corner of the room, his eyes darting around, before dashing under the bed.

Ambrose put the trunk and hammer aside, and knelt down to look under the bed.

Shiny blue eyes reflected back at him. He was crouched down as low as possible, his gray tail agitated and twitching. There was a tight black collar around his neck, so tight he could see some skin rubbed raw.

Ambrose wasn’t sure what to do. He hadn’t seen a catperson in decades; not since he worked at the temple. They were a holy rarity, designed by the gods, but this one was clearly not treated with respect.

Ambrose sat back on his heels, thinking. He peered back under the bed.

The catboy opened his mouth and closed it, a silent meow Ambrose recognized from feral house cats. The real kind, not the dignified catpeople he knew. And he was so thin.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked. “Water?”

The young man’s ear twitched. Good enough.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised.

Ambrose carefully closed the door behind him, and it clicked softly. 

He didn’t remember seeing the catboy when Mr. Horneswood checked in. He must have been hidden inside the whole time; two days at least. Poor thing.

Ambrose got some cured salmon from the pantry, and poured a mug of water. He considered cream, as lots of catpeople loved it, but some had issues with milk and he didn’t want to give a starving man a stomach ache.

He carefully carried the plate and mug upstairs, opening the door with his elbow.

“I got you some fish,” he said, pushing the plate and mug under the bed. “I hope you like it.”

There was some shuffling, and the sound of eating. He peeked under the bed, and the catboy was drinking from the mug. His tongue lapped up the water, as opposed to using his hands, and Ambrose’s heart panged with pity.

It seemed he was more ‘cat’ than ‘person’. It made the collar’s presence all the more disturbing.

He was a pet, or perhaps something worse, and that was its own horror.

The fish was gone quickly.

“Want some more?” Ambrose asked, and the catboy’s head shot up. He stared back at Ambrose.

“You can have more,” he repeated. “Do you want more?”

The boy licked his lips, before shaking his head. Full, maybe? It was a pretty big filet.

“Okay. Can I have the plate back?” His tail swished anxiously. “That’s alright. You can keep it, I guess.”

Ambrose turned and sat, his back against the bed. He sighed. 

What the fuck should he do? He couldn’t let the catboy go back to Mr. Horneswood. He just couldn’t let that happen. The catboy could have died inside that trunk, and clearly Horneswood didn’t care if he was left behind.

The best he could do was help the young man feel comfortable.

Ambrose stood. He picked up the folded blanket on the end of the bed and crouched down, holding it out partially under the bed. 

“Here you go. You’ll be more comfortable if you want to stay under there.”

There was a soft tug on the end, and Ambrose let the boy pull the fabric underneath. 

He heard shuffling, a scraping sound, and felt something push against his foot.

Ambrose looked down, and saw the plate halfway out from the bed. He picked it up.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “I’ll get you some more food, in case you get hungry.”

___________________

Ambrose finished his chores, keeping an ear out, but the room the catboy was sequestered in was silent. Maybe he was just asleep.

Mr. Horneswood had still not come back when evening set in. He went back upstairs, knocking on the door before opening it. He didn’t see the catboy; he must be still under the bed.

“I don’t think Mr. Horneswood is coming back for you,” he said honestly. “You can stay here as long as you like, though.”

Nothing. He bent over to look under the bed, and unsurprisingly the catboy was staring back at him.

He wasn’t an expert in catperson body language, but he did know a little about cats. Ambrose blinked slowly at him, but the catboy said nothing.

He sat down on the floor, cross legged. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said softly. “And I’m really sorry you got left behind.” Ambrose glanced at the once again empty plate.

“Are you still hungry?”

The catboy nodded. “Do you need more water? Or the bathroom?”

The young man said nothing. 

“Sorry, that’s two questions. Water?” A nod. “Bathroom?” The catboy pointed to the toilet that came with every room and shook his head.

At least he was brave enough to use that, but he seemed unwilling to leave his nest under the bed.

“Okay. Can I get those dishes?”

A nod.

Ambrose reached underneath the bed, and the catboy shrank back a little as he grabbed the mug and plate. “It’s alright,” he soothed. 

He stood up and turned, but the trunk and hammer leaning against the wall caught his eye. Maybe he was afraid of being put back inside. The open lid had claw marks on the inside.

He shuddered.

“I’m going to take these downstairs,” he said, picking up the hammer. He closed the trunk, piling the dishes and hammer on top. “I’ll be back soon.”

___________________

This time he had a full plate of meat, bread, and some fruit. He couldn’t remember if catpeople ate fruit, but it couldn’t hurt.

He put the plate of food just in front of the bed, and hoped he could maybe coax the catboy out.

Ambrose sat a good few feet from the plate and waited.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he quietly repeated.

Slowly, the catboy crawled to the edge of the bed, the blanket around his shoulders.

He looked skeptical, but his focus was on the food and water. He licked his lips.

“I promise,” Ambrose said. 

The catboy’s eyes flicked to him, and back to the plate. Ambrose held his breath.

The young man slipped out, bringing his knees to his chest. He looked at Ambrose, his head tilted to the side. His tail swished. Ambrose gently smiled at him.

The catboy lowered himself to his hands and knees and began to eat, his ears alert.

Success.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em

@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings

@zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone

@snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @magdalena-writes @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut

@whumpsoda @loserwithsyle @bitchaknso @cepheusgalaxy