whumpedydump

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Love being part of a Fandom where one of the biggest questions is "Is it vivisection or dissection?"

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An angel is a thing that’s lived its whole life in service of a higher being and doesn’t know any better than to obey

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You're the reason I'm addicted to the taste, but afraid of the bite

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they should invent an evil guy

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How it feels to find a fanfic where your favorite character is going through literally the worst horrors you can imagine

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i need to take care of you in a way that threatens your autonomy and makes you question if you can ever function without me again.

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Jon Bernthal as Frank Castle — DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN | 1.09 Straight To Hell

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can i pitch you all a concept. imagine if you will: a revenant (an old-old-old-school vampire; to oversimplify a little the concept stemmed from a lack of understanding about the stages of decomposition and how things like temperature and moisture might affect a body after death, so they were essentially bloated corpses), blood in its mouth, receded gum line, long nails, mottled skin, thinning hair. But dressed all sexy-gothic-vampire-like.

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whumpy hints

some tiny details that tickle the whump senses

• dark circles, bloodshot eyes

• falling asleep fully clothed, possibly with jacket and shoes still on, legs/feet hanging off the foot of the bed or sprawled half-on half-off a couch

• the “oh shit, i’m gonna faint/nevermind i’m good” face (and aborted grab for nearest solid object or person)

• a character losing their footing for a moment on rough terrain. someone reaching out to grab them so they don’t fall and they both hold on for a hot second

• closing their eyes and leaning into a gentle touch

• shaky hands, shaky voice

• falling asleep at their desk at work/tucked away in an odd place

• doing things that are out of character & having others start to notice: losing their cool, being extra chipper or extra quiet, jumpy

• zoning out

• someone getting between them and whoever they’re having a heated exchange with, gently pushing them back with a hand against their chest or shoulder

• slipping out of sight from the others to lean against a wall, tip their head back and close their eyes

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gagging you with our red string of fate to shut you up for one fucking second

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Chapter 14

Fanfiction: A Quirkless Boy’s Guide to Loving Dynamight

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Sometimes I tie myself up so I can test how much different positions hurt and stuff so mu writing is more accurate. Its more painful than you would expect. If you tie their legs folded so they have to crawl, then it hurts to straighten them after just an hour, for example. Also, a good way to make walking a lot harder is to hook a rope under their toes and around the ankle so their foot is pulled up. Like reverse high heels. That starts hurting a lot after about ten minutes.

There's method acting and there's method whump writing. You're doing great, thank you.

I'll be saving this for reference.

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Hi guys!

I'm running a preorder for whumpy OC button badges!

If you like my art and would like to support it or want merch of your favorite character, please feel free to check out the preorder here:

Thank you all for the interest!!!

Your support means the world to me ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

[whumpedydump]

Off Guard

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Thirty-eight

(tw: electrocution, escape attempt, concussion, torture, death mention, murder mention, plotting murder, handcuffs, stun gun, blood, beating, unintentional self harm (bloody knuckles)) [Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Ethan’s fingers tingled as he walked, flicking them against each other by his side to stave off the sensation as he moved down the hall. 

He didn’t want to be too loud. Not tonight. The light was off in Nate’s room, so the bastard must finally be getting some half decent sleep. No reason to wake him and have the idiot trying to take over the scene. Again.

He shoved open the workshop doors, ignoring the slight grinding whine the hinges gave off - though still subconciously noting to add some kind of oil or whatever the fuck you do with hinges later. As the lights snapped on, the pitiful lump of a man in the middle of the room curled into his chains, a small sound of displeasure coming off of him.

“What, were you sleeping? I’m sorry-” Ethan stepped up to him, almost delicately pressing a foot down onto a dried slurry of blood that gashed over Crawford’s thigh. 

“Hnn-stopstto-”

“Hmm… I dunno, maybe beg a little more and see if it puts me in a good mood?” The edges of his mouth seemed to shift, tugging like curtains pulled by a string on the other side of the room to coax a smile out of him. 

Getting there, at least.

It was an almost completely forgotten sensation. Smiling without meaning to. It pulled an entirely different set of muscles than the simple, polite curve he gave to people he wanted to shut up or leave him alone. Different than the ruse he put on or the sarcastic toothy grin he threw in Nate’s direction in place of a verbal response. This was something different entirely. Like a little parasite had carved up inside his cheek and gnawed at the thin strands of muscle until they tightened like strings of a violin, ready for the steady screech of rosin to truly set them alight.

