The reader is one of the many monarchs that sung jinwoo intends to kill during the period of 27 years. At first the reader regarded sung jinwoo the same way the other monarchs did until having to fight him. That ends with the reader almost dying brutally before using their deceptive abilities (I can’t think of any abilities besides Neos semblance from the RWBY series but stronger in terms of being able to affect the environment on a wide scale as well. The illusions don’t fade when touched.) to escape by using a fake corpse. The reader decides to wisely avoid jinwoo and stay under the radar which works most of the time. Though eventually the reader has to face off against him due to the other monarchs being dissatisfied with them running away every time jinwoo shows up. Hence the reader almost dying brutally again before escaping using their abilities and avoiding him again. It turns into a cycle of almost dying repeatedly (escaping differently each time) and avoiding.
Jinwoo notices and confronts reader about it on one of their fights but the reader says nothing and simply attacks. Eventually reader does start speaking to him during their fights and they get closer as time moves on but reader thinks their feelings are one sided due to jinwoo not holding back in their fights and still on the brink of death each time after their fights. Jinwoo doesn’t want the other monarchs to become suspicious so keeps almost killing them. It’s not until the 27th year that it becomes obvious to the monarchs still left that while jinwoo does fight the reader he intentionally avoids being in the same place as them to not bump into them and be forced to fight them. The monarchs decide to hatch a plan using the reader as bait to finally kill him. They fail and the reader thinks jinwoo will finally kill them but is instead surprised by how gentle he is with them. The reader has spent 27 years under his cold stare and anger. To be treated like an enemy meant to be killed. It will take a while for the reader to feel comfortable with him and not walk eggshells around him in fear of retaliation. Jinwoo will be there every step of the way to convince them otherwise.
I like to imagine the reader wearing black knight armor with only their glowing eyes peaking through their helmet along with carrying a sword on their waist. The reader also being proficient in daggers that they summon. They don’t speak to their enemies.
Cha Hae-In could also be an obstacle and struggle to jinwoo and the reader that they have to go through. 27 years should be taken into consideration of their feelings versus Hae-In.
I really like the idea of the reader being on the receiving end of his ire and brutality to suddenly being the one under his affection and protection.
To Grow from Pain — Jinwoo x Monarch!Reader
tags: fluff but mentions of death / dying and reader very absorbed in their thoughts
A/N: oh gosh this took me forever blehhhh I had to fight between writing a full fic for this or just cut stuff out so I chose the ladder . I’m not fully satisfied but I did try branching out a bit with our dear reader character so hopefully it works … sorry it took so long (not proof read)!
p.s: this is broken into first encounter (first part) to after multiple encounters (second part—this is after the break in the page)!
The echo of footsteps resounded through your sanctuary. The presence emitted was enough to make the ground shake and cause your hands to slightly tremble. It was obvious who was encroaching into your domain—the man who convinced the Harbingers of Light to turn back the clock. You remembered him and his power—it was not something easily forgotten. The way he waved a hand and spawned thousands of warriors in a blink of an eye to overwhelm his foes was notorious among the Monarchs. Each council meeting held promises of vanquishing the Monarch of Shadows—the traitor who went against his fellow Monarchs—yet those who ensured victory were the ones befallen instead.
As his footsteps crept closer, you thought of the others. Perhaps you would join them in the abyss—the purgatory they endured after death. Would it be brutal? Would you too be overwhelmed? There was a chance, but there was also a non-zero chance that you could persevere. In a few moments, you would know whether fleeing was the correct option or not.
You drew in a breath. Your mind flickered back through your history, the eons of slaughter you faced and the countless beings you had slain to sprinkle your story with glory. You are a Monarch, a being that symbolized—no, IS true power. Your story, your name would continue to be shouted through the heavens because you would not be so easily defeated by a mere human who had a lucky draw.
You blinked once, then twice. The trespasser’s steps were booming loudly against the hard rock floor. From within the confines of your helmet you watched his coat tail sway with each passing step, however now there was not only one pair of stepping. From behind, a dark fog was lifting—beyond that veil you saw numerous entities rising. Each entity was a beast you had previously encountered and slain, yet there were thousands. The steps had multiplied now—it was like a kingdom’s military invading a lone village.
