#bath whump

[torturedauthors]

caretaker bathing whumpee for the first time since their rescue.

tw: non-sexual nudity

with much hesitation, A (whumpee) finally agrees to a bath. at least they can be clean for the first time since their capture. A undresses and gets into the bath that B (caretaker) has run for them. they’re surprised to find that it’s not freezing cold or boiling hot - it’s a little over lukewarm, a nice comfortable temperature.

it’s only when B reenters the room with a bottle of soap and a towel when they realise the extent of A’s injuries, and why they’ve not wanted to be bathed, let alone seen like this for so long.

[dainluvr]

“I’m sorry..” Whumpee sniffled, holding their legs to their chest as they looked at the dirty bath water, seemingly the first words they’d said since their recovery.

“Hm? For what?” Caretaker asked, washing the other’s back and trying to hide their excitement as Whumpee finally spoke to them, however their tone of voice failed them slightly.

“The bath water… it’s all dirty and red… because of me,” Whumpee murmured again, the last part slipping through their lips slightly quieter than the rest.

Caretaker’s hand stopped momentarily, unsure of what to say, but resumed immediately as they felt Whumpee tense up at the reaction.

Whumpee however, took the lack of words as Caretaker’s irritation and continued talking, attempting to talk their way out of the situation as their body only tensed more, “I-I’m sorry for being so dirty and… for having so many cuts I promise I’ll clean it all up I-“

“Whumpee.” They were suddenly cut off, a hand resting on their shoulder, and they swallowed thickly, preparing for the hit, however it never came, instead two soft hands cupped their cheeks, “You don’t need to be sorry for… well… this,” Caretaker reassured them softly, “I’m taking care of you because I want to, okay? I don’t mind the dirt the blood- hell even the bits of stone that will probably clog the drain later,” Caretaker reminded them, chuckling softly to themselves cause, “All I care about is you right now, and my priority is your comfort, so let me take care of you,” They added, tracing their hands down to Whumpee’s shoulders again, feeling their body slowly relax and lean into their touch.

[ragin-cajun-fangirl]

A Scene from my WIP

@scrimblobimblowhump, this is for you!

Some context:

Mags is a street rat demihuman (partially feline). Dorado abducted/adopted her off the streets a few days ago and has decided it's bath time.

There was a teeny weeny emotional breakdown in the previous chapter while he was trying to get her undressed (there's ✨trauma✨ there) and they've been chilling in the bathroom for a while. Here's what happens next!

Dorado shifted slightly under Mags’ weight and raised his wrist to check the time. He made a noise of surprise and patted Mags on the back. “You good, sweetheart?”

“Bluh?” Mags raised her head slowly, having been asleep.

Dorado chuckled warmly. “I said, are you feeling better?”

Mags smiled beatifically. “Uh huh.”

“Ok. In that case, it’s bath time for a certain kitty cat.”

Mags sat up and stretched, yawning cutely. “Ok, Dad.”

Dorado smiled brightly and gestured for Mags to get back up on the lip of the tub. He continued getting her undressed, only pausing for a moment as he reached her waistband.

He met her eyes with a question in his. She nodded, still feeling warm and fizzy from his comfort.

He blinked to acknowledge her consent and finished getting her ready.

“Now, I was initially going to give you a bath, where you would have sat in the water while I washed you up. But, I talked to the ship medic yesterday because I was a little worried about any infections or injuries you might have, and I didn’t want to aggravate them with a bath. He told me that a shower might be a better idea. I’m going to use this hose that sprays water to wash you instead.” He rambled on in a soothing tone as he gathered various bottles and sponges.

“This is going to take a while so I got you… this!” Dorado finished rummaging in a small closet and pulled out a folding chair. “You can sit on this while I wash most of you and I’ll have you stand up so I can reach the rest of you. Sound good?”

Mags chirped happily.

“You are so stinkin’ cute. Oh, and one more thing. Your hair is really long and thick but it’s super, super, tangled. If I tried to wash it, it’d hurt a lot. I’m going to do what the ship medic said and cut a lot of it off so I can wash the rest of it. Still good?”

Mags hesitated for a moment. “Is it gonna hurt?”

“No, precious. Good job asking, though! I’m proud of you for speaking up.”

Dorado finished his preparations. “Alright, bath time! Go ahead and sit in the chair, cutie.”

Mags clambered over the edge of the tub and sat.

