#bathing whumpee

[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.

[hurt-and-comfort-me-please]

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.

[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.

[pyrepostings]

Glasses in whump.

Whumpee who has them taken away/broken early into its long captivity.

Caretaker brings whumpee to get a new prescription after it is rescued, and oh the unintentional trauma triggers there.

Blood pressure cuff. Velcros on and pumps tighter and tighter with every heartbeat-

Things near its eyes, both sticks and paddles to cover them, the lights are suddenly off with a flashlight in its face.

Cold metal devices it's expected to press its face against. Smells like chemicals. Orders given on where to look. To hold still.

Whumpee takes the question of "what's the lowest line you can read?" As a test, and becomes noticeabley distressed when it 'fails'

Eyedrops. Drugs that change its ability to see. Sticky. Lashes clumping together. Hands on its face.

Then in the waiting room, either before the appointment or after while getting the prescription filled, all the glasses on the walls looking looking, staring, eyes watching. Everyone can see whumpee, whumper knows where it is.

This feeling is magnified if video or pictures of its torture were passed around or sold. Everyone can see your pain, the glasses on the walls say. Everyone can see everything you're doing wrong, all the rules you're breaking.

Choosing frames. Paralyzing decision or a gift of choice?

Does whumpee think it deserves the gift of sight?

Everything is too bright after. The new glasses make the world even blurrier as it adjusts.

But in the end, it's all worth it.

[cepheusgalaxy]

Ok but what about Whumpee giving Whumper a bath.

Whumpee is a servant of some kind, and Whumper makes them bathe them. They lower themself on the big bathub and order Whumpee to shampoo their hair.

As Whumpee brushes their hair and gets a fancy dush to wash it down, they think. They think about how easy it could be. How easy could it be to knock Whumper with the dush. To pick a weapon while they weren't looking, too caught up in the warm water. To push them down and watch them squirm and drown.

Whumpee picks the dush and raises it up.

The water falls gracefully on Whumper's hair. They smile.

Whumpee's hands grasp the dush firmly. Whumper, with reckless abandon, just gets looser on the water.

They don't fear anything. They know very well what must go through Whumpee's head in these times. But they also know that they have Whumpee on their fingers. They smirk underwater.

Pure, absolute control.

[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.

[whumpwillow]

a whumpee who used to live in luxury. A royal, a noble, something else equally as wealthy? They were cared for beyond belief, wearing soft clothes and sleeping on silk sheets and bathing in palatial pools while servants massaged scented oils into their hair.

and then they lose everything. they suffer and are hurt irrevocably. theyre thrown in the dirt. theyre forced to wear the same clothes day in and day out. they have to do all the work for themselves because there arent any more servants to do it for them. theyre filthy and exhausted and aching and yet they must continue.

then caretaker comes into the picture. draws them a bath. whumpee doesnt remember how long its been since theyve had a warm one, or even how long its been since they were clean. caretaker helps wash their hair, their face. theyre gentle, so gentle, more than whumpee knows they deserve.

It’s not like how it used to be. It’s not in a gold-lined tub with expensive scented oils and rose petals. but its the best thing whumpee has ever experienced. he doesn’t care that its a little haphazard, just that caretaker cares enough to do this for him and wanted to help him.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

The incomprehensible urge to bathe a wounded man. 💖💦

Test the water to make sure it's warm enough. Unbutton his clothes and slip off his belt. Guide him to lay back in the heat. Play with his hair. Make him feel adored and loved beyond anything he's ever known. Run a sponge slowly along his skin. Listen to every sharp inhale and exhale. Watch the water turn pink with his blood. Jack him off.

[whumpsoda]

We Search For Stolen Personhood - First Bath

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpees, recovering whumpees

——————

Prince blinked, once, then twice. Nothing changed. Not the trickling run of the water, the square shaped tile neatly circled around the tub, or the disheveled look of himself in the mirror. He didn’t wake up as if from a dream, or shake himself back to his sir’s. 

He hadn’t bathed himself in a long time. 

Not since the facility, with the others all doing the same around him, the freezing cold water that shot like little pricking pins into his skin, and the handlers watching with keen eyes from every angle. But this wasn’t like that.

Prince’s gaze stayed fixed on the water level as it grew by the second. He’d never filled the bath himself either, whenever the maids brought him in for his morning routine it was already full.

He had the control to adjust the temperature however he liked - at least he thought he could, no one told him otherwise - plunging his hand in every couple minutes to check. He had to guess which way to turn the knob, unable to read which side was hot and which was cold.

Prince was even alone. He hadn’t been alone since he’d left his sir’s room, and it was a sort of strangely refreshing feeling. Even when normally he hated any speckle of time just by himself.

Swiveling to his feet, he found himself back in the mirror. This one wasn’t like the one in his sir’s room, smaller and cut in an oval shape, his sir’s standing tall and rectangular.