Their white eyes glared at you, blanketing the exit entirely. Among them, you saw a few you immediately recognized as high-ranking soldiers. A majority might be fodder to deal with, but there were some beings that rivaled the weaker Monarchs themselves.
The stepping stopped. You calmly watched the Monarch of Shadows reach for his two daggers, torn from a mighty dragon breed that you saw resided in his army. Your armor quietly whistled as you moved your hand to the sword that hung at your side, gloved hands curling around the hilt.
“Your friends sold you out.” He started, mindlessly twirling one of the daggers in his hand.
“I’ll do you a favor. Tell me where the other Monarchs are, and I’ll let you go in exchange.”
You silently stared at his face. His expression was carefully kept blank, yet his eyes betrayed everything. His gray eyes were swelling with a deep purple, yet despite how vivid they looked, they were icy to the core.
In the first place, his terms were not equal. He would get information, then just kill you. It was for his own convenience that he attempted to negotiate, because out of all the Monarchs he had encountered, not a single one survived.
That did not matter, however. This was a battlefield, not a place for entertainment.
You drew your sword, the harsh metal grating against the sheath as it was fully drawn out. You assumed a stance, just as you always have for every single battle you’ve done.
This one would be no different.
The Shadow Monarch’s eyebrows slightly raised before shifting his daggers into his own stance. His glare was even more piercing than before, as if he was slowly unleashing the years of anger that continuously plagued his heart.
“Let’s fight, then,” He said, flicking his hand forward.
The shadow army surged immediately, thousands of entities flowing from the black mist. As soon as they tumbled out, you raised your sword. You fended off waves and waves of monstrosities, but no matter how many you defeated, more spawned in its place.
It did not take you long to realize that in this battle your greatest enemy would be yourself—the limit to which you could endure would be decided by how long you could hold. It would be a simple victory for the Monarch of Shadows but an utter disgrace to your own story. You were both Monarchs, yet the Shadow Monarch could easily win in such a way?
Stupid fool. You weren’t as dull as the others.
With more ferocity, you pumped force into your swings, cleaving through whole waves of beasts. You were rushing into the fray rather than out because you intended to destroy the mastermind behind it all. Your slices picked up more momentum each swing, the sounds of air being cut bouncing off the walls. The waves didn’t seem to end, and neither did your cuts—the huffs emitting from underneath your armor, however, were growing into heavy wheezes.
Beyond the army’s dark veil, a voice spoke up.
“It would be easier if you gave up.”
He was taunting you. The menace who brought tragedy to your peers—the one who ravaged them until not even their names were left—was so disinterested that he was taunting you.
Still a stupid fool. Even if you were to fall here, perhaps you could get a stab in.
Time went on, and the waves continued to seep your energy. Pieces of shadow flitted underneath your feet, but your strength carried you to the point where the other Monarch’s glare was viewable. After the waves ended, would he fight you himself? Almost as if in response to your thoughts, your chest tightened as you gulped in more air. It would be hard to continue, even harder to duel.
From the corner of your eye, you watched as he raised his arm. The dagger gleamed as it tilted upward, arm slowly pulling back. Insurmountable dread piled within you once your mind shuffled through each scenario—bridges burning and puzzle pieces scattering upon recognizing his first attack would also be his final.
Even from the peripherals, your eyes carefully registered each movement—a futile attempt to delay something that you knew was inevitable. It was unlike you, the way your breathing started to become staggered. You felt your sword slightly slip—a shadow passing you and marking your armor.
Then there was another slip, and another—the dents became deeper and now you were gasping for air. A ringing reverberated across your ears, almost as if imitating the bell tolls heard amongst the heavens. Your mind, for the first time since your birth, was empty. And, so too shall your armor follow.
Perhaps your brief spiral was what you needed, as a sudden shock flashed through your body, akin to when you drenched yourself in the dreadful and cold waters of this world.
Finally, the Monarch of Shadow’s blade briefly disappeared, and all went black.
The sound of water gently brushing against the ground stirred your eyes awake. Your eyes shifted to the blackened rod protruding from the ground, and to the fabrics wrapped around it. You tightened the knots between the different fabrics before leaning back against the rod, light pillows fixed between you.