“I’m going to turn the water on now. I’ll make sure it’s nice and warm. You wouldn’t want cold water, would you?” Dorado asked playfully. Mags fervently shook her head, recalling the icy rain she used to hide during.

“Here we go, princess.” And Dorado turned the dial.

The effect on Mags was immediate. As the water hit her skin, she shot out of the chair and bolted to a corner of the bathroom.

“Whoa, easy there. It’s just water.” A realization hit Dorado. She’s a cat. Of COURSE she hates water. Oh boy.

“Can you please come back, Mags? I still need to get you all nice and clean.”  Dorado spoke calmly as he turned towards the spooked girl.

Mags shook her head as her hair flew around her face. She ducked under Dorado’s outstretched hand and went for the bathroom door.

“Crap.” Dorado dove after Mags but wasn’t fast enough. The bathroom door slid shut behind her and Dorado heard the door to her quarters do the same.

Dorado sighed and ran after her.

When he reached the hallway that ran outside her quarters, he looked left and right and tried to figure out where she’d gone. He eventually ran to the right.

Mags panted in her hiding place, listening intently for Dorado’s footsteps. The silver of her identity bracelet winked at her in the dim light of Dorado’s quarters.

About an hour later, Dorado collapsed on Mags’ bed. Where the hell could she be?

He’d searched the whole ship. He’d asked every crewman if they’d seen Mags. No luck.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. I can try to use the security cameras!

Dorado crossed the hall to his own quarters and made a beeline for the monitors. If he’d been listening more carefully, he would have heard Mags’ squeak of panic as she dove beneath one of the armchairs.

Dorado flicked between live feeds, growing frustrated as this tactic was once again useless.

He ended up back on his own feed and groaned.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something in the image from his quarters. It looked suspiciously like… a glint of silver.

Dorado closed his eyes as he figured it out. I never took off her identity bracelet.

He turned around slowly and started walking quietly towards the armchair, knowing that if he showed he’d noticed her she’d bolt again.

Mags had her head buried in her arms as she tried to curl into a tight a ball as possible. Thus, she didn’t see Dorado squat next to the chair before his hands darted out and pulled her from under it.

Mags squealed and kicked as Dorado pinned her to his chest. “Gotcha.”

Dorado ignored Mags’ protests as he headed back to her quarters. “Gotta say, going into my quarters was a pretty clever move. Wouldn’t have thought of that. Oh well – now I know to take that bracelet off first when I’m trying to get you in the bath.” Dorado finished his musings as the door to Mags’ bathroom slid shut behind him.

“Now, I believe it’s time for someone to get a good scrub. Wonder who it is?”

Mags whined futilely. Dorado went to set her down, then thought better of it. “Let me do something real quick.”

Bouncing Mags on his hip, Dorado moved a tile in the bathroom wall and fiddled with a control panel before sliding the tile back. “There. Door’s locked until I enter the unlock code. No pulling that stunt you just did now.”

Dorado smirked fondly as he met Mags’ eyes. “Bath time!”

He plopped her in the shower chair and turned the water back on. Mags whined and tried to squirm away from the spray, but Dorado kept a firm hand on her shoulder. “Now, now, none of that. This’ll go much faster if you stay still, princess.”

She continued to struggle and even tried to swipe at Dorado’s face with her claws in a desperate move. Dorado froze for a moment, shocked.

“Mags. Don’t do that. I’m not trying to hurt you. I know you’re not enjoying this one bit, and it’s not much fun for me either. However, no matter what you do, you’re getting a bath tonight. Whether or not that’s a good experience is up to you.”

Dorado’s stern tone went right to Mags’ core. She stilled, slumping in the chair.

“There we go, good girl. Most people like baths. Try to just relax, okay?” Dorado lathered up a sponge and set to work.

Dorado scrubbed at the dirt under Mags’ nails as she giggled a little from it tickling. Satisfied, he tossed the filthy sponge into the pile of already discarded sponges. The bath had been going on for a while.

“Can you close your eyes for a little bit, sweetheart? I need to wash your face. Don’t breathe when the water’s spraying, okay?”

Mags nodded in understanding and shut her emerald eyes. Dorado reached for a soft cloth and wiped gently at Mags’ face. Soft skin dotted with freckles emerged as the years and years of dirt washed away.

Dorado reached for the shower hose and rinsed the soap off. “There’s my beautiful girl.”

