Doing everything except what I need to do

I love writing about my ocs ! Mostly whump, but I also write found family, idiots being friends, crack and recovery, in fantasy world mostly !

As right now my blog is only whump because I only post for whumptober lol, just a little point about CW and the type of whump you may found here :

-Carewhumper

-Parental whumper (kidnapping = adoption)

-Creepy intimate whumper (but mostly non-sexual intimacy. I can make sexual threats or suggestion, but very rarely actual sex)

-Teens/children whumpees

-Light dehumanisation

-Forced comfort

-Emotional/physical Abuse

-Recovery ! Sometimes…

-And more rarely some dehumanisation, sadistic whumper, manipulative whumper, sassy whumpee caretaker and whumpee, and a lot of others things.

I try to tag accordingly, but I keep forgetting things or I’m not sure about the tagging system so don’t hesitate to tell me. Also I will maybe make a post about my oc. If I stop procrastinate so much. Feel free to send me ask about what I post, myself or anything. Social interaction makes me awkward, but I’ll try to answer. Also, I’m way too lazy to have several blogs, so this one is probably going to have all my posts about all the things I like other than terrifying my OC.

Thanks and have fun !

MASTERLISTS

you write the dynamics so so so well and aaaahhhhhhhhhh I love all your ocs so much !!!! Api API API AAAAAAAAAAAAAA I REALLY LIKED THIS ONE !!!

CW : Captivity, implied abuse and child abuse, carewhumper.

Enjoy !

API (4 MONTHS AND 3 DAYS)

Hélios recently bought a record player. Api knows perfectly well it’s a reward for him. Or some kind of bribe, probably. Or both.

They do have a radio Hélios lets them listen to in the kitchen when they behave, but they obviously can’t choose the music. And anyway, there isn’t much music on the radio these days. During calmer moments, when Hélios asks questions, Api has mentioned the unsettling silence of the house, especially during the day. He loves music; he has a quite impressive collection of vinyls back home that he likes to listen to.

Hélios used to have a record player, but it stopped working a long time ago, according to him. And yet, two weeks ago, he decided to buy a new one and even let them look through the shelf of neatly arranged vinyls he owns.

The children have chosen a random one this afternoon. Hélios came home early. It’s pouring outside, the sky a dull gray. Ironically, it’s the perfect weather to stay in, drink tea, curl under a blanket, and that’s exactly what they’re doing. Hélios made tea for everyone, and they’re all in the living room, quiet. Justine is on the couch with a blanket over her legs, absorbed in a novel. Lucien is curled up at the other end, reading as well. Loan is fiddling with a puzzle, sitting against the glass door like he always seems to do when it rains. It squeezes Api’s heart every time he sees him like that. Sometimes Loan stops and rests his cheek against the window, and a sharp nostalgia shines in his eyes whenever lightning flashes.

Hélios is scribbling in a notebook at the coffee table, his cup steaming beside him. A soft song plays in the room, carried by the melodious voice of a Pardesian singer. Api moves quietly around the room watering the plants. Hélios bought a few more since they arrived and encouraged them to take care of them. Unsurprisingly, it's mostly Api who does it, with Lucien helping by watering them whenever Api forgets.

The healer loves plants. In his home with Justine, there were plants everywhere—herbs in the kitchen, trailing ivy and cacti in his office, succulents in the bathroom. He has an employee who handles major yard work, but he takes care of the daily maintenance himself, watering the flowerbeds, the wild sorrel that grows all over and sometimes ends up in their salads, tending the blackberry bushes that decided to settle in their garden.

He misses his garden. Hélios’s is wild, clearly left to itself. Honestly, Api would gladly take care of it if it meant he could step outside, but no: Hélios refuses to let them out under any circumstances. He’s kinda right, though. They’d bolt the moment they had a chance. He doesn’t even open the windows when they’re out of their rooms.

As Api waters the plants in Hélios’s home, caught between the soothing familiarity of the activity and the disgust of participating in the maintenance of their cage, he eventually recognizes the singer’s voice. The band is relatively obscure, but his mother loves them and gave him the record a few years ago. He liked it as well.

Absentmindedly, he starts humming along while inspecting the fragile leaves of the Frozen Orchid Hélios gave him “as a gift.” The plant is ridiculously delicate, and Hélios insisted so much on the gift that Api is nervous about accidentally letting it die.

Satisfied that the flower is still healthy on the bookshelf, he turns around, only to freeze when he meets Hélios’s intense stare. The mage is resting his chin on his hand, an inquisitive expression on his face. He seems to have abandoned his notebook, but Api has no idea why. Did he do something to catch his attention, or is Hélios simply bored and looking for entertainment?

“You know the song?”

The question catches him off guard. He didn’t expect that. So it was his humming that got Hélios’s attention? He shrugs.

“Yeah, I know the artist. I had some of their records at…”

Saying “home” is dangerous.

“…before,” he finishes. Not subtle, but safer. Justine has lifted her head to give him a worried look. The boys’ posture shifts too. They’re listening now. Hélios keeps staring, still relaxed enough that Api doesn’t feel in immediate danger.

“It’s a pretty niche Pardesian artist. I didn’t think you’d know them,” the mage says lightly.

He closes his notebook with a casual motion, sets it aside and stands, stretching his back with a grimace. Api tenses despite himself. He doesn’t like when Hélios stands, especially when it means he’s taking interest in him. He was fine, tending the plants with music playing. Why couldn’t things stay that way a little longer?

Thankfully, their captor doesn’t approach him. He goes to the living room bookshelf instead, leaning over the row of records.

“Do you know the album Die In Ecstasy?”

Api tilts his head. Seriously, he wants to talk about music?

There are worse subjects.

“No, I don’t know that one.”

“It’s fairly recent, they released it not long ago… I imagine Pardesian artists aren’t exactly popular in Dremmerris right now.”

He pulls out a record sleeve with a soft sepia-toned design. He moves toward the record player —Loan shoots him a nasty glare for passing too close — but stops before switching the vinyl, suddenly hesitating.

“Ah, maybe you guys want to finish this one first?”

“Oh, no, we can change it. I mean, this one’s nice,” Justine adds quickly, probably worried about offending him. “But I don’t mind switching.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” Lucien says, brushing a chestnut strand from his eyes. Loan rolls his eyes.

“I don’t care either.”

“Same,” Api agrees.

Hélios’s smile is satisfied. He changes the record, gently sets the needle, and the room fills with strings instruments, soft percussion, and a melodic voice.

It’s… a nice album. The band’s style is recognizable, but with a more energetic vibe than the albums Api used to listen to. Justine lifts her head a little, leaning against the couch back, her foot tapping discreetly to the rhythm. Api smiles despite himself. His daughter loves music as much as he does. More than once, the two of them ended up dancing and singing wildly in their kitchen and living room, and her grandmother was always eager to teach her to dance.

Hélios watches them with his own smile, leaning against the console table next to the player.

“You like it?”

“I do,” Api admits, as the two younger kids nod timidly. Loan refuses to answer, but thankfully the mage doesn’t mind. Loan’s refusal to cooperate isn’t new. He’s infinitely braver than Api, who rarely dares defy Hélios unless it’s for the kids. But Loan forces Hélios to shatter his benevolent savior mask, refusing to let him bask in that illusion. Over time, Hélios has given a little ground, and Loan’s disdain is now met mostly with condescending tolerance.

Hélios walks toward the couch, and Lucien has the presence of mind to slide closer to Justine to avoid having the mage sit between them. Hélios doesn’t react, taking the empty spot. He tilts his head back, closes his eyes, humming softly along.

Api moves carefully to water the last plant. A few minutes of peace go by before Hélios speaks again.

“You like music, Api?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, can't he just shut up?

The healer makes a small affirmative sound, then adds quickly:

“I like listening to music when I’m relaxing. That usually helps after a rough day.”

“And you, Justine? I guess you also listened to music a lot, then. Right?”

“Yes,” she confirms. “But I prefer songs where the main instrument is the guitar.”

“Oh? Not the violin? You look like someone who plays violin.”

Api, done with the plants, sets the watering can down and leans against the bookshelf, keeping an eye on the interaction. His daughter’s smile is fragile, but she’s playing along. She’s good. Too good, maybe. He needs to talk to her, if Hélios ever lets them be alone.

Though it is good. Hélios likes that kind of attitude, and he needs to get attached to her. Hélios must value Justine, see her as something precious rather than a tool. Like he sees Lucien… and maybe less and less Loan.

A problem Api can’t fix right now. The priority at this exact moment is that Hélios grows attached to Justine, enough that Api never again has to hear him threaten her life.

But not enough for his daughter to ever believe it.

“Oh, is that true, Api?”

He startles. Shit, what part of the conversation did he miss? What’s the question? He needs to stop doing this. Fatigue is making him zone out, and that’s dangerous around Hélios.

The mage must notice his blank look. He’s turned slightly on the couch to face him. His smile fades a little, but not into anything threatening.

“Justine just told me you play piano. Is that true?”

“Oh,” Api stammers. “Yes. I had a piano in our old house.” He manages not to stumble over the words this time. “I took lessons when I was younger and… kept playing. I like the instrument.”

There. Natural answer, detailed enough to please him. Hélios wears that vaguely fascinated expression that always makes the hair on Api’s neck rise. The healer rushes to sit on the rug before Hélios gets the brilliant idea of inviting him onto the couch.

“You play piano too?” Hélios asks Justine. She shrugs.

“A little, but I really prefer guitar.”

“What about you, Lucien? Piano, guitar, or something else?”

The boy drops his eyes under the mage’s piercing stare. Api watches quietly, ready to redirect attention if the pressure is too much. But Lucien replies softly:

“I can play piano. My grandpa has one a-at his house. And a friend gave me his old saxophone. I, um, don’t know how to play it very well yet, I’m learning by myself with sheet music, but I’m getting better…”

His voice trails off as his cheeks redden under all their eyes.

“That’s really impressive, Lucien,” Api says gently. Justine squeezes the boy’s arm in silent approval.

And Api means it. He always admires self-taught musicians, especially kids. And the saxophone is not an easy instrument. The child gives him one of his rare half-smiles.

“A little musical prodigy,” Hélios hums, ruffling the boy’s hair. Lucien squeaks in surprise but lets him. He even shakes his head afterward to fix his hair, drawing a delighted laugh from the mage.

“And you, Loan?” Hélios calls brightly toward the older teen. Api assumes he’s still pressed against the window — the couch blocks his view. A gruff noise answers him, followed by an irritated voice:

“I don’t play anything.”

“Not a musician then. Unless you sing?”

“No.”

Hélios frowns. Api jumps in quickly, not wanting Loan to be scolded for his tone, keeping his voice deliberately light.

“Well, we can’t all be artists! Loan can be our bodyguard if we ever start a band and go on tour. And you can be our artistic manager,” he adds, to flatter Hélios.

And it works : Hélios turns toward him with an amused smile.

“Maybe I could even join the band, who knows.”

“As the singer?” Justine asks.

“Why not… Or maybe as a musician. You know, when I was young, back when I worked in the army field units, one of my comrades taught me to play the flute. I was pretty good at it!”

Api blinks. He stares at the massive mage on the couch, looking incredibly proud. Something strange and unfamiliar rises in Api’s chest.

“Yep,” Hélios says. “I’m a flute player.”

Api imagines Hélios playing a flute.

Then he bursts out laughing.

It’s sudden and completely uncontrollable. Laughter takes over in sharp, hysterical bursts. He turns away quickly, clapping a hand over his mouth to contain it, utterly unsuccessfully. His chest tightens violently. He cannot stop laughing — the image of this violent, dangerous man delicately holding a fragile flute is absurd beyond belief.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Lucien and Justine staring at him with the same mix of confusion and fear. Shit, shit, he’s scaring them, he needs to stop, this is not the time, he needs to-

He tries to hold the laughter back, chest convulsing wildly. It isn’t even funny anymore, not with the terror of how Hélios might react, Hélios whose mercy his life depends on.

But a flute.

Another wave of hysterical laughter tears out of him, twisting his lungs painfully. He curls in on himself a little, tears streaming down his face, too afraid to look at Hélios.

Finally, finally, the laughter dies out, leaving him breathless and dangerously close to tears, but not from joy. He focuses on breathing.

“What, is it really that hilarious to imagine me playing the flute?”

Api dares a glance at the couch, bracing for consequences.

But he finds only an amused smile. Hélios is comfortably settled on the sofa, eyes bright, his smile apparently genuine. Lucien and Justine are still terrified, the younger boy’s gaze darting between Api and their captor at Hélios’s words.

“I didn’t expect you to find it that funny,” Hélios continues.

He doesn’t look angry. His posture is relaxed. Api slowly sits back up, still unsure. From this angle he can see Loan now standing behind the couch, tense, ready to intervene as always. They exchange a quick look, Loan tilts his head, questioning. Api gives a tiny reassuring nod and refocuses on Hélios. Everything’s fine. No need for Loan to step in.

The mage is still waiting for an answer, so Api forces the steadiest smile he can manage, chest still aching.

“Sorry… I wasn’t making fun of you, it’s just… I didn’t imagine you playing a f-flute.”

He almost giggles again at the word but holds it in.

“What, you didn’t think my delicate hands was made to handle such an instrument?” Hélios teases.

“I wouldn’t say ‘delicate,’” Api answers before he can stop himself. He’s been hit often enough to know. Loan snorts, moving around the couch to sit beside him.

“You’re the one with hands dry enough to light the fireplace,” Hélios fires back, playful. Something horribly soft lights up his eyes.

Justine lets out a fragile laugh, slightly reassured. Api rolls his eyes despite himself.

“Your cooking’s drier than his hands,” Loan mutters.