You slowly turned your head, eyeing each individual piece that laid within the blanket sprawled out just a few feet in front of you. There was some food, more blankets, clothes… and your sword.
The gap between the invasion of your now-destroyed domain and your supposed ‘deaths’ was… admittedly long. Much to your despair, you had been overwhelmed by the power of the Shadow Monarch, to the point where he barely needed to move even a finger to defeat you. It was at what you believed to be your final breath that you recalled a crucial piece of information: your sword. That is, the power of your sword did not merely mount to slicing and cleaving above the average weapon, but that it held the power of teleportation. It was severely limited, since it uses a large portion of energy from its carrier and has a ‘cooldown’, but you were willing to risk a shallow living over sure death.
Each day passed painstakingly slow, enough so that you eventually stopped counting—there was no need, however, as the glow emitting from your sword was enough. It was like a timer, and you used that to track the passage of time. That, and how many times you continuously slipped his grasp. His voice was starting to become ingrained into your mind, to the point where your closed eyes flashed images of his hollow stare and gritted teeth…
You shook your head. No, now that you pondered it closely, the growling wolf’s features seemed to be… softening? You hadn’t really noticed, but he wasn’t even scowling as deeply as the first time. At the last encounter, it felt less like you were being overwhelmed with fighting, but more overwhelmed by how his stare cut into your form in a way that felt less violent. Perhaps you were imagining it, but his soldiers’ movements felt slower and swings less forceful. Suffice to say, you were perturbed—why did humans have to act so complex? They made nonsensical decisions and had illogical thinking—something you would never be able to understand as a non-human. They were stupid—foolish, even. So why did you feel a weight within your chest?
Regardless, he would find you again, of course, because he seemed like the type to not let any slight besmirch his name—nor wanted unresolved conflict. At this point, you were simply biding the small amount of time you had until the inevitable battle. And maybe your inevitable death.
Your head tilted up slightly at the sound of soft taps behind you. Speak of the devil.
“You must really enjoy this cat and mouse game,” His voice drawled from behind you. Your hands shook with the urge to grab your sword, but your insides had knotted themselves enough that even your muscle memory went unresponsive.
Predictably, his leg reached out to kick the sword away from your reach. You watched with wide eyes as its metallic end clattered harshly against the ground, finally recognizing how much your body was shaking. Was this… fear?
You must ignore his prickling eyes, lest you fall apart and lose what little reputation you despairingly clung to—the only part of yourself that seemed recognizable.
Suddenly, you felt a large fabric envelop your back.
“You’re shaking too much,” The man huffed. You tore yourself away from the sight of your downed blade to a pair of bright blue eyes.
You must’ve been staring too much—too busy wondering why he hadn’t killed you yet—that he spoke up again.
“I’m not here looking for a fight, if that’s what you’re wondering,” He said assuredly, raising his hands in a form of placation. “In fact, I wanted to see if you were interested in talking with me.”
Your eyebrow twitched. Certainly, this was not the fearsome Monarch of Shadows—perhaps some idiot creature attempted to clone him to lower your guard. Or maybe, he was real, but doing this to lure you into a false sense of security to land the decisive strike once and for all.
You suddenly stiffened—did it matter his reason? Why were you contemplating such useless thinking again? No matter what you mulled over, it didn’t matter—you lost your sword, and thus should have lost your will to live.
…Should have, yet, why does your body still ache to live?
You turned your head forward, observing the crashing of waves against the shore once more. Your silent admission prompted him to lower himself beside you, sitting within close proximity yet you found yourself shaking less than you were before.
“The water… do you like it?” The Monarch asked. There was no anger sealed within his words, no hate—just a lulling murmur, like a cat purring under a gentle hand.
The unexpected calmness in his voice prompted a slow shake from you. How were you to ‘like’ something if you were a being that couldn’t truly experience a feeling?
From the corner of your eye, you watched the corners of the other Monarch’s mouth tilt up a bit. Perhaps that upset him.
“I find it odd to look at something that you don’t like.” His voice was lighter now, emitting barely audible wheezes that made you more confused.