The first thing his vision stuck to was the absence of his collar. Softly he ran his hand over the spot it used to sit, Isaac having taken it before he left, and he assumed she would not give it back. None of the other pets wore one.

He felt more exposed than he ever had without it, even while standing completely naked.

The area where it had been was merely left a bit red, his sir having gifted him one that wouldn’t do much damage to his skin, because he was just kind like that.

So kind.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught the tub rising almost full, switching off the faucet after accidentally turning it the wrong way, and carefully stepping in. He sunk down to chin level like he always did, knobby knees sticking out from above the surface.

Grabbing the bottle Isaac had directed him to being shampoo, he squeezed out a thick glob into his palm before plopping it onto his scalp. Shivering at the slightly cool touch, he began rubbing it in with his fingers and nails, trying to emulate how gentle the maids always did it.

Prince wanted to imagine, just for a moment, that it was someone else’s touch, someone who sent tender sensations of love and warmth through their contact, who would talk to him in a saccharine tone while they worked.

And that someone wasn’t his sir.

Brow furrowing, he shifted against the wall of the tub. He should have wished it was his sir. Should have. 

But he didn’t. 

Swallowing, gulping down thick saliva over the lump winding tight in his throat, he pressed a bubble soaked hand to his chest, feeling around for the tense rolling underneath his skin. It was always an unwelcome feeling, one that he tried his best to bury down and not think about. Eventually it always came back sometime, and that sometime was normally when he thought about his sir.

And Prince loved his sir.

You love the owner, whoever they are.

He did. He did. He loved his sir, so, so much.

So much. Not just because… because he had to.

And his sir loved him, even if he never said it. It was like a little unspoken secret between the two, because how could Prince have possibly stood it if his sir didn’t?

Love was the way his sir took delicate care of him, making sure he never had to lift a finger, just sit and look pretty like he was meant to.

Love was the way his sir kept him stuck inside his bedroom, because then he could be kept perfectly safe from the horrors of the outside.

Love was the way his sir punished him when he really needed it, to keep him a good boy for his owner.

Love was the way his sir made him do things he didn’t want to because he was too stupid to know what was right for himself, and he signed up for it.

Love was the way he fantasied about murdering his sir because he hated the way he looked at Prince and he couldn’t understand why he’d ever sold himself, but he signed up for it.

Thinking about it, as if he had any clue what love felt like beside what his training said it was, Prince, just for a second, thought that didn’t really sound like love at all.

———

Mutt swayed a little, holding onto the wall to stabilize himself. Prince followed, one of each of their hands curled between the other’s, Mutt’s fingers squeezing tight, but not tight enough to hurt the other pet.

Mutt continued to wear his collar, physically unable to give it up. The mere mention of giving it up sent him into a panic, Prince having been there to easily calm him down. Luckily Isaac dropped the subject, allowing Mutt the last remnant of his master.

It was his turn to bathe, and the mere mention brought a pound to his heart and a quiver to his lip. He knew he needed one, especially when trailing off from a mind melting sickness, but he was scared.

Terrified, even, of the freezing cold temperatures and the blasting pressure of water, but when he stepped into the bathroom there was none of that. A bathtub, filled to the brim with lukewarm water.

“I didn’t know what temperature you would like. S- sorry.” Prince said, holding Mutt upright as he wobbled, just before taking a jerking sneeze.

Mutt sniveled. “Sorry.”

“You’re okay.” 

He wasn’t okay. He was such a bad, stupid mutt, being so useless. Making Prince take pity on him when Mutt should have been groveling at his feet for forgiveness.

Instead, Prince helped him into the tub, legs swallowed by the clear abyss. He gradually sunk in, all the way up to his nose, letting the slightly warmer than room temperature bath coat him like a thin blanket, a luxury he’d never before had.

Mut sat for a beat, breathing through his mouth with a stuffed up nose as he really took in the moment. He dipped further down as he finally allowed himself to relax, sighing with pleasure.

“Let me help you.”

Prince dumped a thick glob of shampoo into his hand before rubbing them together and sinking them onto Mutt’s scalp. He scrubbed and scratched through his greasy mop of hair, Mutt snuggling right into his blissful touch. He followed eagerly along with Prince’s fingers, searching desperately for more contact.

As Prince scritched behind his ears he was practically drooling, a dopey smile smooshing his cheeks into his eyes. Prince giggled, and Mutt caught himself. “Am I doing okay? Do you like it?”

“Yes, yes, Prince.” He mumbled, face flushing as he rid of any semblance of a grin.

“Good.” He smiled, continuing the pleasurable running of his fingers through Mutt’s twisted up hair. “How, um, how are you feeling? I think your sickness is ending soon.”

Mutt nodded. “Better. Much, much better. I am able to keep you safe again.”

He breathed a dry laugh. “You don’t… need to do that.”