“Y’mdnr-”

“Hmm~?” Ethan’s foot ground in further, leaning in to see Crawford’s face as the man squished it against the cement. 

Another incoherent slurry of sound pressed from the man’s throat, still curled into a ball around the spot where the shackle lashed him to the ground. 

Ethan rolled his eyes, pushing off the man with a small kicking shove before crouching down and squirming his hand into the knotted ball of a man to grab his jaw. Twist him round. Hear his neck crackle with the fresh movement after nights sleeping on cement.

“Use your words,” he prompted, forefinger alone relenting the grip to taptaptap on Crawford’s jaw.

.PaiN.

Pain.

Ethan knew pain.

Close friends as they were for so many years, it was strange he found himself at a loss for its name when it reared its ugly head once more, overwhelming his mind in a single snap of blank, processing emptiness.

Ethan felt the echoing crack as his head hit the concrete, remnants of what he was finally recognizing as electricity buzzing down his twitching legs.

Some strangled growl ripped up his throat as he tried to right himself enough to grab for the man who was shoving on top of him, but his arms were slow - groggy from sleeplessness, shock and lost, aimless electrons trying to find their way underground. 

He shoved at Crawford only to feel the prongs of the stun gun shoved hard into his collarbone, burning agony through the skin and crackling as if eating through the bone itself as he thrashed to shove the searing pain away.

My name is Ethan Scott. The mantra lit up the back of his skull without prompt or ask. It was just there.

It begged him to fall stoic. To sit still and take it. Be tough. Be a good b-

No.

No-

NO.

My name is Ethan Scott and you cannot break me.

He won’t sit still- he can’t. Taking it isn’t strength right now, taking it is defeat.

Crawford was the one in chains today. 

Ethan’s hands scrabbled for Crawford’s arm, finally knocking the thing off of his flesh with a roaring gasp, shoving the other man off of him as best he could. 

Knuckles snapped against his nose, crunching it back. Some dull part of his mind calculated that that wasn’t even half the force of Crawford’s normal blows, but it locked up his mind anyway, pushing his gaze hazy and blurred as heat snapped across his sinuses and exploded behind his eyes. 

There was blood. He could taste it.

Shoving numbly, he was barely keeping up enough to track the bastard’s fingers knotting into his hair and slamming his head into the ground. Again. Again. Again-

And it stopped.

The weight lifted off of him in a blur of white and charcoal grey, sound muffling to the side. 

Ethan shoved back, hand moving to his face to press against the bleeding and squeeze his eyes shut to will vision to return to him. His head was spinning, like he was about to tip over and crack against the ground again. 

He shoved it back. Forced his eyes open and made them focus on the sounds and movement to his left as he shoved himself up on an elbow to squint at the unknown blur.

It took a moment to process exactly what he was seeing. 

Nate was a cheerful kind of bitch. The asshole whose smirk you could never wipe off. The life of the party. Class clown. Charmer. No matter how many screams he ripped out of Ethan, he did it with a gentle, almost seductive tone, grinning, smirking, or smiling almost fondly. He’d only seen Nate angry the once. When they’d met for the second time. 

But this savage blur in front of Ethan’s bleary eyes had him wondering if he was knocked into a dream. Blood splattered up Nate’s face from the sheer force of his hits as he drove his fist into Crawford’s face again and again, snapping it back and forth against the unforgiving cement. He didn’t even have to pin the man down - the whelp on the floor couldn’t do anything but try to throw his arms up in front of the blows, shielding his face. 

Nate didn’t seem to care. He hit them too. Silent yet somehow screaming a rage tha echoed through Ethan’s skull.

Ethan sat there for several long seconds, trying to blink away the mirage in front of him before it slowly sharperned into clarity. It was really happening. 

A dull thought finally graced his addled mind. He’s going to kill him.

Immediately a panic pressed up through Ethan’s veins like acid, snapping him to attention and the closest thing to lucidity his star-studded mind could handle. He shoved up to his knees and flopped forward to tackled Nate off of the man. “St- sstop- STOP!”