You turned again towards him to find his eyes slightly crinkled and still holding that immature tenderness that you were sure other Monarchs would call weakness. The sight was baffling for you—to think the sort of power that would rewrite the world would be given to an emotional human. His comments seemed pointless, in fact, but you surprisingly didn’t mind.
You hesitated, mouthing to yourself your thoughts before saying, “Monarch of Shadows—“—His eyes widened to a point it nearly made you pause but you continued—“—What is your purpose for coming here?”
The twinkling of his eyes and more noticeable curvature in his mouth made something twist inside you. You wished the questions churning inside your head would stop, particularly the one asking why you continued entertaining him. Maybe it was because you found yourself looking at the face of an average man; one not burdened by countless graves and shadows of creatures he’s slaughtered.
Ever so slowly, you watched as he raised one hand towards your own. Your breath hitched as he gently brushed his hand across the top of yours, like he was testing something. You narrowed your eyes at the contact, but made no move to push him away.
The Monarch of Shadows let out something akin to a chortle. He then pulled away, and so too did the warmth leave with him—your other hand raised to touch the downward curve your mouth made. What was this?
“All the other Monarchs only know the meaning of power and battle.” He began after a pause. “If they lose, they die, while winning brings bounties.
“Yet, while your own noose was within my grasp, you still struggled.”
His gaze fell on the water bed that you looked upon each morning, as if trapped under a daze.
“Despite your world being filled with only conflict, you still developed the means of curiosity and will,” He whispered, and the building trepidation that was stirring began to grow lighter. His words… held a deeper meaning, likely. Why else, then, would he sound as if he were so far away?
The questions within you were brimming, now—to a degree that made your muscles ache and legs shake that nearly became unbearable. You gritted your teeth.
“That gaze of yours… why did it change?” You asked hesitantly. Maybe this question would be able to quell the tension within you—to smooth the creases and provide you a fragment of ‘tranquility’ that the other Monarchs talked so highly of.
“You remind me of myself.” He admitted, shining blue eyes raking in your form. “In a sense, your divergence is similar to mine. Perhaps I can teach you more about our world and alleviate some of your hostility.”
“An… offer?” You noted incredulously, feeling the fangs of your training—to not give in—seep within you.
“A trade.” The Monarch gently corrected. “That is, I would like to learn more about you.”
Preposterous, you nearly spat. This was the same man who killed others of your kind—and nearly did the same to you. You knew this, yet still felt tempted by the bait he swung in front of you. It was cruel—you knew this much because you had been the same to others in the past.
As if sensing your discomfort, he spoke up one again.
“We don’t need to start immediately, or we can start off on something small.” He suddenly held up the palm of his hand, other hand gesturing towards it.
“We can start with learning trust.” He said, voice filled with a jovial lilt that went nearly unnoticed. “My name is Sung Jinwoo.”
His words sounded… odd. Strange. No one you encountered ever knew what ‘happiness’ meant, nor ‘trust.’ You were hanging by a thread just to not succumb to a state of darkness, yet you continued to cling. Above all, however, you felt at ease. Maybe it was the way that his black hair fluttered gently amongst the wind, how his cheeks steadily became flushed at his proposal, or how earnestly his blue eyes regarded your form (no longer the piercing cold pair you were used to).
Jinwoo talked of trust, but he was also showing you acceptance. Humans truly were complicated creatures.
Your hand clasped his, and now you found yourself in a more unfortunate predicament: how noisy your chest became at his crinkled eyes and wide grin.
ooooo you do yandere guilty gear stuff? Could you please make some headcanons for Ky? Thank you in advance!
Divine Love — Yan!Ky Kiske HC x Reader
A/N: finally had time to finish this—thanks for the request! been looking for an excuse to do yandere strive hehe. since there’s no general prompt I decided to wing my own idea—there was a lot on my mind so it stems away from HC into a mini-fic…oops? Anyway, hope you like it! feedback always appreciated. maybe sol or asuka next?
WC: 3.2k
- A prodigal swordsman in his youth, Ky Kiske was a polished gem that rose amongst the ranks in the Sacred Order of Holy Knights. His commitment to fighting alongside humanity to end the Crusades awarded him honor and nobility—he was a man who was recognized as a hero, a powerhouse that rivaled the Guilty Gear himself.
