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i missed you

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You didn’t come down from the sky? — This city is mine anyway.

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Wait for me. I’ll find you. In the next life.

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May triumph always be yours, Mydeimos.

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Shui, from Lamento Post Cards collection

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Slow Damage art book by Nitro Chiral, scans sourced from e-hentai

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ꜱᴀᴠᴀɴᴀᴄʟᴀᴡ

╰┈➤ ❝ the lands once overseen by the mighty king of beasts are as vast as they are vibrant. many stories of kings and queens have found their way into the history books, even in the furthest corners of the world, before their voices joined that of the stars. ❞

[f.], [m.] → female / male reader respectively | [pl.] → platonic | [g.] → general / no reader | [sug.] → suggestive | [hc] → headcanons | [os] → oneshot | [sh.] → short scenario | [s.] → part of a series | [a.] → angst

ʟᴇᴏɴᴀ ᴋɪɴɢꜱᴄʜᴏʟᴀʀ

a fool for you [sug. | os]

accidentally ignoring him [hc]

always with you [os]

an everyday date [os]

an open book [os]

being re-incarnated into a new world as the bad guy [s.] [part 2] [part 3]

blanket kiss [os]

can you feel the 100°F tonight? [os]

checkmate, soulmate [sug. | os]

cheka's first christmas [g. | os]

chocolate kisses [os]

demon!leona x demon hunter!reader [os]

don't make me laugh [sh.]

epel's 'big bro' leona [sh.]

follow my heartbeat [os]

forget me not, pinky swear? [os]

i'll be your spring [os]

incoming call: leona kingscholar [hc]

leona in love? maybe [os]

leona's present [os]

leona the lemon [os]

not dreamin' [os]

ramshackle's new visitor [a. | os]

received radio confession [sug. | os]

slices of leona's life [hc] [vol. 2]

playing the pocky game with him [hc]

the birthday lion [sug. | os]

the fairy gala feels [os] [part 2]

the pocky prince [hc]

the uncle unicorn fairy [os]

trivia headcanons [g. | hc] [part 2]

wedding headcanons [hc]

ʀᴜɢɢɪᴇ ʙᴜᴄᴄʜɪ

street kid!ruggie x ???!reader [os | a.]

when you crush on a game character

ᴊᴀᴄᴋ ʜᴏᴡʟ

werewolf!jack x childhood friend!reader [os | horror]

when he accidentally kabe-dons you [hc]

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reset, rewind, repeat

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I'm still working on this one, I'll fix the rest of the painting 😆

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Burial Mounds

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Ezkayn brainworms

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uh racing au??

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thinking ab the way wriothesley would cry so hard the first time you hug him ... he has never felt comfort in his life and i stand by that 😿

Wait;;; :((( oh wait ur right :((( [also side note i feel like this takes place a little bit after he became the administrator, before he got his title. Hence why he's not as blase about the shit he's gone thru in the same way that he is in his story quest. ]

"Can I give you a hug?" You ask him out of the blue, and Wriothesley stills at his desk.

He's not sure what's brought this on— hell, you're not even sure what's brought this on, but you figure there's no harm asking.

"I—" The word gets caught in his throat, and his brows furrow in contemplation. One of his hands goes to scratch at the back of his neck, and against all odds, he actually looks a little nervous. "I cen't recall the last time I had a hug. Probably was—"

Probably was when he was still with his foster parents.

The unspoken thought hangs between the both of you, dampening the mood slightly as you realize that all those memories of warm hugs have long since soured for him. Wriothesley quickly clears his throat.

'But if you're offering... well, I don't see why not."

Delighted, you instruct him to stand, and quickly make your way in front of him. You're a little nervous now too, all too aware of how messed up his foster parents were. Aware of how messed up his young adult years were, growing up in an environment where he had to fight for his survival. All you could offer him right now was a hug, but at the very least you hope that he could hold onto it as a good memory.

"Go right ahead, Sweetheart," Wriothesley says, opening his arms wide.

You waste no time in wrapping him up in your embrace— your arms snake around his torso, crushing your chests together. This close, you can feel the quick beat of his heart, warm and rapid and alive in his chest. Your hands go to his back, one of them rubbing soothing circles into the planes there, while the other gently guides his head to rest on your shoulder. Thankfully, he poses practically no resistance to you, letting you guide his body around you with ease.

His arms wrap around you in turn. Tentatively, as if he's scared of shattering you in his hold. Or perhaps he fears the reverse.

Wriothesley's hands settle on your waist, keeping you snug against him. With each circle you rub on his back, each gentle scratch you give to his scalp, his grip tightens bit by bit.

You pour out every single ounce of love you can into the hug. Every warm thought you have of this scarred man in your arms, every adoring thing you can think about to comfort him. You hold him close in a hug that is neither too loose but is not chokin. A hug that is just enough, as if you mean to mend together those invisible wounds that he still carries.

The hug goes on longer than socially acceptable, but neither of you find it in you to care. Wriothesley is practically boneless in your hold, leaning a large portion of his weight against you. He's quietly hugging you back, face buried in your shoulder, trembling just the slightest bit with every comforting scratch or pat or circle you draw on his skin. Wriothesley does not shake, he does not fall. He doesn't let a single noise escape him, save for a single shuddering breath that you feel from his chest.

You let him bury himself in your hold for as long as he wants and as long as he needs. You'll embrace him for as long as he needs, to make up for all the lonely years he's spent without a single hug.

And if you feel a dampness on the shoulder of your shirt, then you promise you won't tell anyone.

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