Requesting Reader pampering Dan Heng (especially in his Imbibitor Lunae form). 🙏 Washing and brushing his hair, drawing a bath for him after the shower, helping Pom-Pom cook healthy meals for him, leaving snacks and drinks for him at the door outside of the archives (and telling March to ask first before taking any bc March’s room is right next to the archives lol), reminding him once in a while to drink water and stretch, massaging his back and neck, making sure the temperature in the archives isn’t too warm or cold—
I just really need Dan Heng to be pampered, he deserves it.
As the Lotus Floats, So Shall You
Summary: You quietly care for Dan Heng, particularly in his Imbibitor Lunae form. You take the time to pamper him, washing and brushing his long hair, preparing his bath, cooking healthy meals, and offering gentle reminders to care for himself. Despite his reserved nature and the weight of his past, Dan Heng allows himself to be cared for, slowly finding comfort in your presence and your attentive gestures.
Tags: Dan Heng IL x Reader, Fluff, Comfort, Soft Caretaking, Slow Burn, Quiet Devotion, Light Domestic.
Dan Heng was always difficult to care for—not because he rejected kindness, but because he often didn’t know how to receive it. In his Imbibitor Lunae form, the weight of past lives pressed heavier on his shoulders, making him even more withdrawn, more hesitant to accept the warmth you so willingly offered. But that never stopped you from trying.
It started small. A cup of tea left outside the archives, a careful arrangement of his favorite snacks placed neatly beside it. You made sure to leave a note—March, please ask before taking. Because while you adored her, you also knew her appetite for anything remotely edible was insatiable. Dan Heng never said anything about the offerings, but you noticed how they always disappeared by morning, the cup emptied, the snacks gone.
Then came the gentle reminders. Drink water. Stretch your legs. The stars will still be there if you take a break. Sometimes, you caught him actually following your advice, rolling his shoulders with a sigh as he took slow sips of water. Other times, he merely glanced at you with that unreadable expression of his—fond, if you dared to hope—before returning to his studies.
But tonight, you were taking things a step further.
Dan Heng sat at the edge of his bed, his long still damp from his shower. His horns glowed faintly in the dim light of the archives, curling elegantly above his head. He looked ethereal, otherworldly, but also exhausted.
“You don’t have to fuss over me,” he murmured, even as you settled behind him, fingers threading through his hair with practiced ease.
“I know,” you said simply, reaching for the brush. “But I want to.”
He let out a quiet sigh but didn’t protest further, leaning slightly into your touch as you worked through the tangles. His hair was silk beneath your fingertips, heavy with the scent of lotus and green tea—something you had picked for him, knowing how much he preferred subtle, soothing fragrances.
Minutes passed in comfortable silence. You brushed with slow, deliberate strokes, making sure to be gentle around his horns. Dan Heng’s shoulders gradually relaxed, tension melting away as you worked.
“You’re warm,” he admitted after a while, voice quiet, almost drowsy.
You smiled. “Is the temperature in here okay? I can adjust it if it’s too cold.”
“It’s fine.” A pause. “You always make sure of that.”
The admission sent warmth curling in your chest, but you didn’t dwell on it. Instead, you set the brush aside, fingers moving to massage the knots in his neck. He tensed briefly at the first touch, then sighed, his head tilting slightly as he allowed himself to relax under your care.
“Turn around,” you coaxed gently.
Dan Heng hesitated but obeyed, shifting so that he faced you, his eyes half-lidded with weariness. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze held something soft, something vulnerable that he rarely let show.
You reached for a towel, carefully dabbing at the ends of his hair before moving to his horns, wiping away any lingering moisture with delicate precision. Your fingers brushed against the smooth, translucent surface, and Dan Heng exhaled sharply, eyes flickering shut for a brief moment.
“Sensitive?” you asked.
“A little.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
You softened your touch, mindful of the sensation. When you finished, you stood, moving toward the small bath you had prepared for him earlier. The water was just the right temperature, infused with calming herbs meant to ease fatigue.