“Yes I do. Master said so.”

“Right.” Prince spat, tone a smidge sour and not kind and submissive as it always was. It caught Mutt of guard, a sickly feeling stirring in his belly.

What would he have been doing right then, if everything were normal instead of confusing and wrong?

Most likely he would have been knelt by his master’s side as he worked, mind dancing in circles to keep himself from falling asleep. He would have tried his very best to keep focus on his surroundings, ensuring nothing would ever come to endanger his master.

The thought that was meant to placate Mutt, only came along with more of a sickly feeling than what already plagued him.

Though, if he were truly honest with himself, the reality of being bathed in an actual tub with lukewarm water and Prince massaging suds into his scalp was far more pleasing than anything he’d ever been through at his master’s side. Even if Mutt would never admit it.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Perfume

Based on this prompt by @oddsconvert

— — —

Piper scrubbed her pet's body with her new soap, a creamy scent with rich raspberry undertones. She simply adored how the aroma mixed with the milk and honey shampoo. Her pet was the picture of sophistication.

"Don't you just love how dainty you are now? No more disgusting odors, no more dirt, just luxury.

"Y-yeah, ma'am. It's great."

Too hesitant.

She grabbed their hair and yanked it harshly, glaring.

"Try again."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, please! You're right, the way I used to behave was disgusting. I'm so grateful for all you have done!"

Much better.

She continued to wash them.

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: Deep in the Bowels of Gluttony

I am forcing more CAVE WHUMP into your enclosure (with an added dash of inspiration from my favorite national park that I can never visit ✨)

Suggested Vibe: Duma’s Scourge from Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia (youtube)

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: a lot of gore. eating is involved in the goriness if you couldn’t tell. it is also very gross. Wow! Oh and there is a little bit of burning

By the time Erebus finished crying, his hand had grown back.

He hadn’t even realized it at first, too caught up with gut-wrenching sobs to be aware of anything else besides how much his head hurt, how hard it was to breathe, how terrified he was to be in this strange place all alone, how he might never make it back home, or even back to his cell, how hopeless he felt, how-how-And then he’d noticed the stump of his left hand, no longer ending in a jagged tear, little strings of skin dangling off of it, but a-it was growing, it had to be, those little white nubs poking out of the mass of muscle had to be the bones of his hand, bones that had definitely been…Before he knew it he was crying in earnest again, his body’s sudden strange capability to repair itself overshadowed by the trauma of the past hour, fear and exhaustion replacing awe and relief, because even if he could heal, it didn’t change the fact that he was stuck here, now saddled with the possibility that not even death could set him free.

If there was one good thing about this world, it was the fact that he was more alone than he’d ever been, and no one knocked on the door to interrupt his crying, no one commented on the redness of his eyes or asked him if he was okay too soon after he’d started to calm down. He caught his breath slowly, peacefully, washing the tears off his face using the fresh water from one of the pools near the sea, scrubbing the dried blood from his perfectly healed arm, revealing a ring of scar tissue around his wrist. The thought that neither of these hands were the ones he was born with almost sent him into another spiral, but he shook his head and put it out of his mind. That was enough for today. 

Today…Frowning, he looked up at the sky. Its blackness hadn’t changed in the slightest since he’d arrived here, and something told him it wouldn’t anytime soon. Even back in the windowless cell, he’d had meals and Neteri’s visits to help him keep track of the passage of time, but now there was just…nothing. It was all down to whatever cycle of waking and sleeping he fell into, and given how tired he was now, he was ready to get that started. 

Walking back to his pack, left at the base of the cliffs, he noticed his leg was no longer in pain, either. Once he arrived, he pulled the knife out and used it to slice the stitches still woven through his flesh, wincing a bit as he pulled the thread out. The holes left behind healed quickly enough that he could ignore them and busy himself finding a good place to lay his bedroll for the…night? For now. 

He ended up settling down along the cliffside, too afraid to lie out in the open despite how quiet it was here, and it wasn’t long before his exhausted body gave in to sleep.

When Erebus woke up, the sky was the same empty black as before, and it was impossible to tell how long he’d slept for, but he felt rested enough despite the circumstances. So now he was just supposed to…wander until he found something? He considered flying to get a better idea of what was around, but he decided it would be better to save his strength for the next fight. Since crossing the sea was out of the question, he headed back into the rocky maze he’d first arrived in. Eventually, he found himself at the entrance to a cave, a gaping hole in the side of the mountain rising even higher than the cliffs around him.

If the demons were tied to elements like their counterparts, the dragons, then whatever one was tied to the element of earth was definitely in that cave. His instincts screamed at him not to go into the dark, cramped space where his wings likely would be more of a hindrance than a help, but if he was going to get out of this place, then he’d have to go in eventually. So best to get it over with while he was here.