Mags opened her eyes and gave him a wobbly smile.

Dorado ran the sponge over Mags’ neck, noting the way she stiffened.

“You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart. I know this isn’t fun, but trust me, you’ll feel a lot better after.”

He finished washing around her face and paused for a moment. What was next was definitely going to be difficult.

“Mags, are you still okay? This part might be a little uncomfortable for you.”

She whined a little in nervousness but nodded.

“Okay. Stand up, baby.”

Dorado tried to be quick.

“I wasn’t sure what to use with your tail, so I’m just going to stick with shampoo.”

Mags mewled curiously.

“It’s a different kind of soap than what I’m using right now. It’s for your hair.”

He finished up washing her tail and breathed a sigh of relief. That could have gone much worse.

“There we go – that wasn’t so bad, right?”

Mags was clearly a little shaken by the experience, but she gave Dorado a watery smile.

“You can sit back down, princess. I need to wash your hair now and then we’ll be all done!”

Mags chirped with happiness and sat down.

“Now, where did I put the scissors?”

Dorado turned around to rummage in the drawer under the bathroom counter.

“I’m going to rinse your hair first and then- Mags?” Dorado interrupted his train of thought as he was greeted with an unexpected sight.

Or rather, the lack of an expected one.

“Where the fuck did she go?” Dorado demanded of the empty chair.

He groaned and sat back on his heels. “Just my luck that the kid who hates baths is also an escape artist.”

[ragin-cajun-fangirl]

oooh, idea! I tend to use baths as a comfort thing, but what about as a torture device? in particular, too many of them?

the slightest hint of dirt getting scrubbed away immediately

whumpee's skin raw and bleeding from too much rough scrubbing

their hair falling out and dead from being washed too much

the water always being either boiling hot or ice cold, and whumpee won't get to know which beforehand

"got to keep my little darling clean!"

"can't have a dirty pet"

"i think you're due for a bath, you messy thing. look at you, covered in blood."

idk I just think baths have a lot of potential

List of Ways to (FICTIONALLY) Torture Someone

I genuinely have no idea how to make a content warning for this- just don't do this stuff irl ig

Caning

Electrocution

Stress Positions

Sensory Deprivation

Degradation

Water boarding

Strangling

Choking

Flaying

Skinning

Nailing

Drugging

Sleep Deprivation

Nudity

Shaving away the hair off their head

Plain ol' beating/manhandling

Public humiliation

Keeping them in a cage

Keeping them in a small dark place

Cutting off a body part

Carving them out with a knife

Whipping

Breaking their bones

Burning them with cigarettes

Poking holes into them with needles

Burning them in general

Forcing them to drink alcohol

Burning off their soles and forcing them to walk

Starvation

Dehydration

Sensory Overstimulation

Forcing them to scream their throat raw

Gagging them

Muzzling them

Crushing them w/ a hammer/mallet

Killing off their loved ones in front of them

Torturing their loved ones in front of them

Burying them alive

Hypothermia

Hyperthermia

Forcing them to hurt a stranger

Forcing them to hurt their loved ones

Forcing them to stay completely silent

Chemical burns

Chinese water torture

Forcing them into dangerous addictions

Forcing them to quit said dangerous addictions with zero support

Overfeeding them

Only feeding them food they are allergic to

Forcing them to vomit

And then punishing them for it

Forcing them to hang from the ceiling by their wrists while

Forcing them to walk on and on on the treadmill (and if they slip, they fall into the-)

Meat grinder. Enough said.

Carve degrading names into their skin

Pierce their body without their consent

Tattoo their body without their consent

Force them to wear humiliating clothes

Dislocate their joints

Dowse them in hot water and force them into a cold environment

Forcing them to get/remain sick so that they can only rely on YOU

Sewing their mouth shut

Only feeding them through tubes

Sewing degrading words into their skin

Branding them with a sign of your ownership

Branding them with degrading words

Forcing them to wear a collar with bells

Forcing them to wear a shock collar

Crucification

Keelhauling

Drag them behind the fast moving transportation of your choice <3

Feel free to suggest additions! I will try to update it whenever I find/think up of something new

Tysm @electrons2006 and @lettherebepain for your ideas :)

[ceruleanmindpalace]

Inktober No. 16 - Muddy + Wound Cleaning

Headcanon:

Sherlock in the bathroom of an abandoned hotel during his 'hiatus'. He was lucky it was a full moon because his torch's batteries were empty. Heating the water up in a fireplace took ages but it was worth doing it for the first bath in weeks. 