“You’ve never complained,” Hélios retorts.

Yeah, because the boy is starving half the time and he’s too scared to risk losing meals. Loan is smart enough not to say that out loud.

Also, Hélios is actually not a bad cook.

“I bet you play the flute as well as you cook,” the boy says instead.

“You’d be surprised,” Hélios hums, raising an eyebrow. “I wasn’t half bad. But it’s been a while.”

“You could buy one,” Lucien suggests carefully with a timid smile at their captor.

“Hm, but then I’d have to buy a piano, a guitar, and a saxophone too, so we could really form a band,” Hélios teases, ruffling his hair again. Api smiles despite himself, relieved that his reckless laughing fit didn’t ruin the little moment of calm they managed to carve out in this place.

Hello, so, uh, I've been procrastinating for quite a while...but I'm back! Ok, so this is my first masterpost, and since I tend to be a bit messy when it comes to my writing organization, I might suddenly modify this post in the future. But for now, here's my masterpost for Whumptober 2025. It's OC whump, and it's about my fic called Hélios's Lovely Family (I'm going to make a second post especially for this fic and then come back to edit this one. Sorry, I tend to sidetrack even when I write). So, for more clarity, the links are going to be put in the fic's chronological order, with the corresponding prompt and a distinction for canon and non-canon parts.

-5 days of captivity : Loss of Powers (Day 4) - Hélios takes mesure for a long-term captivity and Justine doesn't feel so good.

-3 weeks and 3 days : Mirror (Day 30) - The captives get new clothes.

-1 month and 1 week : Withholding Medical Treatment (Day 12) - Hélios gets the idea for a new punishment for Api.

-1 month and 2 weeks : "Please don't cry" and Beg for Forgiveness (Day 1) - Justine makes a little mistake, but Hélios is a very forgiving person.

-2 months : "Have you earned your stripes?" (Day 25) - Api has been mischievous lately. Hélios decides to get a little helper in order to teach him a lesson.

-2 months and 2 weeks : Viral (Day 18 alt prompt) - Lucien and Justine are sick. Maybe they can get something out of this, at least.

-2 months, 3 weeks and 1 day : "Even with the smallest cuts, you can stil lose so much blood" (Day 31) - Loan unfortunately manages to get hurt while he's in the basement, to Hélios disbelief.

-3 months and 2 days : "Hold my hand" (Day 23 alt prompt) - Lucien tries to comfort Loan after a punishment.

-3 months and 1 week : "Tell me that you're okay and I'm fine" (Day 7) - Loan, Lucien and Justine are thrown in the basement as punishment.

-3 months, 1 week and 3 days : Creative restraints (Day 28) - Api is not in a good mood. Hélios makes a mistake and things spiral.

-4 months : "Can you get through all the pain inside you?" and Hidden Injury (Day 11) - Loan won't be allowed to ruin dinner.

-4 months and 4 days : Dissociation (Day 8) - Lucien has his own way of dealing with captivity.

-4 months and 2 weeks : Phobia (Day 5) - Hélios doesn't like it when Lucien zones out. He decides to have a little training session to fix the issue.

-4 months, 2 weeks and 1 day : "You can take a break, if you just tell me that it hurts" (Day 15)- Loan gets a chance to blow off some steam.

-4 months, 2 weeks, 5 days : Never Enough (Day 13) - They're so ungrateful sometimes.

-4 months, 3 weeks and 3 days : "In the end, it's worthwhile" (Day 14) - Hélios finally gets a reward for all his hard work.

-5 months : "Sold my soul, broke my bones" and Kneeling (Day 21) - Api tries to make a deal with Hélios. It goes terribly wrong.

-5 months and 1 week : Medical Restraints (Day 6) - Since Hélios doesn't like his dissociation, Lucien finds another way to deal with stress. Hélios doesn't like it either and does something about it.

-5 months, 1 week and 4 days : Relapse (Day 26) - Api's magical exhaustion is barely getting better, yet he's already exhausting himself again.

-5 months, 1 week and 4 days : Bedside vigil (Day 27) - Hélios is going to make sure Api get some rest.

-5 months and 2 weeks : Painful Transformation (Day 24) - Justine gets her first period.

-6 months : Found Family (Day 3) - Hélios reflects on his newfound family during a relaxing evening with them.

-6 months and 2 weeks : Taking Accountability (Day 2) - Api has to discipline his daughter.

-6 months and 3 weeks : "I've had the rug pull beneath my feet" (Day 16) - The captives get a babysitter.

-6 months and 3 weeks : Dehumanisation (Day 19) - Their new babysitter is quite different from Hélios, and not in a good way.

-6 months, 3 weeks and 3 days : "That's new" and Resignation (Day 20) - Hélios comes back home. He's pleasantly surprised.

-7 months : Self-Sacrifice (Day 22) - Justine will do anything to keep the peace.

-7 months and 2 days : Broken dishes (Day 29) - It's morning and Lucien makes a mistake during breakfast.

-7 months and 3 weeks : Secrets (Day 10) - Lucien and Hélios share a secret.

-8 months : Yearning (Day 17 alt prompt) - Loan misses home.

Post-captivity

I will make my masterpost with all my works for whumptober, make this post about my OC and their lore I keep talking about and never make (no i won't).

Since I had to limit myself for the event (I wanted all my OC to suffer equally), I will make a few others posts using some whumptober/angstober prompts I had inspiration for but couldn't fit in my works. Thanks for people liking my flavor of whump !

Also, I might write some more lighthearted things with some other OC, and I will probably update my AO3 account and...

I'm getting carried away. Gotta go sleep (no I won't). Will try planning all that after getting some rest lol.

Hello, here's my last and late contribution for day 31 of Whumptober 2025, for the prompt “Even with the smallest cuts, you can still lose so much blood". It's OC whump. Loan is closing this whumptober, somehow without calling Hélios an asshole.

Captivity, implied multiple whumpees, teen whumpee here, parental/possessive whumper, child abuse, blood, food deprivation, chained in the basement, swearing, carewhumper. Check the tags just in case and you should be good! And I will make a post about lore one day (i'm going to add this at every post and never do it).

LOAN (2 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS AND 1 DAY)

The cut won’t stop bleeding.

He can feel it, blood running down his palm, a slow, stubborn trickle. He sliced himself on the jagged edge of an old pipe barelysticking out of one of the basement walls. He knows that pipe is there, but in the dark, dazed by hunger and exhaustion, he hadn’t been careful and falls heavily on it, tearing his skin.

He doesn’t know how bad it is, but the bleeding won’t stop. He tried pressing his t-shirt against it, but he’s too tired to keep up the pressure, and the handcuffs make it hard to improvise a proper bandage. He gave up and curled up in a corner of the basement. He stopped shivering a while ago… he’s not really sure how long he’s been here. Hélios’s visits are erratic at best, and anyway, it’s not like Loan can keep track of it anymore. Hunger has clouded his mind. Sometimes Hélios brings him a cereal bar or a small bowl of oatmeal that makes him horribly thirsty, but he’s too hungry to deny food.

Even water is rationed. He hasn’t dared use the little he has left to clean the wound. He’s too thirsty for that, too.

From his corner, he carefully feels around the wound again. The edges are uneven, shredded. He barely feels pain anymore, just the sticky warmth of blood smearing his fingers. The bleeding’s slowed, he’s sure of that, but by now, it should’ve stopped completely, right?

He doesn’t know. He can’t see the wound, can’t tell how much blood he’s lost, and he’s not even sure what time it was when it happened.

Hélios will come eventually, of course. Even if the schedule’s unpredictable, he always shows up sooner or later, to talk, to insult him in roundabout ways, to remind him of all the generous comforts Loan could have if he were just a little nicer. Basic hygiene, clean clothes, warmth, water and food, a soft bed, no handcuffs.

Privileges that Hélios dispenses so magnanimously, like the domestic god he believes himself to be.

Yeah, right.

Loan had tried to attack him. Again. He can’t stop himself. He can’t submit to Hélios. He can’t be his “good boy.” He doesn’t want to.

He failed, and now he’s here, in the basement, shaking from hunger and exhaustion, thinking of warmth like it’s some distant dream.

Hélios is breaking him the way a awful trainer breaks a dog. Beats him when he misbehaves, throws him a scrap of food when he’s obedient.

Loan’s drifted into that half-conscious state he calls sleep when the basement door unlocks. A thin strip of light cuts through the dark room, then the ceiling bulb flickers on, flooding the room in seemingly blinding light for the teenager. He smells it before he hears the footsteps on the stairs: thick, heavy smell of stew, loaded with meat and fat, its scent filling the room until his mouth floods with saliva. He swallows several times, almost choking on it. For a few seconds, all he can think about is that smell. He would kill for that stew. Without hesitation.

He buries his head in his knees, hiding behind greasy hair, curling into a tight ball of hatred and rage. He’s not an animal. He won’t be trained to eat from Hélios’s hand.

“Good morning, Loan,” that deep voice says in this sing-song tone he fucking hates.

Footsteps reach the freezing concrete floor of the basement. At least he was wearing socks when Hélios forced him down here. Any insulation helps.

Loan ignores the smell as best he can, but he can’t ignore the sound of a bowl clattering on the ground. He doesn’t bother to look. Hélios chained his ankle to one of the metal rings in the wall, and he knows damn well the bowl’s out of reach.

“Still stubborn today? I’ve got stew if you want it.”

He doesn’t respond. There’s a sigh, footsteps, then silence.

“What happened?” Hélios’s tone shifts, sharper, tense.

It’s enough to make Loan lift his head a little, just enough to catch the clench of Hélios’s jaw.

“…W-”

His voice dies in a painful hiss followed by a coughing fit that tears at his throat. Too dehydrated. He doesn’t even see Hélios move, just flinches when the mage crouches in front of him. Instead of hurting him, Hélios holds out a water bottle.

Loan blinks, pressing back against the wall, wary. Hélios never does anything without expecting something in return, if not now, then later. The mage sighs impatiently.

“Stop acting tough and drink.”

…Alright. If Hélios is offering like that, Loan won’t question it. He snatches the bottle, blocks it between his knees and unscrews it with his good hand. It takes everything he’s got to twist the stupid cap open. His hands shake so badly he nearly spills it, but then a gulp of cool water slides down his throat. It’s heaven. He drinks greedily, appeasing the dry ache inside him. He half expects Hélios to snatch it back any second, but the mage just watches him, silent for once, without that smug amusement he usually wears when Loan gives in to basic needs.

He forces himself to stop halfway, closes the bottle, and hides it beside him, tucked between his leg and the wall to make it harder to snatch away.

Hélios still stare at him with an unsettling intensity.

“Good. Now try again and tell me why your shirt and hands are covered in blood.”

Oh. Right.

He glances down. Yeah, he gets it now. His shirt’s stained with dark smears, some of them shaped like handprints where he’d wiped clumsily. His palm is still wet. He closes his fist reflexively, curling tighter into himself. Hélios’s eyes follow the motion.

“Is it your hand?”

“None of your business,” he spits out.

Hélios raises an eyebrow. “You’re in my care, so it is my business. Show me.”

Loan bares his teeth and curls in further. What a great caretaker Hélios is!

For a moment, Hélios looks genuinely annoyed, but then his face smooths out again. He studies him quietly. Loan must look like a mess, bloody, filthy, and feral. The mage’s expression softens slightly.

“How about we make a deal, little wildcat? You let me look at your hand, take care of it, without hitting or yelling, and I’ll call your punishment over. I’ll take you upstairs. You can have a hot bath, eating this delicious stew your siblings made, rest in your bed. How does that sound?”

Loan looks away. He’s starving, freezing, and the fucking wound still won’t stop bleeding.

Of course it sounds tempting.

He gains nothing by staying here. Hélios has time, patience, and resources. Loan has nothing but anger and pride, and those don’t feed him.

That pipe was old, rusted and dirty. How long before infection sets in, with his immune system so damn weakened?

Hélios probably wouldn’t let him die…but it wouldn’t be fun either.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The deal’s as good as he’s ever going to get. Medical care, warmth, food, no apologies required. It’s the best possible offer.

Loan takes a long breath, then slowly unfolds his arms and holds out his palms.

“There you go,” Hélios whispers. “Deal, then.”

He leans closer and grimaces.

“Wow. You really did a number on yourself.”

For the first time, Loan can actually see the wound. And yeah, it’s bad. As twisted and uneven that he thought it would be.

“How’d it happen?” the mage asks calmy, looking at the wound.

“That pipe over there,” Loan mutters.

“The pipe?” Hélios echoes, incredulous.

“I tripped.”

The mage shakes his head, exasperated. “The pipe… Alright. Hold on.”

He unlocks the chain from Loan’s ankle and grabs him under the arm. Loan growls at the touch, but a deal’s a deal, and he feels really weak, even if he won’t admit it.

Hélios helps him to climb the stairs. Loan’s eyes dart toward the stew bowl as they pass it, aching with want.

The wave of warmth that hits him upstairs makes him dizzy. His limbs tingle, half-numb. His captor leads him into the bathroom and sits him down against the tub. They don’t run into the others. They must be in their rooms.

Hélios crouches again, holding up a small key.

“Alright, I’m taking off the cuffs. No hitting. No yelling. Got it?”

Loan nods reluctantly, but Hélios doesn’t move.

“Use your words, Loan.”

“Yes,” the boy hisses.

“Good.”

The cuffs fall. His wrists are red and raw.

Hélios spreads a towel across his knees, pours disinfectant over the wound. Loan grits his teeth to keep from crying out—it burns like hell. The man cleans it thoroughly, until he can see the edges clearly.

Yeah. Really ugly.

Hélios frowns. “It’s still bleeding.”

He glances at Loan’s shirt.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood for such a small cut. When did you get this?”