Nate shoves at Ethan, trying to throw him off enough to get back to Crawford. Ethan could practically see the red smeared over Nate’s eyes as he shoved the man’s hands away, fogged body easily ignoring the nails slicing blood from his arms in their desperation to return to their proper target.

“NATE STOP.” Ethan finally just grabbed Nate’s face, forcing it toward him. 

Nate’s eyes stayed on Crawford, but he did slow, chest heaving and teeth barred like some kind of animal.

“..that’s enough-!”

Nate tried to shove off the words along with his hands. “He w-”

“I get to kill him. Me. Not you. Me.” 

Nate’s breath stuttered off its ragged rhythm, and his jaw set, lips pinched tight as a glare snapped to Ethan’s eyes at last. 

In a surrendering kind of huff, he shoved Ethan off of him again. This time Ethan let himself roll to the side, lying with shallow, echoing breath on the ground as Nate shoved out the workshop doors at a brisk walk, sticky hand leaving a smear of blood like claw marks over the edge of the door.

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(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta  @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions-deactiva @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent @whumplr-reader @rainbowsandwhumperflies @starfields08000 @sunnyesunny @crystallizedme @lumpofsand @taterswhump)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

[whumpedydump]

Silent Stranger

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Thirty-seven

(tw: torture, abuse, screaming, multiple whumpees, solitary confinement, strangulation) [Previous | Masterpost | Next]

The other man was loud. Anna couldn’t sleep anyway, pillow pinned to the side of her head as the faceless man on the other side of the wall shouted out random, monotonous shit like ‘LET ME OUT-!’ and ‘ETHAN! ETHAN, PLEASE-!’

Anna had learned that the man with the long hair from the bunker was named ‘Ethan’, but she didn’t know who this one was. The two captives had been held together for almost two weeks now - at least fourteen big sleeps. She wasn’t sure what day it was or what time of day it was. Meals didn’t come with any kind of irregularity - though Nate did make a point to only bring her vegan food.

..admittedly, good vegan food. Good stir fries and curry. Salads and fruit bowls. Better food than she made for herself most days before she was taken. Far better than microwave dinners or peanut butter scraped out of the jar when she realized she’d gone over a day without eating. 

She hated that.

Hated how he took better care of her than she took of herself.

Hated that he wouldn’t let her call her ‘master’.

Hated that he made her choose what he’d do to her.

Hated the stupid fucking food that was so good it brought tears to her bruised and swollen eyes. 

She wondered if the other prisoner was eating as good as she was. If he had his sheets washed twice a week or immediate medical treatment. 

He screamed so much more than her, but that wasn’t..strange. Nate was still trying to coax screams out of her with gentle, almost parental assurances. The thing is, she never needed to scream after they were done with the day’s session. The pain was over, then…it was over.

Done for the day.

But this other man, he seemed to be heaving, crying, and screaming in pain long after they left. No peace of nighttime brought him any relief.

One thing she had ascertained is while she only saw Nate, the other man only screamed Ethan’s name.

Something about Ethan made him think Ethan was the safer one of the two. Maybe he knew more than she did. Ethan was free and wandering around, but Anna had seen pets before. She was sure she’d see many more after this. 

If this man was screaming for Ethan, Ethan must be the only one helping him through Nate’s torment.

There was something more to it than that. Anna knew that. She knew she was missing something. She was just too fucking tired to scrape together the little bits of clues and comprehension with her shivering fingers, much less ballance them in delicacy to complete the puzzle’s solution.

She froze as footsteps lighted on the stairs, creaking so near to her room. 

She sat up in bed, eyes hollow as they locked onto her door, scooting back against the wall with pillow clutched against her chest. 

Maybe it was wrong to beg it would be the other man. It felt wrong.

She did it anyway, praying to a god she forgot about long ago that Nate be coming to make him bleed. Not her. Not tonight.

..the key scraped into her lock anyway.

The pillow squished tighter against her lungs as she curled up, eyes locking onto Nate’s face as he stepped inside and turned the lights on. He breathed an effortless smile as he saw her, head tilting a little. “..you’re so perfect, huh? Absolutely adorable like that~”

Anna flinched as the door clicked shut behind him, lock snapping into place again. 

She didn’t answer. 

Nate stepped closer, pinching the corner of the pillow delicately and tugtugtugging on it to get her to relinquish her shield. Despite the gentleness of the pull, she forced her fingers to unravel, letting the cotton slip away from her until there was nothing but hollow air between her arms.