Erebus had never been inside of a cave, but he’d heard about how beautiful they could be, and…how dangerous. But he’d be okay. He could heal, for some reason. He’d be fine. He could handle this. He had to.

Burying his doubts, Erebus headed inside the cave, almost immediately tripping over a small, rounded protrusion of stone. They littered the ground, and the ceiling, too, their lengths varying. He’d have to take care to avoid them, then. 

Soon enough, though, the ground began to slope downwards, and the dim gray light streaming in from the cave’s entrance began to fade, not enough for even his new eyes to see with. It wasn’t long before he was stumbling along in the dark, unsure how much progress he was making, or if he was even headed in the right direction. He could be a couple steps away from a dead end, for all he knew. Or even a cl-At that moment, Erebus’s boot caught on a rock, his desperate grasps for something to catch himself on meeting empty air, and now he was falling, spinning, bouncing off the uneven stone, everything was slippery enough to slide out of his grasp but hard enough to break his bones, faster and faster until-

Cold. Deep cold, water, he was underwater, he had to get to the surface, had to find it in this spinning dark void, no way to tell which way is up, which way is death, swimming flailing reaching-his hand broke the surface, and he worked his way up desperately, his sodden clothes and heavy sword making it difficult, but he made it, he breathed, he coughed, he dragged himself out and laid on the bumpy stone next to the water’s edge, panting as his body throbbed and stung with a hundred cuts and bruises. Of course he hurt himself before even finding the demon. Of course. If only he had some way to know if he was even going in the right direction, but no, he was just supposed to stumble around in the dark.

One of his horns hurt, and upon poking at it gently, he found that the tip had broken off, exposing the tender flesh inside. Not like they served any purpose, besides telling him where…wait. What he wanted most was to get out of here and go home. To get out of here, he’d have to fight all the demons. Starting with the one hidden somewhere in this cave. So, by that logic, what he wanted most was to find the demon in these caves. He closed his eyes, not that it changed anything, and drilled that thought into his head. He needed to find that demon. Wanted to. Had to.

Erebus couldn’t help but smile as his horns started to tingle ever-so-slightly. 

It took some time to get used to navigating the cave based on the feeling in his horns. The changes in sensation were rather subtle, so it was difficult to tell immediately after changing course if he was heading the right way. It would have been much easier if he could take a direct path, but the twists and turns of the cave forced him to switch directions constantly, sometimes leading him to dead ends or passages he was too large to squeeze through. Progress was slow, but he was making progress, he was, the tingling was stronger now, his scrapes and bruises from his fall earlier had healed, and his clothes were beginning to dry, despite the cave air being rather cool.

Well, now that he thought about it, the air had grown warmer than when he’d first entered. He’d been so freezing from his wet clothes that he hadn’t realized it until now, but it was definitely getting warmer. That had to be a good thing, right? It wasn’t getting any lighter, unfortunately, so he was still stuck feeling his way along through the darkness, nothing but the tingling sensation in his horns to guide him, but at least he wasn’t shivering as much anymore.

It was getting warmer and warmer, hot now, and humid, the stickiness of the air reminding him of summers back home. Were caves supposed to be this hot? He’d been grateful for the warmth at first, but now he was sweating profusely, the thick, moist air making it somewhat difficult to breathe as he clambered up slopes and squeezed through small gaps, the feeling in his horns growing so intense he was starting to get a headache, made even worse by the slightly rotten smell that was starting to permeate the air.

Erebus stopped at the edge of some sort of drop-off. It was impossible to tell how far down it went, only that it was longer than his arm. He’d been scared of this, of having to fly while blind. Out of breath, he sat to rest for a moment, letting the slight breeze cool him off a tiny bit, wishing it didn’t smell so rancid.

Wait…breeze?

The air was moving, pulsing past him in a hot wave, and then a cooler gust in the opposite direction. It was rhythmic, over and over, back and forth, in and…in and out. 

Breathing. It was breathing.

If-if Erebus could feel its breathing, and the intense heat from its body, its stench, then it must be close, just off that ledge maybe, after all this time wandering around in the dark he’d finally found the next demon. With renewed energy, he stood and drew his sword. He’d have to approach this carefully, making sure he didn’t fly straight into the wall instead of hitting his target. After waving his hand over his head and not feeling anything above him, Erebus carefully took flight. It was difficult to move so slowly in the air, especially as he started to head down, but he didn’t want to risk falling who knows how far and landing on who knows what. 

Feeling his feet catch on something, he tried to land, but the ground beneath was slippery and almost gave way beneath him, causing him to fall for the second time today. Thankfully, he landed on something soft, though it was weirdly wet and sort of slimy, like…Erebus cried out and scurried back, but everything he touched was the same, squishy and warm and smooth and…and…It was flesh. All around him. He-he’d somehow flown into the demon’s mouth, he must have, its breath was rushing by him with even more force now, the nauseating scent of rot all around him. He had to get out. He just had to fly up. He could do this. He’d be fine. 