“Dunno… a few hours ago, maybe,” Loan mutters.

“And it’s still bleeding? Gods. It’s not even that deep, it shouldn’t…”

He studies it another moment. It’s not bleeding a lot, just seeping, slow and steady.

“Alright,” Hélios decides. “We’ll do it differently. You’re going to shower, put on clean clothes, and then I’ll bring Api downstairs to heal you while you eat.”

He gets up, shaking his head.

“Really… even with the smallest cut, you still manage to bleed half to death. Incredible.”

Hello, here's my very late contribution for day 30 of Whumptober 2025, for the prompt “Mirror". It's OC whump.

Captivity, multiple whumpees, teens/children whumpees and one adult whumpee, parental/possessive whumper, touchy/creepy whumper, forced domesticity, dehumanisation by forcing someone to wear specific clothes, angst, dissociation, carewhumper. Justine is very uncomfortable with the reminder that she’s a girl in a context of captivity. Check the tags just in case and you should be good! And I will make a post about lore one day (i'm going to add this at every post and never do it).

JUSTINE (3 WEEKS AND 3 DAYS)

“Everyone, come to the living room!” is the first thing Hélios orders when they step out of their rooms.

Justine follows the others. They all reach the living room to find two huge bags set down in front of the couch, and a full-length mirror. Hélios opens one of the bags to reveal… clothes. Piles and piles of clothes in every color and size.

“Help yourselves!” he announces cheerfully.

There’s a stunned silence. They all just stare at him. Loan clenches his fists, and for a second Justine thinks he’s about to speak—and that’s a terrifying thought, because every time Loan opens his mouth, he seems to end up with another injury—but thankfully, her father reacts first.

“This is… all for us?” he asks cautiously, his voice wary. Justine understands. Where could this man have found so many different kinds of clothes?

“All for you,” Hélios confirms. “Well, except the ones that don’t fit, obviously. I didn’t really sort them, but I grabbed clothes in a size range that should let most of you restock your wardrobe a bit. You don’t have much right now.”

That’s especially true for her and her father. He’s been wearing Hélios’s clothes, way too big for him, and Justine has been sharing some of her wardrobe with Loan.

“That’s a lot of clothes,” Loan says suspiciously.

“That’s secondhand,” Hélios replies smoothly, perfectly relaxed. “Everything’s clean and in good shape. I grabbed a little of everything, but since you’ve all been so well-behaved lately, you can tell me if you want something more specific. Christmas is coming, isn’t it?”

Justine’s throat tightens. Christmas. She’s never spent Christmas without her cousins, her aunts and uncles, her grandparents. A family holiday, one she doesn’t want to see stained by this man.

They won’t spend Christmas here, right? They’ll be rescued before then. Of course they will. She clings to that hope.

“Well?” Hélios presses, crossing his arms over his navy-blue sweater. “Go on, come take a look.”

It’s that note of impatience in his tone that finally makes them move. Her father steps forward hesitantly, starting to look carefully through the bags. Justine follows. He gives her a small, strained smile, then begins pulling out piles of clothing. Hélios watches them with satisfaction, then goes to open the other bag. The movement makes Justine flinch, but he doesn’t come any closer, he just empties the second bag, stacking piles of clothes on the coffee table.

Reassured by the distance, Justine focuses again on what her father’s taking out. Hélios wasn’t lying about the variety. Tailored pants, thick fabric trousers, pajamas, shirts in every color, plain and printed T-shirts, sweaters, hoodies, and—what makes her shiver—dresses and skirts.

She’s the only girl, so it’s obvious who those clothes are meant for. But Justine isn’t sure she wants to wear anything like that here. Too much exposure. Too much… femininity.

She doesn’t want to.

Carefully, she sets them aside and focuses on the rest. By now, Lucien and Loan have moved closer too, peeking into the bags.

“Pick whatever you like,” Hélios says from across the room.

Justine glances at her father. He gives her a tense little smile and a nod of encouragement, handing her a thick forest-green wool sweater, then steps aside to let the two boys approach. Loan’s jaw is tight, his body restless, but he still moves forward with Lucien. Her father keeps sorting the clothes by size. Hélios does the same on his side.

Loan refuses to touch anything, but Lucien finally shows some interest. He and Justine look through the piles together. He timidly picks out two pairs of pants, a thick blue-and-yellow hoodie that’s a bit too big that Justine hands him, two wool sweaters, one red and one white, a few T-shirts, and two sets of pajamas.

Justine manages to find a large burgundy sweater, the forest-green one from her father, a cream hoodie, a pair of brown velvet overalls, two pairs of pants, two T-shirts, and an oversized flannel shirt, soft and warm.

Her father’s taken a few shirts, pants, T-shirts, and sweaters.

Hélios watches with satisfaction. “I’m done sorting the second bag. You can come see.”

In addition to the clothes, that bag also contains brand-new underwear for each of them. Justine feels heat rush to her face. It’s stupid, she knows it, but having to depend on this man for something so basic as underwear…

Her father gently wraps an arm around her shoulders when she lowers her head.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly.

Justine leans against him a little. She looks up and flinches when she meets Hélios’s eyes. There’s a hunger in his gaze that terrifies her. Her flinch seems to pull him out of a daze. He blinks, then smiles and gestures toward the rest of the clothes.

“Take a look. Loan,” he adds, “if you don’t want to choose, I can always take away the ones you’ve already got.”

“That sounds creepy as fuck, but I can’t say I’m surprised,” the teenager shoots back immediately.

There’s a second of silence before Hélios speaks again, his voice much harder.

“I suggest you stop making jokes like that. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know, keeping three teenagers locked up in your house, threatening to take away their clothes—kind of sounds weird. Like a… well, you get the idea.”

His tone is slow and insolent. Justine can’t breathe. She feels Hélios’s aura vibrating through the room, slowly thickening around them in response to his anger.

“Hélios, can I try these on?” her father says suddenly. For a second, it seems like Hélios won’t answer, too focused on Loan. But her father waves one of the shirts in his hand a little, still speaking calmly.

“This one looks a bit small.”

And suddenly, the mage turns. Justine holds her breath, because all his attention shifts to her father, and she swears the pressure in the room is going to make her heart explode. Instead, Hélios’s power dissipates abruptly. She has to bite her tongue to stifle a gasp. She doesn’t know how her father manages to withstand that without flinching.

“Oh, you’ll all try them on,” Hélios says.

A beat of silence. Then the words sink in.

“Couldn’t we just keep them like this?” Justine blurts out. She immediately regrets it under his gaze.

“No. I want to see how they look. Plus, if something really doesn’t fit, I can take it back right away. You can use the bathroom to change, one at a time.”

“That’s… Hélios, there are a lot of clothes, it’ll take us all afternoon,” Api argues.

“All afternoon, huh?” the man snorts, rolling his eyes. “Well, then I guess we’d better start immediately. Api, since you’re volunteering, go change. And come back after each outfit so we can see how it looks. Oh, and if you boys don’t want to waste too much time, you can change your tops here. I’ll turn around if that worries you. Justine, same goes for you, though I understand if you’d rather use the bathroom.”

Her father hesitates. He gives her a tense look, then clenches his teeth. “This is a little stressful…”

“That’s just trying on clothes in the living room. There’s nothing stressful about that.”

“They’re kids, they’re nervous,” her father insists. “It’s… important for children to have a choice about things like this. It’s important to ask for their consent.”

Justine understands what he’s trying to do. It’s not working.

“That’s just clothes,” Hélios replies. “They need to be exposed to stressful things (he snorts) to realize there’s nothing to be nervous about. Come on, there’s nothing to fear. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Her father presses his lips together, staying still. Hélios narrows his eyes.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice, healer.”

Hélios has made the power dynamic between them very clear. It’s one of the first things he taught them: he’s much stronger than they are, and he’s not afraid to use force.

Justine’s heart climbs up her throat as a memory surfaces. Being dragged into her bedroom, hearing Loan and her father’s screams of pain, being allowed back downstairs with Lucien without seeing either of them, seeing blood everywhere on the hallway floor, scrubbing those dark stains for hours until her hands were swollen and raw. She’s going to cry.

“Alright,” her father says suddenly, giving in. “I’ll go put on one of the pants right now and come back for the shirts.”

He leaves quickly, shooting them a nervous glance on the way out. Hélios looks pleased. He turns toward the three frozen teens and gestures toward the remaining piles.

“Well, go on. Look while Api’s gone. Or try on what you picked, whichever you want. Loan, I meant what I said.”

Justine glances at the older boy in fear, but the teenager stiffly steps forward and starts searching through the piles, irritated, not bothering to refold anything he unfolds. Hélios makes an irritated motion, and Loan lets out a small yelp of pain, rubbing his arm where a magic spark hits him and glaring at the man.

“Make an effort,” Hélios growls. “Last warning.”

Loan visibly swallows back an insult. But he bends down and starts handling the clothes more carefully. Justine swallows hard and steps forward too, Lucien following behind.

She finds a few more T-shirts and another pair of pants. There’s a thick purple hoodie that Loan had set aside. Justine looks at it longingly. Without looking at her, Loan hands it to her.

“Oh,” Justine says, surprised. “Uh, you can keep it—”

“No, take it. Nothing really looks good to me anyway. Just keep it.”

She sees Hélios roll his eyes and mutter something about “dramatic teenagers.”

“Thanks,” she murmurs, taking the hoodie.

When her father comes back, wearing grey pants and a cream-colored shirt that actually fits, Hélios lets out an appreciative sound.

“Ah, the size is pretty good! Come here.”

He grabs Api by the wrist, pulling him in front of the mirror, fussing with the collar—already perfectly straight—then smoothing down the sleeves. Her father stands rigid and motionless, clearly uncomfortable but not daring to protest.

“Perfect,” Hélios says with satisfaction.

He gestures toward the rest of the clothes. “Alright, let’s keep going!”

The fittings continue like that for all of them. He sends them off to try on their clothes, and when they return, it’s always the same: hands straightening collars, smoothing fabric, brushing through hair, fixing sleeves.

Justine trembles like a leaf when Hélios appears behind her in the mirror, blocking the comforting look her father gives her. His large figure looms, and then his hand settles on her shoulder. He gives her a nearly proud smile.

“You look very nice, Justine.”

She doesn’t dare move away.

They get through the ordeal in silence, a dance of clenched jaws and tense bodies.

It’s almost over, almost the last outfit, when Hélios decides to take things a step further. Just as Justine is about to put on her final sweater, without needing to go to the bathroom, he stops her with a gentle hand on her arm.

“Wait, Justine. I’d like you to try these on.”

And he hands her not one, not two, but three dresses. Two of them are wool, more like sweater dresses, thick, the kind she might find comfortable under any other circumstance.

The third is satin, pearl gray.

It looks like a… not exactly a party dress, but a feminine one. It doesn’t reveal anything, but the cut is refined, delicate, elegant, and Justine feels bile rising in her throat, because this is exactly the kind of thing she wants to avoid here.

He pushes them into her hands with a smile. She realizes she’s shaking slightly.

“Go on, try them on.”

“She didn’t pick those,” her father cuts in suddenly, stepping forward, while Justine’s voice stays trapped in her throat.

“No,” Hélios agrees, “but she only chose pants. It’d be good for her to have dresses, too. I picked them out for her. She should at least try them on.”

She doesn’t want to. She really doesn’t. But she can’t make the words come out.

“She doesn’t like dresses,” her father lies without hesitation.

“She can still try them,” Hélios replies casually. “Maybe she’ll like it once she sees them on.”

No. No.

“Hélios. The kids’ consent matters,” her father insists. “If she doesn’t want to-”

“Justine,” the mage cuts him off. “Go change”

And she already recognizes that tone. It’s the one that means his patience is thinning, that he’s close to losing it, that they’ll be forced to obey. And Justine remembers the color of her father’s blood on the floor, and-

She tightens her fingers around the clothes.

“I’ll try them on.”

Her father gives her a shocked look, but she avoids his eyes. She doesn’t want to see Hélios’s satisfied smile either, so she focuses instead on Loan’s furious expression, drawing strength from it as she rushes toward the bathroom before either adult can say another word.

The wool dresses… fit her. They’re the kind of dresses she likes, warm, comfortable, practical. Hélios makes a delighted sound when he sees her. Her father looks furious, but he can’t risk saying anything anymore. Hélios keeps making compliments while he’s tugging at the fabric on her shoulders. She gives a weak smile, nods, and watches the girl in the mirror do the same.

“Alright, now try the last one,” their captor encourages her.

Her numb fingers tremble as she pulls the satin dress over her body. It doesn’t fit perfectly, but well enough to make her stomach twist. She’s going to cry. She swallows hard as the bathroom mirror reflects her upper body. The gray satin making her skin look even paler.

She steps back into the room with a fake, shy smile. Hélios looks ecstatic. Her father looks seconds away from screaming. Loan turns his head away, and Lucien stares at her anxiously.

She smiles at Hélios. He smooths a sleeve, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, then turns her toward the mirror so she can see herself fully.

Justine looks at the pretty little doll in the mirror smiling back at her. Hélios stands behind the doll, a wide smile on his face. His fingers stroke her hair. Her face hurts from holding the smile.

“You look beautiful,” the mage says softly. “Don’t you think so?”

“Yes,” the doll answers.

She can see in his eyes that he’s waiting for more. She brushes her fingers over the shimmering fabric.

“It’s really lovely. Thank you, Hélios.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m glad it makes you happy. And you boys, what do you think?”

“…As long as Justine’s happy,” her father mutters, and even though she knows the bitterness isn’t directed at her, she still flinches.

Loan shrugs without replying. Lucien makes a face that might be a smile if not for the fixed, trapped rabbit look in his eyes.