He set the pillow aside, scooping a hand under her jaw to delicately lift it up - forcing her eyes back to him when they preferred the pillow to his smile. 

“Precious thing…” he stroked his thumb down her cheek once. Twice. Three times. “What’s wrong? I haven’t even hurt you yet.”

Yet. That’s what was wrong.

Her eyes squeezed shut, trying to shove back the tears. It just made them fall faster, hot wetness sliding down dry skin. 

Nate tsked a sigh, other hand raising to brush the tears away with a knuckle. “Are we getting a little burnt out?”

Anna flickered back a little as his lips pressed against the top of her head. She just..nodded a little. Barely moving against him.

“Well that’s too bad~” 

There was a sob somewhere inside Anna’s chest, stuck and spinning around her lungs. Searching for the exit she smoothed shut. Refusing to make a sound even as he let his hand drift down to the rings of bruises that circled her throat, threatening to work that exit open again.

She didn’t try to push away his hand. She didn’t do anything but sit there, body trembling but face resolute with exhaustion.

“N-nnat-”

She could practically hear his head tilt. 

“Mhm?”

“C-an w-....nnot-nnnnot t’night-”

A dampened but bright laugh bubbled out of his chest. “Oh honey~” His fingers tightened around her through. “You don’t make the rules here, remember? When have you ever been able to say ‘no’ before?”

A fresh pair of tears slid down the teartracks, warming them afresh. “Pl-ease j- jjust t’ni-”

“-No,” he cut her off, grip tightening enough that her eyes snapped open. “Begging won’t help you. I told you, this isn’t merit based. I hurt you when I want to. No more, no less.”

Her eyes pleaded desperately up at him regardless.

“Anna,” he chided, free hand shifting to reach for her wrist. “Do we need t-”

They both froze as the stairs creaked.

Two pairs of eyes snapped to the door. 

Two sets of lungs fell into stillness. 

The only movement around them was Nate’s hand silently shifting to cover her mouth instead, pushing her skill back against the concrete in a silent warning as footsteps padded closer…then past the door. Down the hall toward the shouting man. 

A door closed, metal and resounding and cutting off the muffled sound of conversation. 

Anna swallowed, shoving away the discomfort in her throat as Nate’s gaze swiveled back to her. “..what you’re gonna do is stay silent. Understand?” Close enough that minty breath brushed over her nose. 

Anna nodded almost desperately, eyes locked on his, even as the air burned her eyes and made them water afresh. 

“Good. Because if he hears you, you know I’ll make you regret it.”

She didn’t understand. Nothing about this made sense. Nothing!

She found herself blinking out more tears as she nodded regardless.

For once, Nate didn’t ask her to scream. He let her settle into her comfortable silence as he ripped her apart, backdropped by the stranger’s screams.

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(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent @whumplr-reader @rainbowsandwhumperflies @starfields08000 @sunnyesunny @crystallizedme @lumpofsand @taterswhump)

sunnyessunny and lumpofsand, tags arent sticking for some reason :(

[whumpedydump]

Something's Not Right

Whumping the Whumper - Part Thirty-six

(tw: internal bleeding, death threat, illness, long term captivity, concussion, bruises, gun, murder mention, nonsexual nudity)

[Previous | Masterpost | Next] [Chronologically following this scene]

Four years ago...

“E-Ethan? Ethan wake up..-”

Ethan stirred at the light poke to his thigh. He groaned, stretching against the cold concrete before squinting open his eyes. His arms instinctively snaked around Johnny, pulling his warmth closer. His head was throbbing- he pressed the ache closer into Johnny’s shoulder to bury it away again.

“N-no, Ethan. Please.”

His eyes fluttered open, squinting down at Johnny in the moonlight. He looked…scared. Must have had a nightmare again.

Ethan swallowed the grogginess from his throat and reached up to brush a few stray locks of hair from Johnny’s forehead. “What’s wrong?”

Johnny stared up at him, eyes shimmering. “Som..something’s not right. It’s wrong and-” Johnny’s voice cracked as a tear leaked from the corner of his eye. “It’s just…wrong.”

Ethan’s brows pinched together. “Why don’t you try to get back to sleep? It always hurts worst right away - maybe when you wake up-”

“-no, it’s wrong.” Tears were dripping steadily now. Johnny’s quick, shallow breaths pressed against Ethan’s chest. 