---------------------------------------------------------

This the biggest step out of my comfort zone this Inktober I guess, which is working without exact reference material.

The reference picture for this was of a medium height woman and I had to change that into … well… male Sherlock. It was super hard to draw his body by educated guesswork. Having done two semesters of life drawing certainly helped, even if it was ages ago.

Big thank you @adorkastock for their vast collection of reference pictures where this was done from.

Promts from @bluebellofbakerstreet  and @whumptober 's promptlist for Inktober 2024.

I am flattered if you reblog, but do NOT post my art on other sites/social media or use in any other way without my written permission.

[aceofwhump]

Graceland 3x08

A/N: This is still my absolute favorite scene in all of Graceland and probably my all time favorite whump scene. It's just so damn good. But this was the hardest scene I've ever subtitled i swear to god. There are so many people talking all at once and I'm fairly sure I got some of them wrong but I don't even care anymore. And because these subtitles are crazy here's a quick guide. White is Johnny, yellow is Briggs, teal is Charlie, red is Paige, and green is Jakes.

[maou-reborn]

Alastor's Room (in season2)

Follow my Youtube/Tiktok/X.com/ watch more before i disappear from tumblr (would appreciate to subscriptions and like)

↓ Youtube

Nobody: Me : *Photoshop*

[louisiana-wickblr]

Omfg that last one, YES! Ugh! Favorite thing.

Bathing in Whump

Ooo the vulnerability! The intimacy!

-Carefully positioning Whumpee in the bathtub to prevent their casts from getting wet.

-Helping Whumpee get in/out of their clothes before or after a bath if they're too beaten up.

-Blood being washed away, revealing huge bruises and scrapes.

-Caretaker carefully carding their hands through Whumpee's hair, washing out all of the dirt and blood.

-Bathwater stained pink from rehydrated blood.

-A sponge bath for a bed bound/unconscious Whumpee.

-Whumper forcing Whumpee to bathe in ice water, not allowing them to get out until they're suitably clean.

-Whumpee obsessively scrubbing their skin raw, desperate to get everything off of them.

-Soap stinging the small cuts on Whumpee's knees and elbows, the already inflamed skin becoming even more painful.

-Whumpee being so tired they almost fall asleep in the bath.

-On the Run Whumpee having to bathe in unclean river water.

-Sick Whumpee having to take a cool bath to break their fever, shivering all the while.

-The implicit trust and nonsexual intimacy of allowing someone to help you bathe, love it!

[oddsconvert]

Intimate Whumpers that bathe their Whumpee's in scents that they like 🌸 Whumpee's hair smells like milk and honey shampoo, their skin smells like vanilla and raspberry. Even if it makes Whumpee's nose crinkle in disgust, it doesn't matter. It's all for Whumper 💖

[whumpitisthen]

Masterlist

Grab your character and shove their head underwater. Keep them pinned until they breathe in the water. Pull them up and let them splutter and cough. Push them under again. Pull them up. Let them use their precious seconds of air to beg. "Ple-Please, please stop — " Push them under again. Feel them squirm. Pull them up sooner; they couldn't hold their breath long enough. Once more for good measure. Don't let them up until they nearly suffocate. Pull them up and throw them to the ground, let them cough up all the water they swallowed. Pull them into your lap. They are shivering, the cold water having seeped deep into their bones. They are crying. They are going to try to pull away. Don't let them. Hush them gently. Card through their hair. Let them relax under your hands. Then drag them back over to the water. Put their nose right above the surface and keep their head right there. Let them imagine how it will feel to be pushed under again, held there, pulled up just so they can drown again. They will fight, they will sob, they will plead and barter and yell. They will be scared. Answer them with an order. "Take a deep breath for me." Watch them struggle to decide if they should. They probably won't be able to take one deep enough if they tried. Push them under. Watch them squirm. Repeat.

[deluxewhump]

I Know You Remember Me

John recognizes a wealthy client’s stolen pet immediately, even filthy, with two black eyes. He moves quickly to buy him back from the box truck driver in possession of him, and then must think what to do about this. Meanwhile, he looks after the abused pet in a motel room.