Hello, here's my very late contribution for day 29 of Whumptober 2025, for the prompt “Broken Dishes". It's OC whump.

Captivity, multiple whumpees, teens/children whumpees, parental/possessive whumper, past child abuse, forced domesticity, panic attack, emotional manipulation, angst, dissociation, carewhumper. Check the tags just in case and you should be good! And I will make a post about lore one day (i'm going to add this at every post and never do it).

LUCIEN (7 MONTHS AND 2 DAYS)

Lucien yawns quietly at the breakfast table. Not quietly enough to escape Hélios’s notice. There’s a small laugh, and a large hand ruffles his hair.

“Didn’t get enough sleep?”

“I’m just tired,” Lucien murmurs softly.

Luckily, that’s enough. Hélios hums without replying and sets down a mug of hot chocolate in front of him. Across the table, Loan takes a sip of black tea.

“Seriously, can’t it be a little hotter?” he complains right away.

“I think you know why the answer is no, little wildcat,” Hélios replies calmly.

They all know why. Loan threw his scalding tea at Hélios’s face only once. Not hot enough to cause real damage, unfortunately. Hélios made him eat all his meals cold for two weeks, tea included. After that, Loan was allowed hot meals again. But never hot enough to burn.

The teenager sniffs but doesn’t argue, biting into a slice of cheese-covered toast that Api hands him.

Breakfasts are usually quiet. Hélios wakes them early so he can share the meal with them. They’re all still half-asleep, and no one wants to provoke him right away. Justine is still dozing off at the table. Hélios smiles fondly at the sight. Api nudges his daughter a little and gets a faint, incoherent protest in return. She straightens up a bit and rubs her eyes, flashing Lucien a tired smile when their gazes meet.

Hélios uncaps a small bottle taken from a forbidden drawer, shakes four pills into his palm, and distributes them. He grabs an extra one for Api from another bottle: his anxiolytics.

They all swallow the pills without complaint. Supposedly They’re vitamin D supplements. Nobody can be sure, since Hélios refuses to let them check the label—apparently, that would be a sign of mistrust—but there have never been any side effects, so no one sees the point of risking having the pill forcibly shoved down their throat instead of just taking it.

Hélios sits back down to take a sip of his coffee. His usual omelet is still cooking in the pan. Lucien still finds it strange to eat eggs in the morning and the smell used to make him nauseous, but he’s gotten used to it. After all, Loan used to eat cheese and meat for breakfast, so he won’t judge Hélios’s habits.

He enjoys his hot chocolate. It’s the only sweet treat he has every day. Candy, pastries, and other treats are rewards to be earned. But hot chocolate in the morning, that’s a habit he refuses to give up, and Hélios allows it. Justine drinks hot chocolate too; Api prefers coffee.

He pauses to take a bite of apple when Hélios calls out to him.

“Ah, Lucien, can you grab a plate and serve me the omelet, please?”

Hélios is finishing knotting his tie. His red and grey uniform jacket is draped over the back of the chair.

“Oh, wait, I can-” Api begins, but Lucien is already standing up.

“It’s fine, I got it!”

He quickly opens the cupboard where they’re allowed to get plates when Hélios is present. He grabs the first one he sees and carefully slides the omelet onto it. He hesitates for a second, but after watching Hélios cook his breakfast so many times, he knows his habits. He finally decides to pick a few basil leaves from the plant on the counter to garnish the dish.

“Oh, I get a fancy plate today,” Hélios teases, finishing his knot.

Loan shoots Lucien an unimpressed look. The boy swallows hard and pretends not to notice. Hélios looks pleased, that’s all that matters. Lucien hurries to bring him the plate, and that’s when disaster strikes.

He doesn’t see what he trips on. Probably his own feet, actually. He stumbles forward, tries to catch himself awkwardly, still holding the plate, but it’s no use. He lets go.

Api’s hand shoots out, grabbing his arm and keeping him from falling face-first to the floor. The sudden pull wrenches his shoulder painfully, but at least he doesn’t hit the ground. There’s the sound of breaking dishes. Api keeps hold of him until Lucien regains his balance, and when the boy manages to stand upright again, he fully realizes what happened.

The omelet has left a slimy yellow streak down Hélios’s uniform pants. When he stumbled forward, Lucien flung the plate straight at him. The omelet is ruined, and the dish shattered into several large pieces when it hit the floor.

And Hélios’s uniform pants are stained.

Lucien’s vision blurs. He can’t breathe. The mage is staring down at his ruined pants. Any second now, he’s going to lift his head, eyes full of anger, then he’ll stand up and punish Lucien. He’ll slap him, and then he’ll lock him in the closet, and then he’ll leave for work and-

“Lucien, breathe,” a gentle voice says.

He can’t feel his legs. He can’t feel his body at all. There’s movement around him, vague warmth on his cheeks.

“Shh, it’s okay; you’re okay.”

His fingers brush something cool. The contact jolts through him; Lucien flinches violently and jerks his hand back. He looks down. There’s a fogged glass of water held near his palm. Lucien follows the hand holding it, traces the arm upward, and finds Api’s worried face behind his glasses, crouched in front of him.

“Hey, Lucien.”

The breath he takes feels like it sweeps all the stale air from his lungs at once. Suddenly, something breaks inside him, and Lucien bursts into sobs. The tears already streaming down his face double in intensity. Deep, hiccuping sobs shake his chest.

“Hey,” the healer says softly again. “It’s okay. Let it out. It’s okay.”

Loan has stood up too, calm and silent, positioning himself between Lucien and the last person he wants to see.

“I’m sorry,” Lucien hiccups out.

“It’s okay,” says a voice that makes him tremble from head to toe. “Loan, let me through.”

“He’s upset,” Loan shoots back.

“You-”

“He’s right, Eli. Just give him a minute,” Api intervenes. “Lucien, it’s okay. It’s nothing.”

“I just want to reassure him,” Hélios insists, and Lucien flinches.

“Hélios,” he calls, desperate. “Hélios!”

He has no choice, no choice, he doesn’t want to be punished, doesn’t want the others punished because of him. Loan gives him a confused look.

“I’m here, Lucien,” the mage answers immediately, brushing past Loan without hesitation. Too stunned, the teenager lets himself be moved aside. Api presses his lips together but stands up quietly, staying close to Lucien.

Hélios looks worried. Not angry, but sometimes…sometimes that doesn’t mean anything.

“Oh, love,” he murmurs. “You scared us, reacting like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucien chokes out. “I didn’t mean to-”

Without hesitation, Hélios steps forward and pulls him into a warm embrace.

“I know, Lucien, I know. It’s all right. You didn’t do anything wrong, love. Accidents happen. Come on, it’s not the first time one of you has broken something by accident, is it?”

“N-no…” Lucien mumbles timidly, his tears soaking into Hélios’s shirt. The embrace is warm, soft, comforting.

There’s a faint clinking sound. Lucien lifts his head slightly and spots Justine, leaning over her chair to avoid stepping on the floor, quietly stacking the largest shards of porcelain on the table.

“And have I ever punished you for an accident?”

“…”

Somewhere deep inside, the foggy version of Lucien tries to push a memory to the surface. Lucien ignores it. No, no—Hélios doesn’t punish accidents. He knows that. He’s had plenty of them.

“No.”

“No, exactly. It’s nothing, Sunshine. Just an accident. I’m not going to punish you for that, okay? Come on, pull yourself together.”

“Your breakfast…” the boy begins, wiping his eyes as the mage releases him with a kiss to his hair.

Hélios won’t have time to make another omelet, will he? He glances down at the stains and porcelain shards on the floor. At least the plate broke into big pieces, and no one got hurt. They’re not allowed to wear shoes.

“It’s nothing,” Hélios hums with a smile. “Looks like I wasn’t meant to have an omelet today! I’ll have some fruit instead. It’ll be a nice change. And Loan and Justine can clean up, don’t worry about it.”

The two older teens don’t even comment, though Lucien’s stomach twists with shame. They’re going to have to clean up his mess. He doesn’t dare look at them.

Hélios ruffles Lucien’s hair again.

“See? Nothing serious. No reason to react like that. But do me a favor and go grab a clean pair of uniform pants from my room, will you? And wash your face while you’re up there, love. Careful with the glass shards!”

Lucien nods quickly, his legs shaky with relief. Everything’s forgiven. It’s fine. Hélios isn’t angry, he’s not going to be punished.

He rushes upstairs, still trembling with adrenaline. Loan gives him an unreadable look as he passes. Lucien ignores it, despite the burning weight of shame in his gut. What Loan thinks doesn’t matter.

Hello, here's my very late contribution for day 28 of Whumptober 2025, for the prompt “Bedside vigil". It's OC whump.

Captivity, adult whumpee, possessive whumper, abuse, forced domesticity, restraints, humiliation, depiction of panic. Check the tags just in case and you should be good! And I will make a post about lore one day (i'm going to add this at every post and never do it).

API (3 MONTHS, 1 WEEK AND 3 DAYS)

Api is cooking. Or more accurately, he is stirring a pan, frowning. It's his turn to help Hélios make lunch, and he hates every minute of it.

“It smells good,” says Hélios as he enters the kitchen.

“Hm,” mumbles Api. He has no desire to play along with Hélios this morning. A series of events has put him in a bad mood. A bad night in complete overstimulation, stuck next to Hélios, a bruise on Lucien's knee, a slight migraine. And to top it all off, an order to help prepare lunch, wearing that stupid apron.

It's silly, and Api knows it, but wearing that bright yellow apron while he cooks, with Hélios sometimes looking over his shoulder to see what he's doing, is unbearable. It gives him a vague impression of being a little housewife serving her violent husband, but of course it's because he has a stressful job, obviously, he loves them, you just have to not get on his nerves, ha ha...

The oil sizzles in the pan with a “pop!” that makes him jump.

“Oh, did you burn yourself?”

“No,” Api replies dryly. A little too dryly. A finger slips through the collar of the apron, without pulling or tightening.

“Careful with your tone, Api.”

He clenches his teeth and doesn't answer, pretending to be absorbed by the vegetables in the pan. All pre-cut by Hélios. He doesn't trust them with a knife.

The man finally lets go of him and moves to the side to rummage through the drawers.

“We could make the chicken breasts with the vegetables, what do you think?”

He doesn't think anything. He thinks Hélios will do what he wants.

“That's a good idea,” Api replies. He doesn't care at all.

“I'll prepare the chicken, then.”

There is a metallic rustling sound that Api pays no attention to, then Hélios pushes the drawer back and walks away.

There is a metallic scraping sound and a loud clang. Api jumps and looks down reflexively.

The drawer hasn't closed. It has hit something. A wooden handle. The handle of a large kitchen knife.

It's the knife drawer. The knife drawer protected by spells that allow only Hélios to open it. The knife drawer, filled with sharp instruments that could easily be used as weapons, hasn't closed.

The sound makes Hélios turn around. The realization dawns on their faces at the same time.

They moved almost simultaneously. Api grabbed the handle of a long knife first, his fingers wrapping around the wood with euphoric urgency.

He pulls out the knife, pivots and lunges directly at Hélios. He’s a mage, trained in combat, so even if the man hasn't thought to use his power right away, it won't be long. Api will only have one chance.

Hélios is already on him.

Api strikes.

The mage twists to the side, managing to change his trajectory to dodge the blow. He tries to grab Api's arm, but the healer leaps backward, hitting the handle of the pan and knocking it over, barely noticing the burn. He raises the blade again, ready for a second strike.

And that's where his rebellion ends. Hélios's magic explodes into the room and Api is thrown backwards, hitting the cupboards hard before collapsing to the floor, the weapon slipping from his numb fingers.

Hélios is on him in a second, kicking the blade away and then slamming his foot into his stomach. He chokes, the air expelled from his lungs.

“You idiot,” Hélios hisses.

He presses his full weight onto Api's body. The healer groans, writhing weakly under the mage's heavy boot. The stiff sole bruises his skin. There is rage in Hélios's blue eyes.

He leans over, grabs him roughly by the collar and pulls him forward, forcing him to his knees, then onto his stomach when he forces his legs flat with a painful kick to the thigh. Dazed, Api can do nothing as Hélios drops heavily onto his legs, pinning him to the ground.

“Since you don't know how to behave properly...”

Hélios slides his hand under his body, causing a flash of panic to shoot through his mind, but he merely unties the straps of the apron, grabs them, and pulls them violently behind his back, brutally compressing the healer's diaphragm.

“...We'll make sure you have no other choice.”

Hélios presses a knee into his back, giving himself extra leverage to tighten the straps as much as possible. Api tries to cry out in pain as the fabric digs painfully into his ribs.

Hélios ties a tight knot, ignoring Api's clumsy attempts to struggle. He tries to crawl forward, but Hélios's weight pins him to the ground and the lack of air makes his head spin.

“Eli...”

A large hand grabs his wrists and pulls them behind his back, eliciting a sound of pain from the sudden movement.

“Shut up.”

He begins to regain his senses a little, struggling a little harder, but he is not in the right position to prevent Hélios from tying his hands behind his back with the remaining length of the apron straps. The rough fabric rubs against his wrists as Api tries to break free. The officer finally stands up, grabbing him, one hand under his arm, the other in his hair, pulling him to his feet. Api has no other choice than to follow the move. His back throbs painfully with the movement, right where he hit the cupboard handles. The straps compress his lungs, preventing him from breathing fully without discomfort. Breathless, he staggers, then Hélios pulls him forward and pins his upper body to the kitchen table. Api's breath catches as the mage's body presses against him, leaning over him, forcing his cheek against the wood. An old, sickening terror awakens at the position. Their bodies are too close, the position is too terrifying. His airways constrict, his breath comes out in rapid gasps as white noise fills his ears. Hélios speaks to him, but he cannot understand his words. Instead, he suddenly feels pain as fingernails dig into his earlobe, twisting it painfully. He yelps in agony and tries unsuccessfully to break free, brutally brought back to reality.