Was Johnny always this warm?

Ethan sat up, looking over Johnny. He was bruised, sure, but..he’d woken earlier and Johnny was alright. Not…completely alright, of course. But…healable. Crawford had used his fists, the damage was mostly to his thighs and torso. No broken bones, no sprains, just deep, aching bruises. 

..Ethan tried to pull him a little closer. “Some more sleep sh-”

Johnny pressed his palm against the ground, tugging himself free from Ethan’s arms. “I-I don’t know what it…what it is. Something…something’s not right…”

Something akin to fear started to curl in Ethan’s stomach. No. Weighed it down. Sour and heavy and hot, pressing against his mind. He sat the rest of the way up, too, folding his arms around Johnny. He kissed the back of his neck.

…Johnny was sweating.

In this cold??

He gripped Johnny a little tighter. “Does it hurt?”

Johnny reached up, clutching Ethan’s fore-arms. One hand clamping down, the other resting lightly. “Yeah, it’s…yeah.” Johnny swallowed. “It’s wrong. Something’s wrong.”

“Okay, okay I…I hear you.” Ethan didn’t know what to do. He rubbed his thumb up and down against Johnny’s shoulder. “What does it feel like?”

“..just...wrong.” 

“Does…it hurt more than usual?”

“...Um…I think so? No. Wait. Not…not more, jus- … different. I can’t…everything feels wrong.”

Ethan’s hand presses against his forehead. “..is it any particular place?”

Johnny’s breath pulled out in a whine, hugging Ethan’s arm closer. “...e…kinda everywhere but…b-ut ‘specially here-” he made a vague gesture over his abdomen.

Ethan frowned, extracting himself from Johnny’s grip. He carefully picked at the hem of Johnny’s shirt, carefully pulling it up and off of him. There were no goosebumps despite the chill that must have just washed over him. Sweat clung to the shirt, making a sticky sound as he forced it off Johnny’s skin. 

Ethan’s eyes slid back and forth over the bruises that just barely showed up as an outline in the sprinkling of moonlight that worked its way into the basement. His brows pinched, worry starting to churn through him.

..Crawford hit too hard. He knew these symptoms, Johnny was bleeding where he couldn’t see. 

Ethan pulled the shirt back down, praying to the first handful of gods he could think of that it would clear up within a couple days. At least one god had to listen to him, right?

“..is…is i-t okay..?”

Ethan looked helplessly over Johnny, hand lifting to cradle his face. “..I don’t…I think so - I do. But..I really think we should get you a doctor.”

Johnny laughed- but the small, spiteful sound immediately sputtered out into a small whine, breaths immediately falling faster and shallow. “Hh-hhhe w-on’t- n-no way-”

“...Just let me ask.”

Johnny’s head tilted into Ethan’s palm, cradling it there with his own. “...o-kay..”

So much for his headache. Is it still considered a headache when it’s a concussion? 

In any case, so much for his concussion.

Ethan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Johnny’s forehead before dragging himself up and toward the stairs. He took them three at a time until his fists bruised against the door with the force of his banging. “HEY ASSHOLE-! GET THE FUCK DOWN HERE-!”

Johnny rolled his eyes through labored breath, propped against the wall. “...h-e’s not gonna come- it’s like fffour in the morning.”

“He will if I don’t shut up-” Ethan turned back to the door, hammering on the wood again. “CRAWFORD, YOU SLIMEY BITCH WE NEED A DOCTOR-!” 

Ethan paced, shouting up and out into the house he couldn’t reach for almost twenty minutes, his own head reeling and spinning damn near off his shoulders each time he screamed up to the well known abuser and an unknown god in tandem. 

Finally, finally, the bastard showed his face. 

The door slammed open the moment it was unlocked, gun pointed at Ethan. 

Ethan took a hesitant step backward down the stairs, eyes on the gun. He never got that out. 

“What. The fuck. Is wrong with you,” Crawford bit out, all but drooling venom. 

Ethan lifted his hands. “We need a doctor- you fucked up Johnny too much.”

Crawford scoffed, starting to close the door. “I didn’t do anything different, go the fuck to sleep.”