But…where was his sword?

He’d dropped it in his panic, like an idiot, and now he needed to find it. He wouldn’t stand a chance against the demons without it, and then he’d never be able to go home, never see another person again, he couldn’t accept that, he had to calm down, had to focus. He wanted that sword more than anything. It was his way out.

His stomach sank when his horns told him his sword was below him.

There wasn’t any choice but to fall further into the belly of the beast in order to kill it.

He took his time lowering himself, but it was more difficult than before. The heat was making his head throb, not to mention the toll all this flying was taking on him. Being unable to glide was putting a lot more strain on his wings than he’d realized, and though he couldn’t quite feel it through the sheen of sweat covering his face, he tasted the blood dripping out of his nose. By the time the buzzing in his horns peaked and his hand wrapped around the cool hilt of the sword, the world was starting to spin, and he all but collapsed next to the blade, which had buried itself partway in the fleshy ground. 

Erebus didn’t know if he had the energy to stand. The heat and all of that careful flying had sapped all of his strength, leaving him sprawled on the hot, soft flesh of the demon’s insides. Was this it? Was he just stuck here until he fell further and ended up digested? The healing he had for some reason was slow, probably too slow to keep up with stomach acid. He breathed in deeply as the slightly cooler air coming in rushed past him, trying to calm himself down. The demon’s breaths were deep and long, so they were difficult for Erebus to match perfectly, but he tried anyway, the less rancid-smelling air coming in making him feel a little better somehow. But why would…memories of dust, Neteri’s forehead against his, the puff of her breath against his cheeks. Sharing breath. He was sharing breath with this huge demon, gaining a little of its life force as he did so. 

Once he felt well enough to stand, he did so, holding onto his sword for support. He could do this. After bracing himself as best as he could, he started to pull, wincing at the awful squelching sound the blade made as it slid out of the flesh it was buried in. It came out with a sickening pop, squirting what Erebus could only assume was blood all over him. Some of it even landed in his mouth, and it…it tasted good. Really good, like a rich, meaty stew. 

His empty stomach started to growl.

This was a demon. Not a person.

He hadn’t eaten in over a day.

No one would ever know.

He needed energy.

Hands shaking, he pulled out his knife.

Just a little bit. 

It was warm, wet, chewy, almost rubbery, the texture making him gag slightly, but he didn’t care, not when it tasted this good, buttery and savory, little hints of spice dancing through it, shifting from one flavor to another, and he was powerless to stop, grabbing more and slicing it off, shoving it in his mouth before he’d even finished chewing the last bite, his hands and face slick with that delicious blood, the perfect sauce to go with his meat, the fingers on his right hand had grown claws at some point, and now he was tearing away at the walls with his hand, ripping chunks off with his teeth, continuing to slice and shred long after he’d eaten his fill, even as the ground below started to shake, a guttural roar drowning out the sounds of flesh tearing and blood dripping, the force of it sending Erebus to the ground, snapping him out of whatever trance he’d been in.

What…what had he just done?

How could he be sure there wasn’t anyone else out there in the blackness? 

He could feel the ghosts of his parents watching him, watching their son turn into the monster he looked like. 

He had to get out of here. 

The walls shifted and pulsed as the demon’s breath sped up, roars and moans sounding out so loudly around him it made his head hurt. Its mouth might be closed now, trapping him inside. He’d have to find another way. Or just…make his own.

A large section of one of the walls had already been ravaged, cut and torn away during his frenzied eating, so he resumed work on it, slicing away chunks with his sword now, tossing them to the side instead of bringing them to his mouth. Progress was faster when he could focus, but it was almost impossible to tell how far he’d come, how much he’d carved away, how close he was to breaking through the skin. He came across a more rubbery section and ended up having to almost saw away at it, blood spurting all over him as he went, as if he wasn’t already covered in it. How whole body felt so sticky and sweaty and gross, and all he could think about was washing off somehow after he got out of here.

Blood was flowing out steadily now, coming out with more and more force, and soon enough it was all Erebus could do to hold onto his sword, his anchor buried in the fleshy wall, praying he wouldn’t get swept away by the jet of hot, sticky, delicious-smelling blood. H-he must’ve cut into a major blood vessel. Those shot blood out like crazy, from what he remembered. Maybe this would be enough to kill the demon? Then he’d just be…trapped inside its corpse. For now, it was still very much alive, its roars and moans starting to get louder, more desperate.