“Stop panicking,” Hélios growls in his ear. "You can't do this kind of stupid thing and then panic, Api. You have to think before you act.

He lets go of his ear but still holds him down on the table, his hand twisted in his hair.

“Calm down. Breathe.”

“I... I can't...” gasps Api.

“Stop panicking,” Hélios repeats harshly. “Focus on your breathing.”

“The apron...”

“Is going to stay like that. Shut up and pull yourself together.”

His grip is unyielding. He won't let him go. Api closes his eyes tightly and tries to regulate his breathing without thinking about the body pressed against his. It takes him several minutes before his breathing returns to a rhythm that Hélios considers acceptable. Hélios doesn't rough him up during this time, he’s simply holding him in the uncomfortable position.

Finally, when the mage decides he is calm enough, he pulls him back to Api's relief and pushes him onto a chair. Api has a better view of the kitchen. The frying pan and lunch are on the floor. The knife has been pushed against the opposite wall and the knife drawer is still open. Hélios's magic has sent the spice jars on the counter flying in all directions.

Hélios is still standing in front of him, disheveled and his shirt stained. He absentmindedly runs a hand through his messy hair without taking his eyes off Api.

“Well, Api. Anything to say for yourself?”

The healer clenches his teeth and looks away. He has nothing to say that will appease Hélios, and he refuses to apologize. He’s not sorry, and they both know it.

Hélios's fingers close tightly around his chin and lift it toward him. Sudden rage bubbles up in Api's stomach: he breaks free and violently snaps his teeths around Hélios's fingers.

At least, he tries to. The mage pulls his hand away just quickly enough for Api's teeth to close around thin air. The next second, he receives a slap that shakes his skull.

“Just a reminder that Loan isn't exactly a role model,” Hélios hisses.

Api glares at him without answering. They stare at each other for a few seconds, brown eyes full of tears and rage against coldly calculating blue eyes.

Finally, Hélios snorts.

“Alright, since you're stubborn, I'll give you some time to think while I fix your mess.”

Api expects Hélios to leave him alone, but he walks around the chair. The healer immediately tries to get up reflexively, because having Hélios behind him is not good news, but the man is faster and grabs the apron strap again, pulling it down to force him back on the chair.

“You really want to make things harder today! Let's see...”

The strap around his neck suddenly tightens, pulling the collar of the apron higher until it digs uncomfortably into his jugular. Hélios takes advantage of the extra length of fabric to pull his head back. Api feels the mage's other hand grab the loose ends of the knot around his wrists and pull them up behind the back of the chair. At the same time, he pulls the length of fabric around his neck downwards. Api realizes his intention too late.

“Don't...” he has time to gasp.

Hélios punishes him with a sharp tug around his neck, the apron digging painfully into his windpipe, causing a wet gurgling sound, then he ties the two straps together, short and tight. Api feels a finger pulling on the ties to test their strength, then Hélios steps back with a satisfied smile to admire his work.

Api lets out a hoarse, labored breath that hisses in his throat. The position forces his bound wrists into the lower edge of the chair back, digging painfully in his skin. In the contrary, he has to tilt his head back so that the collar of the apron does not restrict his breathing too much. The fabric is tight around his neck like a choke collar, impossible to loosen.

He cannot move from the chair, and the apron compresses his diaphragm, making each breath unpleasant and difficult. Api already feels dizzy from the lack of air and the stressful position. He desperately pulls at his makeshift bonds, but the fabric is remarkably strong and does not give way. Hélios steps forward and gives him a playful tap on the nose.

“I'm going to clean up and prepare dinner, since you ruined the preparation. In the meantime, think quietly about what you've done. Let me be clear, this won't be your only punishment. You've been very stupid. I suggest you be very, very good.”

Hello, here's my very late contribution for day 27 of Whumptober 2025, for the prompt “Bedside vigil". It's OC whump.

Captivity, unreliable narrator, whumper pov, adult whumpee, possessive/creepy whumper, watching someone sleep, magical exhaustion, implied non-consensual touching (non-sexual) carewhumper. Check the tags just in case and you should be good! And I will make a post about lore one day (i'm going to add this at every post and never do it).

HELIOS (5 MONTHS, 1 WEEK AND 4 DAYS)

Api is still pale when Hélios brings him to their bedroom. The healer slept most of the afternoon, stretched out on the couch, and Hélios had to insist for him to eat dinner. Api and his stupid tendency to overwork himself, always going against instructions. Loan could have waited, but no, Api had to heal him completely, making himself sick again just as he was finally starting to recover properly.

“Can I sleep in my room tonight?” Api asks weakly, clutching a freshly heated hot-water bag to his chest.

“No,” Hélios replies firmly.

Really, Api has just endangered his health and expects to sleep alone tonight?

He doesn’t even bother to argue, which means he probably didn’t believe it would work in the first place. He’s already in his bed clothes, put on right after his shower. He looks absolutely exhausted, already half-asleep. He lies down without protest, curling up tightly under his side of the blanket, still shivering despite the warmth of the bottle. Without a word, Hélios grabs the thick, soft cotton plaid lying in a corner of the room and spreads it over the shivering healer. Taking advantage of their closeness, he places a hand on Api’s cheek. He feels a slight flinch, quickly suppressed. Hélios chooses to ignore it. The skin is cold, unsurprisingly. He’s having trouble warming up. Hm.

“You’re still cold,” Hélios sighs. “I’ll turn the heat up a bit.”

He fiddles with the radiator until the room gets a little warmer, even though he personally prefers cooler air. Api deserves some comfort. He’s already punished himself enough by his own actions.

Hélios quickly changes into his bed clothes, then lies down on his side of the bed, tugging the blanket a little to make the stubborn healer share. Api huddles even closer to his side of the bed. Hélios frowns slightly. After months of sleeping together, Api has learned to come quietly into his arms, or at least not to shrink away to the far edge of the mattress like a frightened animal.

“Come here,” Hélios coaxes softly. “You’re freezing.”

It takes a moment before Api shifts backward. Not completely against him, but close enough. Hélios fills the remaining space himself, curling up against Api’s back. He pulls the healer toward him, into his warmth, feeling the man’s body tremble violently. He presses a reassuring kiss into his hair, ignoring the faint tension that runs through him. It’s normal by now. So is the way Api’s body relaxes right after, loosening in his arms, just as it should. As if he’s finally admitting that Hélios isn’t a danger to him, that this is right where he belongs.

“The light,” Api mumbles.

He’s talking about the bedside lamp, which casts a soft golden glow across the room.

“Shh, sleep. I’ll turn it off in five minutes.”

Api mutters something else, unintelligible, already defeated by exhaustion. Hélios had put the bracelet back on him before bed, for obvious safety reasons.

He starts humming a soft tune, running his fingers slowly through Api’s hair. He shifts a little so that Api’s head rests on his chest, earning only a tired groan in response. Hélios soothes him with a quiet murmur, then resumes his humming and the steady rhythm of his strokes. He has to admit, he likes when Api is like this, soft and calm, receptive. When he’s not constantly protesting, when he’s not tensing up under his touch or his gaze, when that look of disapproval is gone from his eyes. When he finally accepts his place and lets himself open, just a little, to Hélios’s affection.

It takes only a few minutes for the healer’s breathing to deepen and steady, his body completely relaxed against him. Api has almost no magical energy left in reserve. Hélios stops humming but continues to stroke his hair. It’s long now, falling a bit past his shoulders. It suits him.

He leans forward a little to get a better look at Api’s face. The dark circles under his eyes already look deeper, as if this last burst of healing drained the last of his strength. When he’s awake and worried, he looks older. Now he looks his age, thirty-one. A lock of hair tickles his nose; Hélios gently tucks it back. Api’s eyelids flutter briefly, and a faint twitch runs through his body. Hélios sighs. Even in sleep, Api manages to tense up. That’s kind of impressive.

His healer who doesn’t know how to take care of himself and would destroy himself for others without hesitation. His healer who can’t relax and let himself be cared for, even when he needs it the most.

Api lets out a muffled sound, his fingers twitching for a moment. Hélios presses another kiss into his hair, breathing in the scent of verbena from their shampoo. It’s pleasant.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “Sleep well.”

He’ll watch over Api a little longer, just to make sure he’s really sleeping soundly.

Hello, here's my very late contribution for day 26 of Whumptober 2025, for the prompt “relapse". It's OC whump.

Captivity, multiple whumpees, teen whumpees and one adult whumpee, parental/possessive whumper, child abuse, magical exhaustion, carewhumper, blood and broken bones but nothing really graphic. Check the tags just in case and you should be good! And I will make a post about lore one day (i'm going to add this at every post and never do it).

API (5 MONTHS, 1 WEEK AND 4 DAYS)

Hélios hasn’t let him use his magic since the symptoms of magical exhaustion worsened to the point they could no longer be ignored. When the fatigue turned into nosebleeds, dizziness, and loss of appetite, Hélios firmly announced that Api wouldn’t be healing anyone with magic for the foreseeable future. It’s both good and bad news. Good, because Hélios has been careful not to punish them as harshly as he sometimes used to, especially Loan. Bad, because when they get hurt, they often have to settle for minimal treatment and endure the discomfort of injuries healing at a normal pace. After his “unacceptable proposal” in Hélios’s bed, Api had bruises for weeks. At least Hélios allowed him to heal his ribs once he realized they were really impairing Api, though it took hours of arguing about his own fucking health.

On the bright side, he’s been granted short periods without the nullifier bracelet, which have helped him rebuild some of his energy reserves. Those moments are always under close supervision, but by now, that’s nothing new. As long as he gets to feel the warmth of his power without instantly draining it, Api doesn’t care about Hélios hovering over him.

Anyway, the symptoms have greatly subsided. Api feels less lethargic, eats more, and looks visibly healthier. Plus, there’s the obvious perk of no longer bleeding unexpectedly on his shirts.

So when Loan suddenly drops to the floor with a loud gurgle of pain, jaw slack, Api jumps to his feet immediately. Hélios only shoved him, but the kid tripped over the rug and fell chin-first into the heavy wooden coffee table. To the left, Justine and Lucien both let out nearly identical gasps of panic.

“Step back, kids,” the healer orders quickly.

Loan scrambles backward, pupils wide with fear. Hélios looks at him with a vague expression of worry.

“Loan, it’s me,” Api reassures him softly.

The boy tries to speak, but tears of pain immediately well up in his eyes. He lets out another choked sound, flinching hard when Api puts a hand on his shoulder. Api winces but keeps his tone gentle. Blood-streaked saliva dribbles from the corner of Loan’s mouth.

“Api,” Hélios says, crouching beside him. “Api, I-I didn’t mean-”

“I think he fractured his jaw,” Api cuts in, letting Loan go. “Please, take off my bracelet, I can check-”

“Api, you’re still recovering-”

“If his jaw’s broken, he won’t be able to eat or talk, and the chances of it healing wrong are incredibly high. Please, I’m fine. My magic reserves are good. Let me take care of him.”

Hélios hesitates, glancing between Api and the boy curled up on the floor, mouth open, clearly in distress, eyes full of pain and fear, then nods.

“You know the rules,” he says, unlocking the bracelet from Api’s wrist.

“Yes, yes. I won’t do anything,” Api promises, distracted by the rush of power surging through him. Magic hums warmly in his veins, making his fingertips tingle.

“Are your energy levels stable enough? Heal only what’s necessary. I’ll give him painkillers. Kids, don’t bother Api or your brother. Do you need anything, Api?”

“A towel. Go grab a towel, please.”

Justine bolts to the bathroom. Lucien stays frozen, eyes wide, paralyzed. Api doesn’t push him. He’s probably completely shut down already with everything he had to go through during the last days, and with already one teenager injured and panicked, Api doesn’t want to risk giving Hélios another target.

He rests a gentle hand on Loan’s shoulder. The boy flinches again, eyes full of tears, but doesn’t pull away.

“Loan,” Api says softly. “Don’t move, okay? I just need to make a check-up so I can heal you.”

He raises a hand, passing it slowly over the already-swollen jaw. Closed fracture, indeed. Clean, thank goodness, and by some kind of miracle none of the teeth have been dislodged. A bit loosened, yes, but still in place in their teeth sockets. Easy enough to fix.

Beside him, Hélios watches with visible worry, clearly unsettled by the injury his move caused.

He ordered Api to heal only the minimum. But Api knows how painful and inconvenient this kind of fracture can be. Loan has suffered enough as it is. He feels well enough to handle it.

He takes the towel from Justine and unfolds it on Loan’s lap to catch the saliva and any blood he might drain to reduce the swelling.

Api lets his power flow, murmuring softly to soothe the boy. He dulls the pain until it’s almost gone, eases the swelling by draining a bit of blood, then carefully realigns the bone and begins to fuse it back together. He’s already a little tired, but nothing alarming. Instead of stopping there, he keeps going, healing more thoroughly, reducing the swelling and pain further, carefully consolidating the bone callus, absorbed in his task. He’ll do as much as he can before Hélios notices.

He ignores the slight blur in his vision. He’s tired, but he’s been through worse.

He’s nearly finished when Hélios suddenly grabs his shoulder and yanks him backward.

“Api, that’s enough!”

Panting lightly, Api snaps out of it and stops the flow of magic. His head spins. He blinks, trying to clear his vision. Damn it. He pushed himself further than he thought. His reserves must have been lower than he realized.

“I told you to save your energy,” Hélios scolds, digging his fingers painfully into his shoulder.