- Yet, no matter how much recognition he was given, that would never take away the burning images of horrifying expressions, unmoving bodies, and blood-soaked hands.
- The end of the Crusades was welcomed with open arms by humanity, and Ky Kiske could not help but consider society’s naivety. Their ‘peace’ was forged from mountains of corpses littering destroyed land, with some unable to be recovered. It was not only war that forged him, but war that shaped humanity, too.
- The joy, the celebrations that placed people like Ky at the frontier made him sick. As his name rung throughout the land of Illyria—thousands chanting his name to the heavens—Ky merely stared emptily.
- Then, the day he was crowned king, standing amongst his peers, he felt the knot around his heart trembling violently, as if the strings were snapping one by one.
- You are crowning a killer. You are crowning a killer that reaped more lives than could be remembered.
- The people Ky Kiske fought so hard to protect, the ones who he wanted to save so that they would never face a sorry fate that matched his mother’s, then threatened the life of him and his son.
- Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. Perhaps Ariels was right.
- It was on a whim that Ky, wrapped in ragged clothes and cloak, visited a small town in Illyria.
- His kingly life that adorned him with beautiful white coats and an egregious amount of riches came at a price of remembering civilization’s transgressions as well as his own. One day, those same nice white suits would be dyed red as he slayed more beings over and over and over and over—
- If the next war brewing came to fruition, would he remain the same?
- Where did he stand?
“Your suffering is not in vain—we hear you.”
Your words were soft-spoken as you handed a familiar woman a piece of bread and a bottle of water. She bowed as she took the food, tears welling her eyes.
“Bless you, bless you,” She repeated, hands clasped around yours.
“May all that is holy be with you in these trying times.”
The battles with Ariels was a reminder about war and its consequences. The fragments scattered just along the borders of Illyria suffered the most—which is where you exactly resided.
The capital is too engrossed in its affairs that happens within its imaginary wall that they never noticed how you and your people have suffered. To get help from them could take months, or years—that is why the Church acts in their stead instead.
And in their stead they shall, for they have already taken initiative in providing donations to the public in need.
Picking up another piece of bread, your eyes stray away from the others to a hooded figure standing a few feet away. As if they sensed you, cold, blue eyes match your gaze and you cannot help but shake slightly. They had been watching for awhile from a distance, yet they never moved towards the Church at all. It is with honest conviction that you stride forward with hands fully spread out to help those in need.
The blue eyes shake slightly, as if almost baffled by the action. They do not shift their gaze, and do not make a move for the bread.
You smile gently. “If you are in need of something, perhaps start with this?”
The person’s lips twitch and you can make out their nose scrunched from a little beyond the darkness veiling them. There was one beat, then two, before a voice finally graced your ears.
“I would like to ask a question.” The voice spoke, sounding gravely tired but of a sophisticated timbre that flowed through your ears like water.
You nodded encouragingly, hoping you successfully masked your surprise at the stranger’s sudden inquiry and manner of speech. Were you imagining the man’s formalities?
That didn’t matter, regardless.
“What value is there to life and certainty?”
You blinked, pondering for a few moments. A heavy question, indeed, but one that you were familiar with. After all, it had been contemplated so often that the answer came almost as second-nature to you.
“Life is an embodiment of various beings and things, encompassing the Divine One’s innovation and creativity. Life is infinite and therefore its value is inherently infinite as well.”
His eyes were fully entrenched onto yours, the beautiful blues reminding you of the vivid sky above the two of you.
“As for certainty… that is a question that will always be asked by us humans. Can I or can I not, or should I or should I not? Certainty can only be answered by beings whose beliefs are as rooted as the oldest trees that remain on earth.” You said, fingers gently curling and uncurling around the bread.
The man stared some more. You wished you could see his expression, to truly know the thoughts that plagued his mind and to reassure him of his doubts. He seemed troubled, so troubled, that your heart was aching.
“Beliefs… how does one root them?”
‘I’m lost and cannot find my way.’ Words, after all, never had one intended meaning.
“I cannot say whether there is an objective right way or not,” You said, eyes crinkling apologetically.
“But, do know this: salvation is paved by hope.”