CW: lay it on thick hurt/comfort, pet whump universe (not bbu), caretaker has some ulterior motives but is largely sympathetic, offscreen noncon with multiple whumpers, sti mention, underweight whumpee mention, whumpee offering sex, bruises, burns & cigarette burns, nonsexual nudity and bathing, platonic bed-sharing, medically inaccurate care I’m sure, one shot probably

-

“I know you remember me. I’m sure I remember you.”

The unfortunate creature— for he looked more a creature than a boy in the low light, in the filthy west Texas motel room John had rented for the night with cash— dared to steal a glance up at him.

His eyes were dark, and bright with fear. Bruises ringed both of them like an unlucky fighter, purple as the Easter cloth draped on all the crosses they’d driven past. John knew from the taut look of the eyelids they’d been swollen shut a day or so earlier. The boy pet had dried blood caked in his nostrils and on one side of his downturned mouth. His hair was a matted and filthy mop that fell over his forehead and ears in greasy, wavy sections crusted together with more old blood.

The boy looked at him cautiously. There was too much fear in his posture, in his eyes. It was impossible to tell if he recognized John, too.

John squatted down to be eye level. As he thought it might, this made the frightened pet drop his eyes and flatten his spine as best he could against the nicotine stained paint of the motel wall.

“Hey, now,” John murmured, as if to one of his racehorses. They were spirited, flighty things, nothing like the quarter horses he’d grown up with. He talked to them all the same, though, from the spring colts to the swaybacked veterans.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I know you’ve seen a lot of people lately, huh? You probably don’t remember me. That’s okay. I remember you. You were at Jack Kinsington’s place before all this.”

The boy did not look back up at him, and his dirty hair gave away his trembling, but he was listening.

“I came by with a couple of horses. Bays, both of them. Soaked in sweat and prancing all around, you remember them? They’re high strung, they don’t like to ride in the trailer. Anyway, I told Jack he ought to let you stretch your legs. He did, but you were so numb you couldn’t stand for a while. You looked right at me.”

The boy turned his head an inch, so he could glance up at John’s face again.

“You remember that day. Sure you do. I thought you were in rough shape then, but I have to say, you look worse now.”

That lost him the eye contact. That was okay. The boy remembered. If not his face, then the incident.

“I thought it was awfully cruel to keep you in a space that small,” he went on. “I don’t know how some people do to a person what they wouldn’t do to an animal. They justify it, I guess. They project things onto these pets they buy and then they punish them for it. Gives them their kicks. Even Jack Kinsington, who I have to admit I respected up until that day.”

He stopped that train of thought.

“Why don’t we get you up off the floor there and let me take care of you, huh? No offense, you look kind of like roadkill.”

The boy made no sound, no indication that he’d even heard except for the way his chest expanded a little faster with his quickening breath. The poor thing's heart must be pounding. John had a knack for fixing things up, be it a business his brother had fucked up or a lame horse, a broken water heater or a vehicle. He spent less time fixing things now and more time delegating what other people needed to fix, but this boy was downright hurting his innermost, rarely expressed tenderness of heart, and he wanted to fix something for him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said again. His knees were getting tired in this deep squat, and his boots had no give in the toes for it. “I’m gonna clean you up and look after you. You don’t have to do anything, just don’t fight me too much. Can you do that?”

He reached out and laid a hand over the boy’s. The abused pet flinched but didn’t jerk away. John encircled the boy’s wrist in his hand and pulled it slowly away from his body, towards him. “Can you stand?” he asked, pushing himself to standing and bringing the boy with him.

He made it to his feet, and was nearly as tall as John, but stumbled when he tried to take a step.

“Please,” he whispered reflexively as John moved closer, flinching to protect his battered face.

“Please what, baby?” John muttered, lifting the boy’s arm over the back of his shoulders and wrapping his arm around his slim waist to help him walk. “You’re okay, you’re right here. I’ve got you. Let’s get you in the tub.”

Slowly, they staggered to the motel bathroom a d John flicked on the staggeringly white lights that buzzed and hummed to life. He sat the boy on the lip of the low bathtub as gently as he could.

“I’m going to give you a bath,” he said matter-of-factly, turning the taps so warm water began to fill the tub. “Where did all this blood come from?”

The boy was watching him warily, dark eyes following his every move.

“You hear me? Where’s all this dried blood coming from, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

John nodded, pleased the boy had spoken. Some didn’t, or wouldn’t, he knew, not once they looked like this one did.

“Did they beat you? Is that what all this is from?”