“I got carried away, sorry,” Api stammers.

Loan moves his jaw a little, testing the spot that had been so painful just moments ago. The swelling and bruising are completely gone, and he doesn’t seem to have any trouble speaking or closing his mouth.

“I barely feel it now,” he says.

Hélios looks more annoyed than anything but doesn’t comment. Loan opens his mouth again, eyes suddenly widening.

“Api, you’re bleeding!”

Api blinks, confused, until he feels something warm trickling under his nose. He wipes at it absentmindedly and glances down at his hand. Blood stains his fingers.

Oh, great.

He really doesn’t feel good. He’s cold and a little dizzy.

What an idiot…

He sways, stumbling, but Hélios catches him before he falls. Dazed, Api has no choice but to lean against him.

“Dad,” Justine whispers.

He can’t see her, but her voice is full of fear. He can’t leave her like that, scared like that. He…

“Lucien, go get me some water,” Hélios orders. “Justine, Loan, get off the couch and grab another towel.”

He helps Api sit down on the couch, forcing him to lean forward.

“Stay like that. And press this on your nose,” Hélios adds, shoving the new towel into his hands as soon as the kid brings it back. Api obeys, shivering violently. Hélios bends down, grabs a blanket, and drapes it around his shoulders.

“Always overdoing it,” Hélios mutters. “You were finally getting better… Do you like putting yourself in this state?”

“Jaw fractures…” Api starts out of reflex.

“No. Stop. I don’t want to hear it. You had one rule, for your own good, and you couldn’t even manage that.”

“That’s a bit hypocritical, considering it’s your fault he had to heal me,” Loan mutters.

“How is this my fault?!” Hélios snaps immediately. “If you actually thought before you acted, this wouldn’t have happened!”

“Yeah, sure,” Loan says flatly. “If that helps you sleep at night. Maybe close the curtains? Api’s eyes are watering,” he adds before Hélios can respond.

“It’s fine,” Api whispers. “Just… photosensitivity. Comes with the dizziness.”

“Hm,” Hélios hums. “Loan, instead of sulking, make yourself useful and do it.”

The teenager obeys without protest. The dimmer light eases the pounding in Api’s skull a little.

“Justine, go boil some water, sweetheart. I’ll make you some tea,” Hélios announces to him. “And you’re spending the rest of the afternoon without the bracelet, resting. Understood?”

“Yes,” Api agrees quietly.

“Good.”

Hélios lets him lift his head just enough to take a sip from the glass of water Lucien has brought. Api meets the worried gazes of the two youngest. His daughter sits on the rug, her knees pulled to her chest. Lucien stands nearby, twisting the fabric of his shirt in his hands. Both look frightened. Api gives them a small, reassuring smile.

“Alright. The bleeding’s already slowing down. Lie down, Api.”

Hélios lets him settle down on the couch, then tosses the blanket over him, making sure he’s warm and comfortable. He sets the cup of tea on the table when it’s done, then reaches over to remove Api’s glasses. The healer protests weakly.

“You don’t need them. I want you to rest. I’ll leave them here on the table, within reach. Don’t do anything stupid, just sleep. Kids, you can stay in the room if you’re quiet and don’t bother Api, okay?”

A chorus of soft whispers answers him. Api closes his eyes. The migraine roars behind them, and he feels completely drained. The warmth of his magic is gone, leaving only a faint whisper lost somewhere in a frozen desert. He’s too exhausted to argue.

Hello, here's my late contribution for day 25 of Whumptober 2025, for the prompt “Have you earned your stripes?". It's OC whump. Justine and Api are not having a really fun time with Hélios. My poor girl has been chosen two times in a row once again.

Captivity, multiple whumpees, teen whumpee and one adult whumpee, parental/possessive whumper, child abuse, corporal punishment, forcing a parent to watch his child getting hurt, manipulative whumper, carewhumper. Check the tags just in case and you should be good! And I will make a post about lore one day (i'm going to add this at every post and never do it)

JUSTINE (2 MONTHS)

When Hélios leads her to his office, she tenses up. This is unusual. It's unusual and therefore probably dangerous. The others aren't even in the living room; they're still in their rooms. Why didn't he bring them out?

“Come in, Justine,” Hélios invites her calmly.

He accompanies the gesture with a hand on her back to encourage her. Justine swallows, uncertain, and enters the office. She freezes almost immediately when she sees her father. He is sitting, handcuffed to the uncomfortable chair facing Hélios's desk, his neck twisted to watch Hélios enter. His eyes widen when they meet hers.

“Hélios,” he says immediately. “Hélios, no. Please, let her go to her room.”

His voice is pleading. He is terrified. It is something Justine has grown accustomed to, hearing the fear and caution in her father's voice.

“Quiet, Api.”

The mage pushes her between her shoulder blades to get her into the room. Justine stumbles inside and Hélios closes the door. There is the click of a lock, and he walks past her to stand next to his own chair.

“Hélios. She has nothing to do with this,” her father chokes out.

“It will be a good lesson for her too. For all of them, I think, but there's no need for everyone to be there,” Hélios hums.

“Be there for what?” Justine whispers in a small voice, still standing in front of the door. She doesn't dare to move, she doesn't know what to do. She just knows that getting Hélios's attention is rarely a good thing, and hearing Hélios talk about a “good lesson” is even less so.

“Come sit down, Justine,” says Hélios, patting the back of the chair without answering.

“Hélios, please let her go back to her room, she has nothing to do with this, she didn't do anything!”

“Didn't I tell you to be quiet, Api?” asks the mage rhetorically, looking weary.

“Please,” hisses Api. “Let her go. I'm sorry.”

He no longer looked at her, entirely focused on Hélios.

“I...”

“Justine. Come sit down. Now,” Hélios interrupted.

His eyes glows with a cold light that Justine begins to recognize. He’s angry. Really angry. Trembling, she takes a step forward.

“Justine, don't...” her father begins.

“I'll end up giving her another one if you keep going,” Hélios snaps.

“Another one of what? Hélios, another one of what?”

He ignores him, focusing his attention on the teenager, who has frozen again when her father intervened.

“Here now.”

His tone indicates that he is seconds away from going to get her himself. With a start, she rushes over to him and sits down in the armchair opposite her father.

The mage pats her on the head.

“Very good.”

His tone is softer this time.

He pushes the chair forward to bring it closer to the desk, and she finds herself wedged between the massive piece of furniture and the back of the chair. The chair is comfortable, the seat soft. She meets her father's eyes, shining with anxiety behind his glasses. She suddenly realizes that his cheeks are red and inflamed. Hélios slapped him. Several times, probably.

“Hélios...”

“Api, one more unexpected interruption and I'll take away your voice until tomorrow morning.”

Her father closes his mouth so quickly that Justine's stomach churns. He is the only one Hélios inflicts this punishment to, and he hates every moment of it.

“Good! I imagine you're a little confused, Justine, aren't you?” asks the mage, leaning a little on the back of his chair, towering over the teenager.

There is a moment of tense silence. A hand pulls a little on a strand of her hair, eliciting a wince. Not a rhetorical question.

“Y-yes.”

“Then let's explain the situation a little,” Hélios hums, letting go of her hair. "You see, your father, Api, has done something stupid. Something stupid that he refuses to admit clearly.

Her father's brown eyes shine with sickening terror. His jaw tenses as he clearly holds back the words.

“He keeps lying to me. And we don't want that, do we? Tell me, Justine, what do you think about lying?” he whispers in her ear. The warm, moist breath on her earlobe makes her shudder with revulsion.

“I...”

Her voice falters, and she has to start the sentence again.

“It's wrong,” she manages to whisper despite her tight throat.

It's simplistic and she feels like a little girl, but she can't find any other words. A hand ruffles her hair.

“That's right! Perfect, then. We'll teach that to your father. Put your arm on the desk. Left, right, it doesn't matter. Palm up.”

“Hélios,” her father snaps as she obeys and a sudden clank of handcuffs rings out. “Please. I swear I don't know where-”

“Api, I'd prefer it if you only spoke to tell me where the vegetable peeler is.”

Oh gods, is that it? The knife they use to peel vegetables is missing? The vegetable peeler is missing and Justine is going to be punished for it? Her father looks like he's about to start yelling at the mage. His chest is rising too quickly and he's pulling unnecessarily on his handcuffs. She's breathing too fast too. She feels like the air has thickened around her, each breath requires effort, but she can't slow down.

Hélios pulls the sleeves of her sweater and t-shirt up above her elbows.

“Calm down. Come on, you two. You look like I'm about to cut your arm off,” Hélios sighs, patting her on the shoulder. He pulls an object out of a drawer on the side of the desk, and his father lets out a strangled sound. Hélios sits down on the desk. With a terrible sense of detachment, the teenager watches what he’s holding.

It's not much. A thin metal ruler, about twenty centimeters long.

Oh.

Justine is not stupid. She guesses what is going to happen. The bare skin of her left forearm is covered in goose bumps. Her complexion is almost flawless. Just a tiny scratch she got yesterday. Her veins are visible through her skin.

She has never been physically punished. Dad has never raised his hand against her, even though he has gotten angry at times. Well, maybe she did. She is old enough to look through her father's papers for details of the divorce settlement and restraining order against her mother, even though he has hidden them well. That said, can we talk about corporal punishment for a child under the age of three? The file referred to minor to moderate physical abuse. She didn't go any further, her stomach in knots.

In any case, she has no scars. Will that be the case for what Hélios is going to do to her? Given the force with which he hits them, she imagines it's possible, unless he lets her father heal her instantly.

She can hardly feel her fingers. Her brain feels like it's buzzing.

“Please, Hélios. Please, I didn't steal it, I don't know where it is, Hélios, please...”

“First lie,” Hélios says calmly, and he raises the ruler above Justine's forearm.

She barely has time to hold her breath before the ruler whips her forearm, and she cries out in pain as a line of fire shoots through her arm, its bite sharp and acute. She pulls it violently away from the desk and clutches it to her chest with a sob of pain stuck in her throat. Tears of pain well up in her eyes as she takes shaky breaths into her chest to hold back her cries. There is a violent crash of a chair being pushed back and metal, and her father's voice snaps across the room.

“You fucking bastard!”

He is already trying to get around the desk, dragging the chair attached to his wrists with him, his eyes shining with fury.

But he's handcuffed to a chair, so what can he do? An invisible force pins Justine against the chair, Hélios' aura vibrating throughout the room. She can no longer move, and Hélios has a clear path to intercept her father, who collides with him shoulder-first in the stomach. The officer lets out a muffled sound, but he slips his arm around Api's neck without too much difficulty and squeezes, forcing him to his knees. The back of the chair gets in his way, but not enough to stop him from strangling him. Her father makes a hissing gurgling sound as he struggles, and Justine panics, fighting against Hélios's power, which pins her to the seat, but she is unable to move. She is so crushed that she herself has trouble breathing, and it is excruciating. Gray spots invade her vision as she slowly suffocates...

Hélios glances at her and suddenly the pressure eases enough for her to finally take a deep breath, before she starts to sob.

“Hélios, Hélios, don't hurt him, I'm sorry!”

He sighs and changes his grip on his father, letting him breathe. He coughs loudly, choking a little.

“You're making things much harder than they need to be, Api,” he scolds irritably, dragging the healer over to the wall next to the door. There is a metal ring there that Justine has never noticed before. Hélios handcuffs his father again, but then attaches the chain of shackles to the ring. It is a little too low for his father to stand, but too high for him to sit comfortably. He’s forced to fall into an uncomfortable crouching position, gasping for breath, leaning against the wall to keep from slipping.

Saliva drips from his chin, and he absentmindedly tries to wipe it off on his shoulder without taking his eyes off Hélios, his gaze filled with unbridled hatred. Justine sobs and looks away. Her father lets out an inarticulate cry of rage when Hélios returns to her.

“Fuck, Hélios, leave her alone! Punish me!”

“I already gave you that option. If you persist in your lie, don't be surprised by the consequences.”

“I...”

“Your arm, Justine,” Hélios orders. His power lifts completely. Justine pulls her legs up to her chest on the seat, crying, her arm trapped between her thighs and her chest, terrified. There is a pulsating band of pain across her arm.

With another sigh, Hélios grabs her wrist forcefully and pulls her arm, forcing her to unfold it and pinning it to the table. He holds it there with one hand. A bright red line dotted with darker bruises stands out against her pale, fragile skin. Justine barely controls her urge to pull wildly on her arm.

“Same question, Api. Where's the vegetable peeler?”

“Hélios,” her father chokes out.

“Well?”

Justine's gaze meets her father's.

Did he steal the knife? Is this knife their ticket to escape? She has no idea. She can't read the depths of his irises.

A knife for peeling vegetables is a ridiculous weapon to use against someone like Hélios Sakashi, at least she thinks so. Against almost any mage, for that matter. Obviously, it depends on their training, their specialty, and the element of surprise, but against Hélios?

Maybe she's biased. Maybe he's not that powerful and they're just very weak.

“No answer, Api?” Hélios asks, raising the ruler, and he must sense Justine's startled reaction because he tightens his grip to keep her arm on the desk.

“Please stop,” begs her father in a trembling voice.

Hélios' arm comes down before she sees it coming. Justine cries out in surprise and pain as a second tongue of fire licks her flesh. She pulls back again, but this time she is held too tightly. Through her tears, she can see how the skin is instantly marked, two parallel lines, a few centimeters apart.

Once the initial flash of pain had passed, it becomes a little more bearable. The peak of pain turns into a throbbing burning heat. It’s painful, but she can take it. She can.

Her father screams in anger and shakes the handcuffs.

“Fuck, Hélios!”

“The vegetable peeler?”

“I didn't steal it!”

Justine sobs even before the blow falls this time.