All of a sudden, the ground beneath him lurched, and Erebus’s sword slipped out of the cut it was in, sending him tumbling backwards, the river of blood sweeping him away before he could try to stand up, stab the floor, do anything to save himself, but he had to, he couldn’t fall any further down, couldn’t lose the tunnel he’d carved out in this sweltering blackness, couldn’t sink into the sea of blood and digestive acid that was likely waiting for him below, he had to stop somehow, the sword was too long, his wings couldn’t generate lift, nothing to do but desperately scratch at the slippery ground below, dig his claws in, deeper, deeper, deeper, hold on, arm trembling with the effort, he couldn’t afford to let go, to fall, the blood was coming with less force now, the tremors not as frequent, just a little bit longer until…

The great beast fell silent, fell still, its blood merely trickling by now, dripping in imitation of the water in the cave surrounding it. 

Erebus dragged himself to his feet, coughing up blood. He’d tried to keep his mouth closed during the whole ordeal, but some had still made its way in. Was the demon actually dead? It was hard to tell for sure, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He had to get out of here regardless, and any other escape route besides his tunnel was out of the question. Nothing to do but resume work, then, and hope he could get out of here soon.

Time crawled by as Erebus hacked away at the wall, and just when he was starting to think he wasn’t headed towards the surface of this thing’s body, his sword met with a different sort of resistance than before. It wasn’t like the blood vessel, more stretchy and tough, but he was pretty sure he was able to poke through, and soon enough he’d made a gap large enough for him to squeeze through. He didn’t realize how hot it’d been in there until he was sitting outside it, the cave air unbelievably refreshing after being swallowed up by that rancid heat. 

After feeling around a bit, Erebus decided he must be on the demon’s back or something. The slope down was pretty steep, enough that he wasn’t sure he could walk down effectively in the dark. His wings were still exhausted from flying earlier, so…scooting down very carefully it was. For the first time today, he was able to move downwards at a reasonable pace, not having to be careful of random rocks jutting out of the floor or ceiling. He was starting to get a bit excited to leave these caves and be able to see again. The water in the sloth demon’s domain would be perfect for washing all of this blood off of him, and there were few things he loved more than feeling clean. Already, he was starting to realize everything he’d taken for granted in his previous captivity.

He’d taken light for granted, too, and the moment he saw it, the moment he could see at all, he teared up a bit, but that might have just been because it was bright. Navigating the rest of the way down the demon’s body was much easier now that he could see, and it wasn’t long before he was back on solid ground, nearly running towards the cave exit. Finally. 

The dark, starless sky was a welcome sight, almost as beautiful to him as the small pools of water a little ways away. He was lucky this exit dumped him out closer to the water than the entrance he’d originally gone through had been. Curious, Erebus looked down at himself, and couldn’t help but wince in disgust. He was covered from head to toe in blood, most of it dried to a brownish-red, cracking a bit around his joints, little pieces of the demon’s flesh caked on here and there. His hair was sticky and matted with it, and the coppery, still tempting tang of it was all he could smell and taste. He’d never been so revoltingly filthy, and he was secretly glad no one was here to see it. 

It was a quick walk to the nearest pool of water, and while it looked a bit different than the other little pools from before, he paid it no mind. Water was water. He fell to his knees in front of it and stuck his hands in, ready to-HOT! Erebus pulled his hands out of the fiery water, screaming as they burned so intensely he could feel it in his very bones. All he could do was lie on his side and wait for them to heal, tears streaming from his eyes as he wailed. None of the water in the sloth demon’s domain had even been warm, so why was it nearly boiling all of a sudden? Unless he wasn’t…

“You really wanted to make a good first impression on me, didn’t you, intruder?”

Blinking away tears, Erebus looked in the direction of the familiar voice, his blood running cold when he saw who had spoken.

It was Shiori.

Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump

@mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump

@unicornscotty @thebewilderer @kixngiggles @itallstartedwithharry @inky-whump

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@whumpasaurus101 @patheticlittleguy @jadeocean46910 @whumpinggrounds @pumpkin-spice-whump

@suspicious-whumping-egg @befuddled-calico-whump @whump-in-the-closet​ @pumpkinsncoffee​ @aryox

[dragyouthroughthewhump]

Augusnippets Day 2 : Platonic bathing

CW : platonic undressing, platonic nudity(nothing graphic), ummm recovering whumpee. Hmmm, I couldn't think of anything else lol

Caretaker was out of options. Promising Whumpee their favorite food, a trip to the park, they even suggested rescuing a puppy or kitten to keep whumpee company. All denied.

Caretaker sighed softly and hung their head. "Whumpee...you need a bath. I know the water is scary, but I'm right here. It won't hurt you while I'm here."

Whumpee eyed the tub, squeezing the plush pillow closer to their chest. Their voice faint and rough, "c-c-can-nt...m-m-mo-ove..."

Caretaker padded over, socks muffling any loud steps that might send Whumpee running to hide again. "How about we do this together, hm? I'll be right next to you."

Whumpee looked at Caretaker, eyes searching their face for intention. After a few moments they nodded, fingers tightening on the plush. "O-okay....c-c-can try....tog-gether..."