Ethan stepped forward, bracing one hand against the door so it couldn’t close. “No, wait- I’m seriously h-”

The sound of the gun cocking cut off his sentence. “He’s. Fine. You were a little bitch when you first got here, too. Deal with it.”

“He’s bleeding internally!”

“And who’s fault is that?”

Ethan froze, memories of running skittering across his mind. Johnny’s screams. Crawford’s cursing. Guilt curled fresh into his blood. 

Swallowing down emotions and pride, he tried again. “...please. He needs a doctor.”

“I will kill him if you don’t shut the fuck up. He’s fine. Keep pushing it and he won’t be.”

Rage flickered across Ethan’s eyes, but he let his hand fall from the door. 

In a moment, it slammed in his face, deadbolt snapping back into the frame.

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(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @paleassprincess @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta  @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @hold-back-on-the-comfort @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent @whumplr-reader @rainbowsandwhumperflies @starfields08000 @sunnyesunny)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

[whumpedydump]

Next Whumping the Whumpers scene perhaps? (I love nate sm its prolly not healthy but i require nate content as sustenance) Been binging and re-reading this storyline between uploads and i am obsessed, incredible writing <3

For you bb <3

Bath

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Thirty-five

(tw: knife, blood, multiple whumpers, death mention, restraints, salt in wounds, conditioning, self deprication)

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Owen twisted, skin crawling and itching and trying to claw away from the knifetip that scratched lightly over goosebumps. But skin can’t crawl or claw or move, so Owen was stuck twisting. Body panicking and pressing back into the man holding him as his eyes stayed locked on the blood-tipped blade. 

“Gods, he’s so fuckin’ twitchy.” The blond - Nate, Ethan had called him - spiraled the knife against Owen’s ribs, pulling a hiss from his teeth as the skin broke. His leg slipped and slid against the cement, blood slick as oil passing between flesh and cold, hard stone. 

He was starting to get dizzy with the pain, each minute agony compounding into a symphony of wrongness. 

“Sss-t-to-p-”

A soft sound of amusement breathed across his hair. “You did much worse than this to me on a daily basis. You’re fine.”

A whine crawled up Owen’s throat, legs creaking as they strained against the suit’s weight. He’d already forgotten that guy’s name again - he was just ‘suit’.

“Awe, c’mon E, let’s go easy on him. Just for today.”

There was a silence as the two assailants considered each other.

“Why.”

The suit returned a polite smile and a soft shrug. “ I just think he deserves a little reward for being so tough.” The suit pinched Owen’s cheek, wiggling it affectionately - you’d think affection wouldn’t bruise. It does. “I can run him a bath while you finish up here and then he can have the night to himself. How’s that?”

Ethan was silent for a long moment. “Alright,” he agreed. 

Owen’s face pinched in confusion, relief flooding his lungs as his mind scrambled to keep up. To answer the question: why??

The suit just flicked Ethan a dazzling grin and shoved the knife into Owen’s calf as he stood. 

The pain came moments later, pulling a raspy scream from Owen’s throat. Ethan’s fingertips ghosted across it, feeling for the vibrations of agony as he writhed back, breath coming faster and faster. 

“You two have fun,” the suit chimed as he headed for the door. “Bring him to the bathroom when you’re done.”

“Mhm,” Ethan hummed, twisting as he pulled the knife back out of Owen’s leg.

Another scream rasped from him, and he squirmed further back into Ethan as the agony twisted up through his mind, shrouding him in darkness. 

Ethan’s hand patted blood against his cheek, sticky and cold and sharp. “Don’t drift off, I want you awake.”

Owen resolved to breathe an exhausted sob, head tucking down and away. Twisting to hide his face in Ethan’s shoulder.

Ethan laughed - actually laughed at him as he pulled him closer. “Wooooowww…aren’t you pathetic~?”

Owen winced in response as Ethan shifted, moving more beside him with one leg creeping over his own to keep him pinned in place. He whined at the pain, burying himself further into Ethan. 

“No no, look at me-” Fingers bruised up and under his jaw, pressing it up until his eyes met his old captive’s. “Look right at me…” The knife barely glimmered in the corner of his eye before he realized it was pricking against his cheek. 

Owen’s eyes screwed shut, face pinching away as steel slipped under skin. 

“No.” His fingers bruised harder, shaking Owen’s face a little. The smile was gone. “Keep your eyes on me.” 