“Api, stop being stubborn. You see she's in pain. Just tell me where you put it and I'll end the punishment,” Hélios says in a soothing tone. He gives the teenager's wrist a small, indecipherable squeeze.

Her father is crying too. His tears are almost silent and desperate. She looks away, unable to bear the sight.

“Where did you hide it?”

“I didn't take it. Please, she's just a child...”

The sharp whimper that follows the loud smack makes him cry a little harder.

“I didn't take it.”

The ruler comes down. Justine's head hurts from crying so much.

“Api. Come on. Stop being selfish.”

“I-”

This time, Hélios doesn't wait before bringing the ruler down.

“Hélios,” he chokes out.

“You can stop me at any time,” Hélios reminds him in a voice that is too soft, almost full of regret.

“Please...”

Hélios raises the ruler and the sound that escapes Justine is a reflex rooted deep within her. One she has been trying to ignore since earlier because it will be of no use to her, but she is in pain and she is afraid...

“Dad!” she cries, curling up into a ball and closing her eyes.

“Under the couch!” her father yells. “Under the couch!”

The ruler never falls. Justine remains motionless, trembling, doubled over, tears streaming down her burning face. There is a moment of silence.

“Under the sofa?” says Hélios in a calm voice, letting go of her arm. She dares to glance at him. He twirls the ruler between his fingers, his gaze fixed on her father.

“Yes,” her father mumbles. “Buried in the upholstery, behind the front left leg.”

Hélios looks a little surprised.

“You hid it really well. Well,” he adds, “I guess we'll find out if you're telling the truth.”

He pulls the chair back, eliciting a small cry from Justine.

“Bring it to me, Justine.”

“W-what?” the girl stammered weakly.

“The knife, sweetheart. Go get it for me,” Hélios repeated.

The nickname made her tremble. He grabbed her by the armpit and gently urged her to get up.

“Go on, go. Hurry up.”

“I can go get it,” her father whispered.

“No, Api. Quiet.”

She looks at him for a second, not daring to move, then Hélios makes a slight movement with the ruler and she jumps before staggering unsteadily toward the office door. She doesn't look at her father as she passes: she’s on a mission. She has to hurry.

She quickly goes down to the living room, kneels in front of the sofa, and runs her fingers over the indicated spot. It takes her a minute for her fingers to brush against the wood of the handle sticking out slightly, deeply embedded in the upholstery, but she quickly pulls it out. It's a small knife, the blade barely longer than her middle finger. She closes her fingers around the handle and wonders if she can get rid of Hélios with it.

The answer is no. She already knows that.

She returns to the office as quickly as possible. Hélios is leaning on the armrest of the chair, still playing with the ruler. He smiles when Justine shows him her find.

“Good work, sweetheart. Put it there, on the desk.”

She has barely obeyed when he gently grabs her by the shoulder and turns her towards the door.

“I'll be back soon so we can discuss what just happened, Api. Behave yourself.”

“Where are you taking her? Hélios!” The healer immediately starts to panic again.

“The bathroom. Think about what just happened while you're there.”

“I can heal her-”

“No, we'll use non-magical healing this time. Justine, let's go.”

She reflexively tried to resist, “Dad” already on her lips, but Hélios tightened his grip.

“Justine, no. Dad needs to think. Come on.”

And her resistance ends there. She shares one last terrified look with her father, then Hélios pushes her into the hallway and closes the door.

“Come on, bathroom.”

He sits her on the edge of the bathtub while he rummages through a cupboard. Justine takes the opportunity to look down at her arm. Seven remarkably parallel lines, red and inflamed, mark her arm in relief. It stings like a burn, radiating heat.

He comes back to her with a small tube of cream. She reaches out her hand, but he gently pushes it down, applying a dab of cream to his own index finger before spreading it over the marks. Justine hiss in pain, unable to hold back: he is gentle, but even this slight rubbing on the wounds is incredibly painful.

“Ah, sorry, I'll be more gentle,” says Hélios in a kind tone, and he is. The cream stings furiously, then gradually subsides into a welcome feeling of coolness.

“You know, I don't like doing this. I don't like to see you cry. I'm sorry your father is so stubborn, sweetheart. You've been very brave," he says suddenly.

And something inside the teenager tenses, because it's not her father's fault, and she knows it. It’s not her father who kidnapped them. It’s not her father who is holding them captive. It’s not her father who was holding the ruler.

He has nothing to do with it. It’s all Hélios' fault.

She believes it. She believes it. Even though the knife was so small that it was hardly an opportunity. Even though she endured seven blows with the ruler just for her father to cave in.

She doesn't answer until he stops spreading the cream and she feels his thumb press slightly into one of the marks. He presses the index finger of his other hand under her chin, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze.

“Tell me, Justine.”

His clear eyes resemble a peaceful lagoon. A deceptive and deadly one.

“Do you think you deserved those marks?”

There is a right answer and a wrong answer. It should be obvious, and yet... she doesn't know which is which.

But she knows which one is true, and that's what matters most.

She nods.

Hélios softens again. It almost looks like pity in his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart, no. No.”

What?

“You didn't deserve it. It wasn't yours to bear. You're not responsible for Api's actions, Justine. He should take responsibility for his own mistakes. I'm sorry I had to teach him that lesson that way. You said it yourself, lying is wrong. I'm sorry it had to come to this.”

Bile rises in her throat. Does he believe what he's saying?

His thumb caresses her cheek, tenderly, gently. Then, just like that, he gets up from where he was crouching in front of her.

“Okay, we're done here. I'll take you back to your room so you can rest. You've been crying a lot, drink some water. I'll come get you for dinner. Put on a clean top, this one is soaked with sweat.”

She nods silently. She doesn't ask if her father will be at dinner. That depends entirely on Hélios. She doesn't want to upset him again by mentioning Dad. He takes her back to her room, but as she waits for him to close the door so she can collapse, he adds one last sentence that makes her chest tighten.

Hello, here's my contribution for day 24 of Whumptober 2025, for the prompt “Painful Transformation". It's OC whump. Captivity, teen whumpee, parental/possessive whumper, vomit, first period, period cramps, angst. Check the tags just in case and you should be good! And I will make a post about lore one day (i'm going to add this at every post and never do it)

JUSTINE (5 MONTHS 2 WEEKS)

It’s the pain that wakes her up. A pain both diffuse and sharp at once, as strange as that sounds. She wakes up with a feeling of discomfort that quickly turns into pain, deep in her lower belly.

Justine curls up with a hiss as the pain shifts in intensity, her mind still foggy with sleep but quickly dragged into reality by the feeling. What’s happening? She’s in pain, and she feels nauseous on top of it.

She’d felt off these past few days, a dull ache low in her stomach, which she’d blamed on stress. Though honestly, she hasn’t been more stressed than usual. Living with Hélios is a constant state of stress impossible to escape. She’s also had some digestion issues, so she’d told herself maybe her body was just waving a red flag after a few months of this treatment.

But now it’s real pain, and she has no idea why.

Another wave of pain rolls through her before slowly fading. It feels like… like contractions. Cramps, and-

Something changes with the next spasm, and suddenly she feels dampness between her legs.

Justine freezes as the realization hits.

No. No, no, no-

Not now.

Not this.

Not in the middle of the night. Not here.

Please, let her be sick. Let it be a stomach bug. Something manageable.

With trembling fingers, Justine peeks down the waistband of her pajama pants.

There’s a tiny spot of blood.

She’s going to cry. Right now, she’s going to cry, because this is a situation she never imagined she’d have to deal with like this, and she’s absolutely not ready.

A new cramp tears through her, forcing her to curl up on herself tighter with a sharp hiss of pain. The sound breaks into a strangled sob.

It’s not something that ever scared her. Not when her father is a healer who took great care to explain puberty to her. Not when her aunts, cousins, and even one of her father’s exes had kindly talked her through what to expect. She had all the information she needed for this to go smoothly. And now here she is, curled up in the middle of the night, locked in a room inside her captor’s house, and she’s going to have to rely on him to help her handle this.

Or maybe she can wait until morning. Then she can talk straight to her dad. She has a few handkerchiefs, she can improvise something, right? The flow isn't heavy on the very first day, right?

She feels horribly nauseous, and the pain’s only getting worse. She has no idea what time it is, only that everything’s quiet and not a trace of light slips past the thick curtains.

She stays still for a while, trying to contain the pain, the sickness, the fear, the despair.

She can’t. She’s going to throw up.

Shaking, Justine reaches toward a glyph carved into the corner of her nightstand. The rune flares with a soft, flickering warmth, wavering for a few seconds before the light steadies and Hélios’s voice fills the room, tired and a little groggy.

“Justine? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sick,” she whispers. No way she’s telling him the real reason, not to him. “Please, can I see my dad?”

There’s a silence, then the rustle of bedsheets.

“I’m coming.”

The glyph fades. Justine waits, heart hammering, fighting the nausea rising in her throat. He hadn’t answered her request. There’s no guarantee he’ll get her father.

Light footsteps approach down the hall. The lock clicks, the door opens, and light from the corridor spills in. Hélios steps inside, pausing briefly in the doorway to stare at her, pale, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach.

“Oh, Justine.”

He doesn’t look angry. He walks closer and presses a large hand to her forehead, making her flinch.

“No fever. I don’t know what’s wrong,” she lies.

“Your stomach hurts?”

“Yes, and I feel sick. My dad can examine me. He’ll know what it is.”

She doesn’t have to fake looking miserable. Hopefully that’ll convince him. She just wants her dad, only him, so she can explain what’s happening and let him deal with Hélios. She doesn’t want to do it herself. Not now. Not with this. Not-

Hélios rests a hand on her thigh, and Justine flinches violently. His fingers tighten instead of releasing her like a normal person would. He studies her with a thoughtful look.

“You’re very tense, sweetheart.”

“It hurts,” she whispers. “Please, my dad-”

“I heard you the two first times,” Hélios cuts in, not unkindly, but firm enough to silence her. Fear crawls back up her throat like a spider. He sighs at her expression and pats her thigh lightly.

“It’s alright. Do you feel like you’re going to throw up? Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

She can’t answer, her throat blocked. Another cramp rises; something shifts deep inside her abdomen as the pain peaks. Tears sting her eyes as she curls tighter, saliva flooding her mouth and she claps a hand over her lips.

“Oh, no no no, up, come on, up!”

He grabs her arm, hauls her upright, and drags her toward the door, but it’s too late. Justine bends over and throws up on the floor. She hears him hiss a curse. She raises an arm in front of her face on reflex as sobs burst out of her, overwhelmed, the acid taste burning her throat, her pajamas stained, panic clawing at her chest.

Instead of a blow, there’s a loud sigh. He lets go of her completely. Through the blur of tears, she sees him standing there, looking simply tired, watching her with weary exasperation. He raises an eyebrow when their eyes meet.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Justine. You’re sick. It was an accident. It’s fine.”

She slowly lowers her arms, wiping her face on her sleeve, unable to meet his eyes, quietly crying. Saliva sticks to her chin and she wipes it away quickly. She can’t stop crying. The air reeks of vomit, her stomach twists cruelly, and she feels the dampness between her legs.

“My dad,” she manages to whisper, before another heave shakes her. Hélios’s expression sharpens with urgency.

“Bathroom first!”

She throws up again into the toilet, on her knees, one of his hands resting on her back, the other brushing her hair away.

“Please, my dad,” she chokes when she’s done, almost sobbing the words. “Please, please,” she begs, desperate to convince him. Another cramp hits, she winces, and that seems to do the trick.

“Alright,” Hélios says. “Alright, don’t move, I’ll get him, sweetheart.”

And finally, he leaves to fetch her father. Justine curls in on herself and rides out the next wave of pain, trembling, hoping for him to hurry up.

Hi, here’s my contribution for day 23 of Whumptober 2025, for the alternative prompt "Hold my hand". It's OC whump.

Captivity, multiple whumpees, teens/children whumpees, parental whumper, mentioned child abuse, emotional whump, crying, hurt/comfort. Nothing graphic. Check the tags and you should be good! And I will make a post about lore one day (i'm going to add this at every post and never do it)

LUCIEN (3 MONTHS AND 2 DAYS)

Lucien is already in his pajamas under the covers when Helios opens the door. Loan is pushed into the room, stumbling awkwardly over the threshold. He is in his pajamas too and his hair is damp, probably from the shower.

“There,” Helios hums, following him inside. “Go to bed.”

Loan doesn't even resist. He collapses onto the mattress rather than lying down, pulling the covers up. Lucien's stomach twists at his stiff movements and the exhaustion they betray.

Helios doesn't wait for him to pull the blanket up over his body. He steps forward and pulls it up himself to Loan's chin, hiding his friend from Lucien's view. There is a strangled growl.

“I can do it myself...!”

“Shh,” whispers Helios. “It's too late to argue. Get some rest.”

He gently pats the teenager's thigh, causing a shiver to run through the body under the duvet.

“There. Sleep well.”

He turns back to Lucien with a smile. The boy swallows and resists the urge to sit up when the mage approaches him. Helios is already very tall, and seeing him lean over him as he lies in bed is terrifying. Lucien feels even smaller and more vulnerable than usual.

Helios simply strokes his hair and tucks him in a little better. Goosebumps run down Lucien's body. He clenches his fists under the blanket and controls himself so as not to move.

“Sleep well,” Helios whispers.

He stands up and finally heads for the door.

“Good night, boys. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Lucien mumbles reflexively. There is no answer from Loan, but Helios seems happy nonetheless. He turns off the light and closes the door, and the two boys hear the click of the lock and feel the glyphs fall into place on the door. The sound of Helios' footsteps fades down the hallway.