“Come on,” you said, offering him your hand. “It’s ready.”
Dan Heng eyed you for a long moment before exhaling softly. He took your hand, fingers cool against your palm, and allowed you to guide him toward the bath. He didn’t say thank you, but he didn’t have to. The way he looked at you—the way he let himself be cared for—was more than enough.
And when you left a final note by the archives later that night, reminding him to rest well, you knew he would see it. Just as you knew, without a doubt, that he would take it to heart.
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Whumpee’s rushed to the hospital alone and wounded. All of their possessions are gone or destroyed; even their clothes are bloodied and torn apart.
They have nothing.
They feel like nothing.
When they awaken next, caretaker nudges into the room with a bag filled with seemingly random things. A blanket, pillow, mug, a change of clothes for as soon as they’re able; all just to make them feel like a person again.Â
Now when they bring them a drink, It’s no paper cup. It's a mug.
“You’re… —hic— pretty hot.” Atlas slurs, looking up at the blurry shape that’s supposed to be Aveline’s face. She is dragging his useless bundle of limbs across the sidewalk, the noise and lights of the party fading into the dark distance.Â
He didn’t mean to get this drunk, or that’s at least what he will tell her in the morning. Right now, he finds comfort in the unpredictable swaying of the world cradling him like what he imagines a mother’s embrace would be like. Or perhaps it is the steady way Aveline is carrying him, her arms hooked under his, dragging him like a sack of flour.Â
The thought makes him erupt in a fit of giggles and hiccups, barely distinguishable from another.
”You’re so drunk.” Aveline laughs, and Atlas has to think back to what prompted her to say this, already forgetting his own words from seconds ago.
Ah, right. She is hot. He thinks.
He doesn’t really know, but the other guys at the party told him. They said he is lucky to have someone with her curves, her tits and ass and soft lips pay attention to him. Somehow he never noticed that those things make someone hot, whatever that is.Â
But really, he is lucky. But when Atlas thinks about her, he remembers her soft voice and warm touch, embracing him, protecting him. He remembers her gentle voice and her unending kindness.Â
He thinks about nights like this, when she sacrifices her time and fun to get him home safe, just because he couldn’t or wouldn’t stop drinking. Nights, when she holds his limp body up as he retches over a toilet or a bush or a trash can. Nights when the alcohol brings memories up instead of burying them, and she holds him when he cries. When he tries to be her Pet, and she loves him all the same.
In the end, he doesn’t truly know if this makes her hot. Really, it only stuck to his fuzzy mind because the others insisted on it.Â
But as he feels her arms under his, their car waiting in the distance and home being almost within his reach, he knows this is love. Maybe not what his friends know, but their own, very special love. And perhaps that makes him special too.
@augusnippets
taglist: @octopus-reactivated, @sodacreampuff, @topsheepstudent, @clickerflight, @rabass
let me know if you want to be added or removed :)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Why do we even need a watch here? This place is desolate.
Kremy was shaken out of his self-pitying thoughts by a rustling far off in the forest. He turned his head to the sound and tried to pinpoint the location.
He heard another sound to his left, the sharp snapping of a twig followed by a muttered curse.
----------------------------------------------
Kremy turned and only saw the dark blue glow of a blade before Gideon dove between them, he grits his teeth as he suppressed a yell, “Son of a bitch!”
Gideon grabbed the bandit by the collar of his shirt and punched him with the force of a freight train, sending the bandit flying off into the thick bushes outside of their camp.
Kremy stepped in front of Gideon, “Hey, are you okay? You don’t look so- Oh shit”
Gideon slumped forward, his eyes rolling back into their sockets. The second Gideon hit the ground he started violently convulsing.
---------------------------------
Carnivale Lecroux got attacked by bandits who had a cursed weapon, Gideon saves Kremy but will Kremy be able to save Gideon before he succumbs to his magical wounds?