“Hope?” The man repeated, wind swaying the hood of his cloak slightly to reveal beautiful blond hair.
You smiled knowingly, having once echoed that very same word. “Nothing can be done without hope.”
- it was after this encounter, perhaps, that sealed your fate.
- The hooded man quickly became acquainted with the Church where you resided, your eyes sweeping the room where it always eventually met the familiar torn material. For every prayer, recitation, and baptism he was in attendance and was seemingly engrossed in each activity.
- When you were in attendance, he would be present—whether you noticed or not.
That crawling feeling was back again. The one that made your spine tingle and welcomed a burst of cold wind that completely tempered your body’s homeostasis. It was after the Church’s weekly activity that you traced your uneasiness back to piercing bright ocean blues.
Your discomfort lingered as you made eye contact, yet you shrugged it off to be the nervousness from numerous gazes that buzzed around you. It ended up being a motivator to excuse yourself from the circle you were in to make strides towards the man that sat on one of the bench’s near the corner.
“Greetings,” You bowed, a small smile elevating your face at the man’s head perking up.
“Ah,” The man’s cloak shook, and your eyes noticed the gloved hands curling around the Rosary Beads.
“I am happy to see you becoming well-acquainted with us.” You nodded towards the Beads. “Has the difficulty of your journey towards belief alleviated at all?”
The man—regaining composure, you assumed, as he rubbed his thumb across one of the beads—hummed.
“It is clearer, but akin to observing a picture with an unfocused lens.” His voice was more lively than the last time—purposeful.
“If possible, I would like to learn more about faith.”
‘He is eager,’ you thought happily.
“Faith is one belief that concerns itself with following that of divine authority, such as the Divine One.” Your hand gestured towards the statue placed in the middle of the Church.
“It is a pledge to that which is holy to abide by One’s teachings. In having faith, one establishes trust with that which is greater.”
“Faith, then, is loyalty?” The man surmised.
“Correct. Loyalty is how we connect with divinity.”
The end of your teaching was followed by a few pastors requesting your presence. You quickly waved goodbye to the lonesome man, ignoring the sudden tenseness that swelled past your shoulders.
“Loyalty in following…” The man murmured, uncaringly burning his gaze into your backside.
Yes, the way your hair gently swayed as the wind blew and your sparkling smiles that enchanted his dark soul instilled a powerful sense that made his entire body tremble.
His legs shook and he willed himself not to bend his knees there and then as he greedily watched your rescinding silhouette.
- You received an invitation to visit the capital of Illyria on behalf of the Church at the request of an unspecified royal.
- The capital was big, beautiful, and bold—its inhabitants were nothing less than that.
- You, accompanied by a fellow male pastor, watched in awe from the carriage as you passed by various structures and villas.
- There would be initial greetings, then a grand party hosted by the Kings to celebrate another year of peace to the kingdom.
- Exiting the carriage and entering the palace was a different experience entirely—one that you could not fully describe
- As you continued to be enlightened, you eventually stumbled upon a blond man with bright blue eyes
Ah, wait, didn’t he look—
Catching your fellow company bowing from the corner of your eye, you quickly snapped your head down.
“My humble greetings to one of the Suns of Illyria,” Your companion—Peter—said, recovering swiftly.
There was a long, dreadful pause—an excruciating tremor passing through you at what you thought was the heat of the room. Your partner tapped your foot at the king’s silence.
“My humble greetings—and apologies—to one of the Suns of Illyria.” You were silently praying the noble in front of you did not pay attention to your lapse in formality.
“It is so wonderful to see you.” The king’s response came so quickly at the end of your words you couldn’t help but peek from underneath your eyelashes.
To say that Ky Kiske was simply a ‘Sun of Illyria’ was an understatement. The illumination of the room you were standing in was not of the photons transcending beyond the glass panels but of King Kiske’s exuberant smile. His golden hair reminded you of the daisies and sunflowers that lined the gates of Illyria and his blue eyes reflected the sky itself. The king’s posture, so upright and composed, rivaled that of the still lakes which oversee a multitude of beings underneath its tranquil waters.
Still, his smile did little to cease the burning stare into your body. And did little to quell your agitation.