The room is dark, but tiny glyphs glows on the baseboards, preventing it from being plunged into complete darkness. A rustling of sheets is heard as Loan moves. Lucien stares into the darkness until his eyes adjust and he can vaguely make out the shape of his roommate's body. He can't quite make out the position. He hesitates, his fingers clenching the pillow. Loan attacked Helios earlier today, and the mage hit him several times before taking him to the basement. He missed lunch and dinner, and he's certainly sore. Lucien doesn't know what to say. He doesn't even know if he should say anything. The words are stuck in his throat, not knowing which ones to use.

There is a tiny, trembling exhalation in the calm of the room. Lucien's eyes widen and he speaks without thinking.

“Are you okay?”

What a stupid question.

“Yeah, fuckin’ peachy,” Loan snaps almost instantly.

It's a stupid question, he knew it, he's an idiot, what kind of question is that?! Of course he's not okay! What kind of idiot asks that question to someone who is clearly hurt? Idiot!

He curls up a little, ashamed.

“Sorry.”

He gets no response this time. The silence drags on, and Lucien thinks it's over, that Loan has fallen asleep or is falling asleep. He should do the same. They get up early in the morning so that Helios can give them breakfast before leaving for work.

Yet he is still awake when sounds he recognizes immediately, muffled by the blankets, can be heard. A lump forms in his throat. He remains motionless, unsure of how to act. Loan is not the kind to ask for comfort. He is not the kind to fall apart in front of anyone. Lucien doesn't really know what to do to help him.

Maybe... he shouldn't intervene. That's probably the best option. Loan has made it clear that he doesn't want Lucien to get involved. He should pretend nothing happened and let the night hide this moment of weakness.

Instead, he gently pushes back the blanket and gets up carefully. The floor is cold against his bare feet. It's winter, and the loss of the blanket makes him shiver.

“Loan,” he calls softly as he moves toward the teenager's bed.

The quiet sobs stop immediately. Lucien can now see that Loan has his back turned to him, almost completely buried in his blankets. He hesitates for a second before trying again.

“Loan?”

“What.”

The voice is still harsh, but this time Lucien can hear the tears buried in it.

He doesn't answer. He just steps forward and places a hand where his friend's shoulder must be.

This provokes a reaction.

“Don’t touch me!” Loan hisses, turning abruptly, and his hand pushes Lucien's away roughly. He lets out a sound of surprise and takes a step back.

“Go back to bed,” Loan orders, burrowing back under his blanket. Lucien stands there for a moment, stunned, then tears well up in his eyes.

“O-okay. Sorry.”

He rushes back to his bed, his eyes wet and his breathing uneven. Loan has always been pretty nice to him at the guild. He had never shown anyone a bad temper, just a good-natured stubbornness from time to time. This is the first time he had ever spoken to Lucien in that tone.

He holds back his sobs. After all, Loan’s the one who’s hurt tonight. Lucien doesn’t deserve to cry like he’s the one suffering. He should’ve known it was a bad idea.

Several minutes pass in silence. Lucien holds back his sniffles. Loan makes no sound.

Then suddenly, there is a faint whisper.

“I'm sorry.”

Lucien blinks to chase away his tears. Oh.

“I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I'm sorry,” Loan continues.

“It's okay,” says Lucien. “I shouldn't have touched you. I'm sorry too, he adds in a wet voice.”

The words untie the knot in his stomach. Loan isn't really mad at him. He's just tired, hurt, and anxious, like all of them under Helios's thumb. It's not against him, it's against the whole situation.

“Hey,” says Loan. “You can come if you want.”

“I don't want to bother you,” mutters the boy.

“Don't say that,” says Loan, irritation creeping into his tone. He softens immediately, though.

“I mean, of course you're not bothering me. Come here. But don't put your ice-cold feet against my legs.”

“I never do that,” the younger boy protests in feigned indignation, but he’s already standing up.

Loan turns back to him and lifts the blanket slightly.

“Liar.”

Lucien slips into bed, snuggling up against the teenager. The beds aren't designed for two people, and Loan has to move back against the wall to give Lucien enough room. He pulls the blanket over them, and they find themselves almost pressed against each other in a comfy cocoon. Loan's breath is warm on Lucien's face.

“Just be careful, please,” Loan asks.

“Are you hurt?”

“...Nothing serious.”

There is a silence. Loan's breathing is ragged.

“Do you, um… want, like… a hug?” Lucien offers nervously.

“No,” Loan says immediately.

“Okay,” Lucien quickly reassures him. He doesn't want Loan to get upset. Still, he thinks about it. He himself has nothing against hugs, but Loan does. He has to find something that pleases the other, not himself. Or nothing, if necessary, but that doesn't seem right to him. A gesture of comfort, but not too much contact...

Loan lets out a wet sniffle. Spontaneously, Lucien reaches out in the dark, moved by the distress of his brave friend, who always takes the hits for them and mocks Helios at every opportunity. Loan flinches when Lucien's hand brushes his, but when Lucien freezes, ready to pull away, it’s him who grabs his hand and squeezes it, almost painfully. Lucien responds with another squeeze, and the dam breaks. Loan lets out a tiny sob. He makes almost no sound, just tiny hoarse sobs, ragged breathing, and muffled sniffles. He continues to squeeze Lucien's hand under the covers. Timidly, with a lump in his throat, Lucien does something his grandfather used to do when he had crying fits that lasted for hours, right after he was sent to live with him after his parents died. He changes his grip and begins to gently trace circles with his thumb in Loan's palm, slowly and steadily. He presses himself a little closer to him and rests his head in the crook of his neck, feeling the spasms that shake Loan's chest.

Their hands remain clasped together throughout the crying. Lucien finally stops when Loan begin to calm down, but he keeps his grip, tears in his eyes. He doesn’t speak.

Finally, when the already quiet crying fades to sniffles, Loan loosens his grip. Lucien releases him immediately, but Loan simply intertwines their fingers and places their arms more comfortably. He speaks again, his voice still wet but steady.

“You should sleep now.”

“You gonna sleep too?”

“…Yeah. Don't kick me in your sleep.”

“Mm-hmm. Hey… is it…okay if we keep holding hands?”

Lucien can practically feel the eye roll.

“Yeah, we can keep holding hands.”

“Thanks,” Lucien murmurs, settling in and closing his eyes.

Loan gives his fingers a gentle squeeze.

“No, thanks to you,” he whispers softly.

Hi, here’s my contribution for day 22 of Whumptober 2025, for the prompt "Self-Sacrifice". It's OC whump.

Captivity, multiple whumpees, parental/possessive whumper, mentioned child abuse, emotional manipulation attempt (from whumpee to whumper), forced domesticity. Nothing graphic. Check the tags and you should be good! And I will make a post about lore one day (i'm going to add this at every post and never do it)

JUSTINE (7 MONTHS)

“It was three eggs.”

“The recipe says four.”

“Yes, but I told you to put three.”

Loan shoves the bowl away, porcelain clattering loudly against the table. Hélios lets out an irritated sound.

“Focus on your listening skills instead of throwing a fit.”

Justine winces. That flat tone never means anything good. They’ve only been in the kitchen for fifteen minutes, and things are already starting to go south.

To be fair, Hélios insisted on braiding Loan’s hair before cooking. It only took ten minutes, but Loan absolutely hates when Hélios touches his hair and squirmed throughout the entire event. Now a loose braid lies between his shoulder blades. Justine knows all too well how awful it feels to have Hélios’s fingers running through your hair, to feel him behind you, his hands brushing your back and shoulders. But for Loan, it’s even worse. He loathes it, and she understands perfectly how overstimulated he must feel. And, as always when Hélios has been too touchy, Loan’s in a foul mood and is barely keeping it together.

Justine focuses on grating the carrots. They’re having quiche with grated carrot salad for the starter. Hélios can cook just fine by himself, but he insists they all help, calling it “a family activity.”

He grabs the bowl of filling and starts whisking the eggs himself, still looking annoyed.

“Pour me a glass of water instead of sulking,” he orders sharply.

Loan’s expression says he’d rather throw the glass at him. Justine tightens her grip on the grater, heart pounding. Lucien, busy rummaging through the cupboards, clench his fingers on the door so tightly that they turn white.

Loan obeys, reluctantly. He fills the glass and sets it down a little too hard, spilling water across the table. Hélios looks up, locking eyes with him. A tense silence follows.

“Hélios,” Justine calls, her voice steady and calm. “Do I need to put lemon juice in the carrots?”

For a few seconds, Hélios doesn’t answer, eyes still locked on the defiant teenager in front of him. Then he looks away and goes back to whisking the eggs.

“Yes, that’s a good idea, Justine.”

“Thanks! Loan, can you get me the lemon juice?” she chirps, forcing cheerfulness in her tone, and a knot in her chest loosens when her fellow captive obeys right away. The small gesture puts a bit of distance between him and Hélios.

When he hands her the bottle, Justine notices the faint yellow bruise on his wrist. She can even make out the shape of five fingers. She looks up at him and sees only exhaustion in his blue eyes. There’s another, fresher bruise on his jaw. Surprising that Hélios left it. He doesn’t usually like clearly visible marks on their faces. Probably looks too much like domestic abuse.

Loan looks worn out. Understandable. Punishments are exhausting.

“Could we make a carrot cake sometime?” she asks.

Hélios smiles, kind and casual.

“You like that?”

“Yeah… it’s really good with chocolate chips! My dad used to make it sometimes.”

It’s not even a lie. Her father’s no pastry chef, but he does enjoy baking now and then.

“Well,” hums their captor, “I don’t see why not. We can make one this week. I’ve never tried, but if Api knows how, he can just give me the ingredient list.”

“For what?” comes a worried voice from the living room.

“You should be resting!” Hélios scolds, disapproving. “Go back to sleep. Or if you don’t want to sleep, take a shower.”

Her father pokes his head into the kitchen, hair messy, face tired.

“I couldn’t sleep… what were you talking about?”

“Your carrot cake. The one with chocolate chips” Justine answers quickly.

“Oh… yeah, I can give you the ingredient list, it’s-”

“Later,” Hélios cuts him off. “Api, go rest. We’ve got dinner covered.”

“I-”

“No protests. Go,” insists Hélios. “We’ll join you after.”

Justine gives her father a tiny smile and nod. She’s fine. They’re all fine. For now, Hélios isn’t angry. They just have to keep it that way.

With a last hesitant glance, her father goes back to lie on the couch. Justine exhales in relief when Hélios resumes working on the quiche.

When everything’s finally cooking without further incident, they go join her father in the living room. He stops pretending to sleep the moment they arrive, and Justine collapses into his arms for a few minutes of comforting warmth. She loves his hugs, the way he pulls her close, gentle yet firm, his hand rubbing her back, his lips brushing the top of her head. She lets herself melt against him for a moment, and he holds her tight, just like always.

“Don’t touch me!”

They both look up at once, just in time to see Loan swat away the hand Hélios just ran through his hair.

“Loan,” the mage snaps, irritated.

“Stop touching me all the time.”

“Stop being so dramatic. I barely touched your braid.”

They face each other, Loan trembling with tension, Hélios cold and dangerously annoyed. Lucien pretends to search for a board game in the cupboard.

“Come here,” Hélios orders suddenly.

Loan clenches his fists, standing still and silent.

“Loan. Come now. I won’t repeat myself.”

“Hélios,” says her father. “Come on, let it go. He’s just being a moody teenager.”

His tone is carefully light.

“This is between me and Loan,” Hélios replies. “Loan.”

A heavy silence stretches out. Then, slowly, Loan steps within reach, shaking with anger and dread. Hélios raises his hand and gently strokes his hair. Justine looks away, out of respect for Loan, fixing her eyes on the colorful pattern of her father’s sweater. The moment drags on endlessly. When Hélios finally pulls back with a satisfied smile and a word of praise, Loan looks like he’s about to explode, barely holding it together.

“Good,” says Hélios. “Now, how about a game while we wait for dinner? Go grab a deck of cards, Lucien.”

He sits on the couch, sounding cheerful again.

“How about we play in teams?” he suggests, and Justine wouldn’t normally mind, but she can see the way his eyes stay locked on Loan. Loan, who looks one breath away from snapping.

If Hélios forces Loan to team up with him, there’s no chance they’ll get through the evening peacefully. And Loan will definitely be punished. Hit, denied dinner or sent back to the basement, or maybe all three.

Justine has her father’s flaws, and she’s too aware of it.

“Hélios, can I be on your team?”

She makes her voice as soft and childlike as she can without overdoing it, trying to look shy—shy is always safer than reluctant. Hélios looks surprised. Justine gives him a small, trembling smile. Hopefully, he’ll think she’s just a little nervous.

The man watches her thoughtfully for a second, then his expression softens a little when she doesn't look away.

“Of course, sweetheart. If you’d like to.”

He looks pleased by her offer. He opens an arm slightly in invitation, and Justine seizes the opportunity, slipping out of her father’s embrace and into Hélios’s. She doesn’t let herself hesitate, settling beside him. He’s warm, smelling of cologne and citrus. His arm drops heavily around her shoulders, restrictive. Her father’s embrace is comfort; Hélios’s is a cage, a restraint holding her in place. She lets him run his fingers through her brown hair. He’s gentle, as always.

“Well then, Justine, I hope you’re ready to win,” the mage teases cheerfully.

Justine doesn’t look at her father. She knows she’d see him tense, shaking with anger—not at her, never at her, but at Hélios and everything he forces them to do. The sacrifices they have to make to keep the peace for one quiet evening. She can already see Loan’s eyes on her from across the table, unreadable but wet. She’s the one who looks away first.

If Justine has to bear Hélios’s unwanted attention to keep Loan out of the basement, then she will. Everyone makes the sacrifices they can afford to make.