Fandom: legends of avantris, once upon a witchlight
Pairing: Kremy Lecroux X Gideon Coal
Words: 7,8K
Language: English
Content warning: graphic depictions of violence, major character death, dissociation
ok buckle in lads today ive been thinking about cold whump and came up with a way too elaborate scenario that i actually think i might write into a whump story:
Whumpee has been living a happy life in a cozy, rustic cabin deep in the woods with their partner, Caretaker. but of course it all goes wrong when Whumper kidnaps Whumpee, leaving no trace, and the investigations eventually fizzling out leaving Caretaker forced to accept that their beloved Whumpee must be dead. Caretaker is grieving but meanwhile-
Whumpee is in the hands of the Whumper now, who kidnapped them with the intention of holding them hostage forever, having them just for the control and for the thrill of hurting someone etc etc
Whumper lives quite a ways away from Caretaker's house but in a cabin in the same woods; one could theoretically walk through the woods all the way to Caretaker and Whumpee's house from Whumper's cabin, which is similar to theirs, rustic and warm and can even be cozy, though the horrors it holds for Whumpee overrule that
of course, they are being subjected to all the usual whump. tortured and conditioned and subject to so much pain at the hands of Whumper. they are kidnapped in early spring one year and live out the whole summer and fall with Whumper, but early on in the fall the Whumper, who is very much enjoying testing the limits of what they can do psychologically to Whumpee, hatches a plan
see, after the first snow, it is always constantly cold and snowy in these woods, and won't thaw until spring
so Whumper makes a deal with Whumpee. during the winter months, when the forests are inhospitable with snow, they will be free to escape. they can go wherever they want. the doors will be unlocked, they will have an exit route from where they are usually held captive, they will not be punished for leaving the house no matter for how long. they are allowed to escape and go all the way home. but they are not given any of the things- warm clothing, food, anything to start a fire- that they would need to make it out in the cold.
Whumper's idea is to see how desperate they can make Whumpee to leave, that they would risk attempting the 24 hour trek from Whumper's cabin to the nearest cabin, which is theirs/Caretaker's, out in the snow. their torment of Whumpee is so brutal that Whumpee attempts it several times, only to become too weak and collapse in the snow, shivering, close to death, and have Whumper come back to find them, ushering them inside because they are begging to go back to Whumper's house just to not be in the cold.
but finally Whumpee manages to do it. through sheer teeth gritting determination they make it all the way from Whumper's house to Caretaker's. Caretaker tearfully embraces them, their supposedly dead partner alive on their front steps, and then rushes them inside to warm them up and the softest of both emotional and physical caretaking ensues as they wrap them in blankets, feed them warm homemade soup that is familiar and comforting, ease them into a hot bath, etc
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CW: self deprecation & bad self esteem in regards to a scar
“Are you sure you don’t want to cover my scar?” Whumpee looks at Caretaker, tilting his head slightly in confusion. It’s big, nearly covering half their face, a twisted burn from something he should remember but can’t.Â
It’s undeniably ugly, that’s what Whumper had always told him, from the very beginning of his memories. And why would he doubt Whumper? That’s why he always had to wear that mask, the one still hiding in his cupboard.
Without Whumper in his life though he put it on less and less, slowly getting used to being able to touch the wrinkled skin without fabric covering it, to being able to see his face in its entirety.
But just because Caretaker permits him to not wear the mask inside, doesn’t mean she wouldn’t use this chance to make him less hideous.Â
Caretaker stops mid-movement, holding the makeup brush in the air. “Do you want me to cover it?” She turns to look at her collection of concealers, but there is hesitation in her gaze.
“Oh, I don’t know. Wouldn’t it make you more comfortable?” At least, that’s what it was always like. He wore the mask so Whumper would be comfortable, so they wouldn’t have to see a grotesque twisted version of what used to be his face.
Caretaker turns back to him and there is nothing but honesty in her eyes. “Whumpee, I love you. I love everything about you, from your personality, your laugh, to your dimples and your scars.” She turned around again, digging in her collection of products until she pulled out a shiny pallet.
“What if we put some sparkle on it instead. What do you think?”