Caretaker smiled and gently guided Whumpee further into the room. As Caretaker pulled off their own shirt Whumpee set the plush carefully near the tub, within easy grasping distance. Whumpee hesitated, just watching as Caretaker undressed. Caretaker knew they must be waiting for this to turn wrong. They looked over at Whumpee, "Would you like some help? The washing machine will take care of your clothes, they'll weigh you down in the tub."

Whumpee lowered their head and nodded; hands trembling as they gripped the hem of the shirt. With Caretaker's help, they got undressed, tossing aside the garments in a heap.

Whumpee was trembling all over. Caretaker took one of their hands and placed their free hand on Whumpee's back, taking each step in tandem closer to the tub. Caretaker put one foot in and waited for Whumpee to do the same. "I'm right here...we'll do this together."

After a few shakey deep breaths Whumpee lifted and hesitantly put one foot in. Their trembling turned to shaking, but Caretaker kept their hands soft, not pushing or pulling, waiting for Whumpee to make the next move. Soon they each hand both feet in the warm water and side-by-side crouched and sat down.

Caretaker smiled and gently squeezed Whumpees hand. "You're doing amazing. Remember, I'm right here. You can tell me to stop at any time." Onehanded, Caretaker got a small cup and gently poured water down Whumpees arms and back.

As they lifted the cup towards Whumpee's head a frightened, "Sto-o-op..!" Came out of Whumpee. Caretaker froze and lowered the cup, fingers rubbing the back of Whumpees hand. "Alright...we can soap up other areas first...but we will have to at least rinse your hair before we finish. Okay?"

Whumpee nodded, a small whimper leaving their lips. Caretaker waited patiently for them to calm before taking the soapy sponge and washing their body. The water around them swirled and slowly changed from clear to tan to almost a brown by the time Caretaker finished.

Caretaker drained and refilled the water, giving Whumpee more time to prepare for their hair. They even wet a soft cloth and wiped their face. "Ready for your hair? It'll be just the same, water, soap, water again..."

Whumpee shivered and their hand grasped the plush they had left near the tub. They took several deep breaths then nodded, "r-r-ready..." Caretaker smiled and tilted Whumpee's head back, carefully rinsing the tangled strands and ensuring no water fell down their face.

They kept an eye on Whumpee's expression as they worked. Hands gently massaging their scalp and loosening the debris as they worked. Caretaker dripped shampoo onto their head, "Nearly there...still okay? Still with me?" Whumpee's eyes rolled upwards to see Caretaker and gave a stiff nod, "St-til...h-h-here..."

Caretaker smiled and went back to rubbing Whumpee's scalp and scrubbing their hair. Quickly, Whumpee's natural color overtook the dingy grey that had infiltrated. With a few rinses, nearly all the dirt had been removed and Caretaker helped Whumpee sit up.

Just as they had in the beginning, Caretaker moved alongside Whumpee as they got up and out of the tub. Caretaker grabbed a towel and placed it around Whumpees shoulders. "You did wonderfully. I am very proud of you."

Whumpee pulled the plush to their chest and wrapped themselves in the towel. Caretaker mentally took note the pillow would need a washing soon also.

"Do-oes....this mea-an....we c-c-can g-g-get...a pu-uppy...?"

[whump-about-it]

Sponge bath/ Infection/ “Lets get you cleaned up”

@whumpril day 22

CW: infections, passing out, mild hallucinations, fever. 

The room seemed to be wavering around Whumpee. The floor kept shifting and tilting at odd angles, and the walls didn’t appear to be shifting with it. Instead they kept elongating and shrinking at random intervals. Whumpee couldn’t look at anything straight on or else the constant movement of the room was going to make them nauseous. When they tried to take a step they stumbled on the moving floor and had to grab onto the chair next to them to keep their knees from buckling. 

Their mouth was dry, and their ears were beginning to ring. Whumpee tried to grip the chair harder to ground themselves. Get a control on their body and the shaking room. They knew they should know what was going on, but their brain was moving so sluggishly they couldn’t think of what had happened. 

“Whumpee?” A voice broke through the ringing in Whumpee’s ears, and they could feel someone putting a hand on their shoulder. Whumpee turned towards the voice, and the hand, and managed to focus on Caretaker’s concerned face for a split second before it began to twist and contort like they were a painting someone was smudging over. 

It was all to much for Whumpee’s brain, and their world quickly faded to grey, and then to black. 

“Catch me” they slurred as their body went boneless. The last thing they remembered before they totally blacked out was Caretaker swearing as they tried to pull Whumpee into their arms before they hit the floor. 

The next thing Whumpee remembered, they were coming to propped up in someone’s bed. Their head was screaming, and their skin itched and ached. They felt like a clay pot cracking and preparing to fall apart in desert heat. Even so, Whumpee could feel something wet and freezing being pressed to their neck, just below their ear. The feeling disappeared but quickly came back an inch or so away. The sudden cold on their hot and aching skin made Whumpee wince even as their brain told them to stay still. 