He gave a small nod, blinking in discomfort at John’s bluntness.

“Did they hurt you in any other ways?”

He nodded again.

John felt a tug of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach. “How?”

Jack’s pet looked evasively at the rising bath water.

“If you tell me how you’re hurt, I can help you better.”

Nothing.

“What’s your name?”

“Paulo.”

He put the emphasis on the au, and there was a way he said his L that positioned the tongue differently than he did when saying other words.

“Paulo,” John said, putting the emphasis on the vowels of the first syllable too, but with no attempt at altering his very American L. I’m John. I bought you from that man, the one with the box truck. I take it Jack Kinsington sold you? Or were you stolen?”

Tears shimmered in the boy’s dark eyes, swollen and purple still like a raccoon mask. He bit the inside of his cheek to steel himself and keep from letting them fall.

John gentled his voice. “Paulo. I only ask because it’s important. If you legally belong to Jack, I gotta bring you back to him.”

Paulo’s head snapped up. He lost control of the tears, which spilled down his bruised cheeks. He grabbed hold of John’s sleeves, pulling himself closer as if his whole body was not bruised and sore. “No,” he begged urgently. “Please. I’ll do anything. Please. I-I’ll do anything you want, I can’t… please don’t….”

An idea dawned on him and he let go of his latest captor’s sleeve in order to lift his trembling fingers to his own tattered shirt. He pulled it over his head with a barely-suppressed whimper of pain. His torso was bruised like his face and arms, dark black and purple impact points on his warm toned skin like fists or boots, some that looked like electric burns left from a cattle prod and others more reminiscent of the yellow, oozing wounds cigarettes tended to leave. He was ribby, in a dehydrated, sudden sort of way that looked like he hadn’t eaten much of anything in the last few days.

He started on the button of his pants and John reached out to stop him. “Hey. No. What’s this?”

“Do- do you prefer girls? I can be just as good for you.” His glittering eyes were simultaneously like a starving animal and horribly blank. “They all say so.”

Ah. There was an answer to one of his questions. He pulled Paulo’s wrists away from the opening of his pants, held them in his own on the cool edge of the tub between them. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not interested.”

“I could take a bath,” he whispered hopefully.

“You will take a bath. But I’m still not interested. I need to know— were you given to someone by Jack Kinsington rightfully, or were you stolen?”

The fear was back. John didn’t know which was worse on this one, the dead eyes or the fear. “Don’t take me back to him.”

“He hurt you a lot, then? Jack?”

John already figured as much. Despite his admiration for the man’s business sense, he was a cruel and sadistic pet owner. Once he’d seen a boy shoved into a cage fit for a fox, he’d reconciled that much in his mind. It was like that often, when it came to human pets, and never quite who you’d expect.

The boy begged miserably. “Please, Sir. I’ll do anything.”

“You mentioned that. He didn’t sell you, did he?”

Paulo glanced down.

So he’d bought a stolen pet. That’s what he more or less suspected when he’d seen the boy at the rest stop, weeks after he’d seen him in the cage at Jack’s and much worse for wear.

Jack Kinsington would probably be even more open to buying more of John’s racehorses in the near future if he returned his favorite boy-pet to him. Don’t worry what it cost to get him back, Jack. Less than the yearling I’ve got for you to look at this spring, I can tell you that. Call it even.

John turned off the taps and tested the water with his fingers. He’d wondered if the boy would be willing to take those filthy clothes off in front of him, but seeing as he’d just offered himself, he thought it more likely now.

“Take those off,” he said of the boy’s remaining clothing. “You can borrow some of mine when you’re cleaned up.”

Despite his offer less than five minutes ago, Paulo was modest to the point of shyness once he was naked.

“It’s okay. I’m not even looking at you,” John assured him a little gruffly as he helped him into the water. “I just want to get you clean.”

Paulo flinched as he submerged, undoubtedly feeling every burn, cut, and bruise as he did. He was so dirty that tear tracks were now visible on his face from his crying. John wet a rough motel washcloth in the warm water and brought it to his face. He dabbed and nudged the dried blood from Paulo’s mouth and nose. The boy tried very hard not to flinch and shy away, and in return he tried to be very gentle. “Good,” he said quietly, wetting the cloth and returning it to the blood and swollen tissue. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

Paulo made brief eye contact with him at that, probably because it had become a foreign concept that someone would make an effort against hurting him. Just as quickly he slid his gaze away, back to an indeterminate point on the bathroom tile.