Owen pinched in desperation, fingers curling into Ethan’s shirt as he let his eyes do the pleading for him, holding still as he could in the iron grip as the knife continued to carve a long line down the arch of his cheekbone. Salty tears stung as they passed over it, and he found a whimpering, broken whine pressing from his lips. “Pl-ease-s-sto-”

Ethan shook his head slowly, focused on making the line - one cheek, then winding down and over his lower lip, splitting it open. Black sparks flittered across Owen’s vision, and he squirmed, trying to pull back as a sob blew a bubble of spit and blood out over his chin. 

“No. Hold still.”

He didn’t know why he obeyed. Maybe it was in the hope that there might be some reward or mercy following in the wake of obedience. Maybe it was the fear it would get worse. Maybe it was simply exhaustion overtaking him. But he did hold still. He kept his eyes pleading and wet and desperate on Ethan’s face as Ethan’s knife wound down and over his cheeks and jaw and neck.

A few, desperate times, he thought that Ethan might flick that blade through an artery or larger vein and end him. But he never did. The wounds stayed safe, and the knife danced around the blood hidden under dark skin as if he had a roadmap. 

A small, strange kind of trust started to bloom in his chest. Trust that Ethan knew what he was doing. That he wouldn’t kill Owen - at least not yet. That the injuries were specific and deserved and ordained. Not random. Not lethal. Not pointless. 

He fell into a meditation of sorts as the knife worked over him, leaning further into Ethan as each pain bloomed into being. They were almost numb now. Tingling and burning more than slicing and agonizing. 

It would end.

It would end. 

It would end. 

There would be a bath and rest and somehow, in some way, this was making everything right. 

Maybe this would make him right. 

Ethan pulled to a stop, admiring his work and passing the flat of the blade over bloody cuts. He dragged and twirled it over flesh like an artist with a pallet knife - precise and wild all at once. 

And Owen was a canvas. 

He hoped dimly, somewhere in the shadowed corners of his mind, that he was a beautiful one. 

He knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t a beautiful person.

“..m’ sorry-” slipped from his lips without him summoning the words. 

Ethan’s eyes sharpened and returned to his again. “For what.”

Owen swallowed thickly, tongue catching like flypaper at the back of his throat. “J..ohnny” 

Ethan’s stare offered nothing to express his reaction. He was simply silent and cold. 

Owen tried again. “I sh..shhould ha-...lis’nd-”

Ethan pushed Owen off of him, letting the cold, hard concrete batter against his elbow and shoulder. “Yeah. You should have.”

Owen squeaked as Ethan’s hand gripped his elbow, dragging him toward the door with bound hands supporting most of his weight. He tried to kick at the ground to keep up with it and alleviate some of the pain. His legs barely listened to him, and the agony that the pushing caused hurt just as much as the twisting pull at his shoulder. 

So he just…let himself be pulled across the ground. Across the hall. Into another room. Tears and blood both tangled in a trail behind him. 

His eyes caught on the smear of red that marked his path, and Owen wondered if he was going to die. The back of his mind tried vaguely to calculate how much blood loss that was, but he couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t focus on anything. 

“Alright, toss him in.”

Owen’s ears perked slightly, realizing that his hands were cuffed in front of him now. 

..when..did that happen? Had he passed out??

Hands gripped and bruised and grappled and tossed him over the sharp-cut edge of the ‘tub’. He barely had time to process that it was made of cinderblock before the agony hit him. 

He was thrashing immediately, pulling against the grip that forced his hands to the wall and locked them into place. 

“Salt?” Ethan hummed.

“Mhm.” The voices started to drift, distant and muddy. “Should k…….’nfection………pretty well………forgetting……..th…………………not…”

Owen’s movement had slowed to nothing, blinding light and darkness tangling both at once over his eyes as he was left with nothing but muffled ringing in his ears and the unshakeable sensation of falling sideways into oblivion.

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(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @paleassprince @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @holdbackonthecomfort @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent @whumplr-reader @rainbowsandwhumperflies @starfields08000 @sunnyesunny)

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(I got a lot of tag requests between the last scene and this one and realized I was writing them down in three different places, so if you asked to be on the tag list and didn't get pinged for this one, just lmk and I'll add it now! Thanks for putting up with meeeee <3)