King Kiske tilted his head. “What have you been up to since arriving?”
“Just—touring,” You meekly replied. A flash of pain pouring out of your head made you avert your gaze away from eyes seemingly tracking your every movement.
The king’s actions made you feel nervous, yet nervous over what? You silently prayed for strength, something that used to come easily to you under the roof your home’s Church.
“The agriculture and architect of Illyria is astounding.” Peter added, posturing in front of you to block his gaze.
The downturn of the king’s smile into a still-expression was immediate. It was almost as if he was just now registering the extra body beside you.
“I don’t recall asking for your input.” King Kiske’s voice was teetering beyond his collected tone, just enough for you to catch Peter flinch in front of you.
The king ran a quick hand through his hair, an expression you couldn’t quite catch now masked under an eerie coolness. Warning chimes rung through your mind as you gripped Peter’s hand tightly.
“Forgive us for the indecency but we must get going.” You said, already stringing along your companion. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Let us cross paths again soon.” You did not bother to look back, fearing you might get even more sickly over that saccharine smile.
Once out of sight, you let out a shaky breath you did not even know you were holding.
- You both traveled around for a while before the party, killing time and distracting yourselves from admitting that conversation ever happened in the first place.
- There was a sinking feeling, one that started from the surface but was melting all the way down to your gut.
- It was a feeling you strongly despised, one that you did not experience even as individuals reprimanded you for not giving enough food or losing your loved ones to Gears.
- When it came time for the party, it was nearly ten times more grand than you could have expected it to be
- The vitality encompassing the gala simmered your experience earlier but did not quite eliminate it.
- At Peter’s request, you both separated—wandering the room so that you may see everything.
- You were distracted, to the point where you did not notice the blond male slowly trailing behind you, even with the crowd he carried with him.
- When it came time to reunite with Peter, you spent quite the amount of time looking for him
- He, too, was looking around, yet he was nowhere to be seen.
- With the crowds seeming ever larger and your breaths drawing shorter, you stepped out into the palace’s garden.
The flowers, illuminated under the translucent moon’s gaze, looked even more invigorated than they were under the sun.
…The sun. The mere thought of it made you feel perturbed. It was like an itch you couldn’t scratch, a lingering feeling that drifted far out of your reach. An irremediable state of mind.
On nights where you felt the most… unlike yourself, you snuck back into the church. A small sin, perhaps, but praying under the statue was all you could do to relieve your conscious. Others felt the same, too, as you united from time to time with fellow pastors—a shared faith between you all.
Under the crescent moon in Illyria’s palace garden, there was no statue to turn to. But, when you find Peter then you cou—
A sharp shriek filled the air, startling you off a fountain’s marble perch you were previously sitting on. As the screams echoed, their tone was tinged with a familiarity that you used to find complacency in.
Within seconds you were running, towards thick bushes in the center of the garden that resembled border walls. Navigating through various greenery kept your mind occupied as you continuously prayed the shrieking was of your imagination.
The next shrill cry sounded fainter, and this time you knew it was real.
Reaching the center, your heart sunk at familiar white robes tinged with a dark, crimson substance. The man on the floor was trying desperately to breathe, clutching his neck as more crimson drew out. Your gasp of air as you sucked in a heavy breath felt like an insult as his eyes met yours.
“Peter!” You cried out, hand reaching for him.
Desperately, his hand reached for yours, shaking wildly as his fingers sprawled out. Although fear and panic painted his features, a small sliver of relief reflected in his irises.
A small shuffle of movement from beyond the shadows made you realize you two were not fully alone, the cries welling in your throat propagating a moment too late as a sword plunged straight through Peter’s chest.
The Thunderseal, one of the eight Sacred Treasures that burned away Gears in droves on the battlefield, had splatters of blood between its white and blues. The faint sparks that emitted around the blade as it slowly pulled out of the sunken man’s chest was subservient in the elimination of its foes. In truth, the one wielding the Thunderseal is the epitome of the ‘storm’ itself—the on bringer of destruction and endless ferocity.
Encased in cloudy blue orbs was an eerie coolness; a stillness that acted as a facade for the raging tide that plagued his mind. No longer was a ‘human’ in front of you, but perhaps the true form of the man who performed the role of a king.