“You wanna do this next part?”

Paulo didn’t answer.

John moved as gently and quickly as was prudent over the rest of his body, knowing he was hurting him when he passed over the yellowed cigarette burns on his legs and hips.

“I know. You’re gonna be okay. Almost done. You’re doing really well.”

Paulo let John wash his hair, using some of the hotel shampoo that would likely sting some cuts but was desperately needed. He closed his eyes as John worked his fingers through the blood and dirt, the snarls coming apart slowly with gentle patience. As he rinsed the boy’s dark hair clean, John noticed he had stopped shaking.

He drained the now red-brown water and wrapped Paulo in a white hotel towel. He looked better clean, though there was nothing to do for the bruises but wait. He sat on the side of the motel bed as John went through his black duffel bag, pulling out sweatpants, a gray cotton T-shirt, and ibuprofen for him.

Paulo dressed in the bathroom and accepted two of the pills. He came out and sat on the end of the bed afterwards, staring at the pattern on the comforter.

“Does Jack know who had you?” John asked as he set up his phone charger. “The guy with the box truck out there?”

Paulo shook his head. “That man wasn’t the first.”

So he’d been bought and sold multiple times since being stolen—kidnapped— from Jack's property. It was possible Jack knew the original perpetrators, but had no idea where his pet was now. John sighed. His mind was working analytically, trying to understand every facet of the situation before he acted— trying to understand how he could manipulate it most in his favor. But that all felt shallow and cruel when he truly saw the boy in front of him, his damp hair and his bruised face, his narrow chest and the way he was nervously picking at a scab on the inside of his wrist.

“Don’t do that,” John said softly. “I don’t want you getting any infections.”

Paulo stopped immediately but looked intrigued by the care in that statement. Likely no one had said anything like it to him in a long while now.

“Are you hungry?”

Paulo shrugged. John raised his eyebrows and he went with a more committed shake of the head. “No, Sir.”

“…Are you scared?”

The boy swallowed, touched the scab on his wrist without picking it.

He’d said it before, but he knew he’d have to say it a hundred more times, and show it a thousand, before it sunk in. He likely would not end up doing that, but he’d say it as long as the pet was in his possession. “I promise I'm not gonna hurt you.”

“What, then?” Paulo asked, shrugging one shoulder to his ear in what felt like embarrassment at his own question.

“If I’m not going to hurt you? What then?”

He nodded.

“Nothing. I'm gonna take you back to Tennessee.”

“To Jack?”

“For the time being, to my place in Lewisburg. I have a farm.”

“What kind of farm?”

“Horses. You wanna come?”

He said he did. Not that he had much of a choice. John suspected they both knew that killing him on the side of a dirt road in west Texas would be better than what might happen if he took him back to Tennessee and failed to promptly return him to Jack. Jack would take it out on his lost little pet as much as he did John.

“I can’t believe you’re still even sitting up and talking. Come here.” John stood up and pulled the corner of the bedsheets down. “Lie down.”

Paulo did as he asked.

Before John would cover him up he asked, “Can you tell me if anyone kicked you in the back or abdomen, or if you feel any pain when you move or breathe?”

He thought about that. “I don’t know. I’m sore.”

“Any sharp pains, anything feel broken?”

“No?”

“Can I touch your stomach right here? It won’t be for long.”

A little apprehensive, Paulo agreed. John placed his hands on his abdomen and prodded his way along, trying to feel anything amiss or to get a sharp yell from Paulo. None came.

“Does this hurt anywhere more than soreness?”

“No,” his patient said in a small voice.

“Okay,” he said, and covered the boy to his chest with the blankets. “I’m done. Thank you. I was worried you might have internal bleeding, or broken ribs.”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll need to get you checked for other things too, soon. Make sure you didn’t contract anything.”

It took a moment for this to register, but when it did, Paulo blushed scarlet.

“It’s okay,” John assured him. His next gesture surprised him. Tenderly, he brushed the back of his knuckles to an unbruised spot on Paulo’s cheek. He was quickly becoming endeared to this unfortunate little pet. “You’re probably alright. And even in the event you did, it’s not your fault.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to?” Paulo asked, leaning his cheek almost imperceptibly into John’s knuckles.

John retracted his hand. “No. I didn’t want to because I am not interested in hurting you.”

“I said you could.”