“It’s just me” Caretaker murmured from somewhere very close to Whumpee. They continued to dab Whumpee’s neck with what they could now distinguish as a sponge for a minute until Whumpee managed enough control over themselves to crack their eyes open. 

They were in Caretaker’s room. The lights were out and the curtains were drawn only allowing dim sunlight to filter through. The room was spinning, but it at least was staying proportional now. And Caretaker’s face, mere inches from their own, was only contorting in the usual ways. 

Caretaker leaned away when they saw Whumpee’s eyes open and dipped the sponge in a bowl of water sitting on the bedside table. They rang it out and began to dab at the other side of Whumpee’s neck making them wince again. Caretaker’s face was a mixture of concern and displeasure and Whumpee tried not to stare at them and they continued to wipe the sweat off of their face and neck. 

“Is this your shirt?” They asked in a raspy voice after a moment. They had just noticed they weren’t in the same clothing they had been in when they passed out. 

“You sweat through your own” Caretaker told Whumpee in way of a response. “The cut on your arm has a nasty infection.” 

Whumpee glanced guiltily down at their left forearm. It was splayed out next to them on a seperate pillow. Caretaker had removed the bandage, but there was a warm compress over the deep cut Whumpee had been trying to hide. 

Right. That’s what had happened. They hadn’t told Caretaker about the injury. They didn’t want them to worry. The infection hadn’t been that bad the last time they had changed the bandage. They had cleaned out the puss and made sure to dry the wound before putting on a new bandage. Had they applied the antiseptic? They couldn’t remember. 

“Are you going to give me a lecture?” They rasped, glancing back at Caretaker, who surprisingly gave them a half smile. 

“Eventually” They said fondly “When your fever breaks. I want to make sure you  remember it.” 

Whumpee nodded and instantly regret the movement. They squeezed their eyes shut against the room that was beginning to spin again. Caretaker continued to brush the sponge down Whumpee’s arm while they stroked Whumpee’s sweaty head with their other hand, gently encouraging them to take deep breathes until Whumpee didn’t think they were going to pass out again. 

“I’m sorry” Whumpee rasped when they opened their eyes again “I should have told you about the cut.” 

“I told you, I’m saving the lecture for later.” Caretaker said. “For now lets get you cleaned up, and then I’m tracking down some antibiotics.”  

“Okay” Whumpee mumbled. They shut their eyes again and held as still as they could as Caretaker finished wiping them down with cool water and began to dress their wound, properly this time. 

[scrimblobimblowhump]

Hi!

how would you use a bathtub for whump?

Greetings!

Whumper forcing whumpee into an ice/hot bath as torture/punishment. If they have their clothes on - good, because that makes the sensations exponentially worse! If they're naked - good, because the forced intimacy, vulnerability and degradation of it is another layer to the punishment!

Or alternatively: caretaker having to force delirious whumpee with hypothermia/heatstroke into a warm/cold bath for the sake of their health and safety, but it fucking Hurts

Whumper making whumpee go into a tub, which's walls have been greased, and watching with amusement their futile attempts at getting out and constant slipping

Caretaker having wounded/beaten up whumpee sit in the tub, as they painstakingly patch them up, so the gore that drips off them is easier to wash off afterwards

Or alternatively: beaten up whumpee having nobody to take care of them and sitting in the cold, empty tub by themselves as they push through the exhaustion and pain to patch themselves up

Whumper forcing whumpee underwater in a tub and holding them down till they cannot breathe

!!!! Whumpee hiding in the locked bathroom, lights off, sitting curled up in one of the corners of the tub behind the drawn curtains, their breath hitching, clutching a knife, as whumper - who had broken in - is roaming the house in search for them

Drunk/drugged/high whumpee passing out in a full tub and being unable to wake up as their body slowly slides underwater, leading to them drowning (could be non-fatal and end up in a coma, if you fancy! but death works for a tragic flair too)

Overwhelmed whumpee curling up in a tub, behind drawn curtains, because it makes them feel safe and confined

On the more fluff/ hurt-comfort side of things: caretaker giving whumpee a warm bath post-rescue (that can mean rescue from captivity, them being retrieved from a dangerous mission, or even just caretaker finding them sick/hypothermic, the possibilities are endless), while they're absolutely exhausted and as caretaker gently scrubs them down with warm water, they fall into deep sleep

Depressed whumpee trying to force themselves to take their first bath/shower in a long time and they curl up sitting in the tub, the shower pouring over them, them still clothed

Whumpee getting their bed, sofa etc occupied/confiscated (abusive family or housemates?? evil landlord???) and them having nowhere to sleep at night but the bathtub (bonus points if the assholes use the toilet loudly at night or force whumpee out when they suddenly decide they need a 3am shower for some reason)