“With this blade I have torn lives apart; too many, in fact, that each name and face are fleeting memories unveiled only when I dream,” Ky Kiske said, gloved hand raising the Thunderseal.
Its brilliance danced under the light yet looked dimmer around the parts covered by crimson. You wanted to look away, to pretend its history was not there, but that would never take away the tragedy it brought.
“I had a purpose for fighting but it withered to the point it was unrecognizable.”
For a moment, Ky stared at his hand, gaze longing for something he could not quite grasp.
You took a step back. There was something very, very wrong with your interaction back then and you wished you left. Not only for your sake, but for Peter. The regret and fear pooling your stomach made you want to vomit but perhaps there was a chance you could still escape this. With enough faith—
Ky smiled. “I like the look in your eyes.”
“Yes, it was you who gave me meaning.” He continued, legs slightly bending.
“It wasn’t Kliff, who gave me the Thunderseal, or Sol, who I’ve fight alongside all these years… but you.
“You gave me hope.”
Your eyes widened. “No—you?”
It made a lot more sense now, the small familiarities that were piling up. The similarities the two shared… it was all connected to the same person. But, back then, he was timid; someone who exuded strength but no reason to wield it. He changed so quickly that he…?
“This is absurd! After everything I’ve taught you, this was your answer?” You cried, finger pointing at him.
“Committing murder—that’s the biggest sin of all!”
“He got too close to you,” Ky snarled, “He turned from a nuisance to a parasite so I got rid of him. The mere idea of him being so close to you…”
He drew a shaky breath, running a hand through his slightly ragged hair. Ky resumed his kneeling position a few feet in front of you, and despite being farther, you felt like he would chase you with as much ease as walking.
“The day I met you, I pledged myself to you. You are the presence I have been looking for all this time, the taste of holiness that will cleanse me of not evil, but emptiness.”
“My Goddess,” He whispered.
Ky smiled—the genuine kind—a type of smile he thought he could no longer do.
His sword plunged into the ground, the sharp scraping and clattering stronger than when he pierced Peter’s chest.
“All I ask is to be your only knight and loyal follower.”
Ky raised his head and you could see the faint blush tinging his cheeks and turbulence swirling within his eyes.
“You’re too far gone…” You murmured quietly, heart held against your chest in an attempt to still its frantic beating.
“I could never agree to something like this, especially with words bespoken from that of such a monstrosity such as you.”
His entire body flinched and he was standing upright within a flash.
“Is there more competition? Is that it?” Ky asked, ocean blue eyes widened. There was a slight quiver in his voice and visible shaking surrounding his body, as if a loved one passed away.
Ky gripped his scabbard after a minute and the trembling vanished.
“…That is reasonable. I must prove my worth to Her Holiness.”
He flung the blood still encased around his blade, clots of red scattering on the ground.
HOLY SHIT... YANDERE KY KISKE IS SOMETHING WE DIDN'T DESERVE, BUT WERE GRACEFULLY GIFTED 🙏🙏🙏
yes!!!! I feel like playing into ky’s religious/faithful/loyal aspect by turning it up a notch can make him quite scary considering the type of man he is. he is as stubborn as sol, except he’s formal and does things with restraint. I tried to play more into his lack of confidence about leading and a ‘what-if his will was not as strong?’ (thanks roar of the spark for that idea)—instead of finding strength through the whole, he finds it in just one part, and will do anything to maintain it.
I’d like to do Yandere sol and asuka next because Ive been sitting on some pretty cool ideas for those two, but likely in a longer fic format after my finals. soooooo, stay tuned?
I’m back at uni and waaaowww lots of req… gonna temporarily close requests for a lil til I sort some of these out. if you requested something—thanks! but do keep in mind non-specific requests will take me longer as I need to sift my barren brain for ideas . If u think of something to add to ur requests, feel free to add on ! but otherwise, my asks will remain open for everything else not regarding req
probably drabbles I’ll try to draft, then?
anyway my list goes:
- jinwoo (2)
- Zato / sol (ggst)
- chipp zanuff (ggst)
- Johnny (ggst)
- slayer (ggst)
might do these out of order for funsies ! stay tuned