“You and I both know it would still be hurting.”

Paulo laid his head back on the pillow. “I don’t understand what you want.”

“For starters, I want you to tell me what you want to eat.”

He didn’t eat much, but he did make an effort. John got the impression he was suspicious of every simple kindness, every time there were footsteps outside their door in the breezeway.

When he turned out the light and put a partition of pillows between them to sleep, he felt Paulo start awake every time a car pulled into the parking lot, or the AC beneath the window kicked on with a rattle.

“You’re okay,” he said drowsily from across the pillow divide, which made it feel more like bunking together and less like sharing a bed. “Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody knows where you are at all. That door is deadbolted. And I’m here between the rest of the world and you. You can sleep tonight. Nothing can hurt you.”

He doubted words would actually help, since the boy's nerves were probably completely shot, and who knows when was the last time he’d had a good nights sleep, and felt safe enough to do so? Still, he thought it should be nice to hear. It was the least he could do. He didn’t make any undue promises. Just tonight.

Paulo was quiet for a minute, and then John heard a wet sniff that was the unmistakable sound of crying. He didn’t think he should say ‘don’t cry’ to someone in his position, so he didn’t. He just listened from across the pillows until the little pet fell asleep.

[ragin-cajun-fangirl]

ok but water is such a versatile thing. drown 'em, wash 'em, freeze 'em, boil 'em... so many things

Love when a whumpee gets hurt and then falls into the water. Just got shot? Oh well how about you go into the water and now you have to worry about not drowning too. Car crash? Into the water with you. Feel a little under the weather? Into the water.

[chiharuuu22]

How about this one?

Whumpee is saved by Caretaker. His clothes were in tatters, and his body was covered in blood, bruises, and dirt. A conscious Whumpee is too tired and weak to make a move to let Caretaker do anything to him.

Caretaker laid him in the bathtub and carefully said she would clean his body. His unfit clothes were removed one by one. Whumpee is uncomfortable being seen naked, but he still lets Caretaker wear latex gloves in front of him. Slowly pouring warm water on him, rubbing his dirty body with soapy water mixed with antiseptic, trying to remove all the dirt that sticks to him one by one, cleaning his hair with shampoo, saying excuse me when the Caretaker is going to rinse it, even helping him brush his teeth.

Whumpee, who had finished cleaning, was carried to his resting room. Caretaker will dry his body with a soft towel, comb his hair, which she has worked so hard to soften again, and treat all of Whumpee's wounds painstakingly before finally dressing him in proper clothes.

Whumpee was tired but felt happy and grateful because the person who took care of his body, which was full of wounds after so long, was Caretaker. The last thing Whumpee saw before closing his eyes to end his long suffering was the Caretaker's sweet face smiling and telling him to rest without thinking about anything.

[painsandconfusion]

Whumper washing whumpee's hair.

Whumpee is just so on edge, waiting for whumper's fingers to twist in and pull, even if they're gentle and soft and sweet the whole time.

Flinching at every movement without fail.

[dont-be-gentle-please]

- Whumper covering whumpee's mouth and nose in between dunking them so they can only hope for tiny breaths when whumper moves their hands.

- Whumpee (for various reasons) can hold their breath for a specific amount of time, longer than average. Whumper knows it/figures it out and pushes whumpee's limits.

- Waterboarding

- Being drowned in a bath by carewhumper.

let’s think about drowning.

- whumpee being held by the hair, pulled back out and dunked in repetitively.

- blood from previous injuries dribbling into the water as whumpee struggles underneath.

- shivering and shaking once dragged from the murky depths.

if anyone would like to add anything then please do feel welcome to share. :)

[bugbytez13]

anyways more rambles sorry yall

one of my favorite whump tropes is non sexual intimacy ESPECIALLY in platonic relationships. and one of my favorite acts of non sexual intimacy is bathing or washing it’s just. UGHHH

a character whose too sick to do much and has just been lying in their own filth for days until their friend finds them and decides to give them a bath… they are so drained that they have to fight not to fall asleep in the warm water.. it helps soothe their churning tummy and relax their muscles and auauauaghgh i’m going insane

or maybe two characters just got back from some sort of mission/fight. one is covered in blood and cuts and all sorts of injuries and their partner has to gently clean their wounds and wash them. they can’t hide the small grimaces of pain and hisses when their partner hits a sensitive spot

auuuugghh i just love this trope so much