The night held them in a loving embraced. They were the darkness and all the life it held. Feared and forgotten warriors of old. Not good, not bad, but somewhere in the grey.
BTS X READER | based/ inspired of Ryan Kirks Nightblade trilogy. You DON'T...
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"(y/n)?" Jungkooks voice came out as a soft question. The way he called her name was enough to make (y/n) sicker than she already felt. It was too sweet and caring and made her feel guilty. She didn't deserve Jungkook, not when he had blindly followed her to his death. "What's up?" he asked as he came rushing forward.
His knees bent as he crouched down by the chair, but (y/n) had no plans of letting him see like this, all stressed and frustrated. (y/n) hunch over her papers, folding arms over her head, hid away. Her hair splayed, falling all over the table. Jungkook placed one of his hands on her back, rubbing it in circles. It burned deep into her muscles, and they slowly began to unwind. It was strange how the smallest of touches could do that, especially when (y/n) needed it so much.
This hadn't been what Jungkook expected when he walked into the tent. All he wanted was to talk. To catch up on the two cycles he had missed. Jungkook finally got his favourite back in his grasp and didn't want to let it go. He was ready and willing to build their friendship again from the ground up. But instead, he had come to find the girl shaking, surrounded by papers and tiny soldiers.
He didn't say anything, he didn't want to mess it up and it be the wrong words. (Y/n) seemed delicate right now, and in no way would he dream of being the one to push her over the edge that she barely clung on to. So, Jungkook waited a while, stroking her back with feather-like touches, hoping his presence was helping.
After a few moments, (y/n) looked up, head still on the table. Jungkooks eyes slowly followed the gentle slope of her nose down to her lips, which were dry and cracking. He licked his lips subconsciously. His gaze moved back up to her eyes; they were bloodshot red and straining. However, there were no traces of tears like he had expected. Her movement had caused a few strands of hair to fall; they had caught on her eyelashes. As carefully as he could, he picked them back up, letting them join back to the mass of her hair.
(Y/n) then locked eye with him. He thought he looked tired, but he never voiced it. Instead, (y/n) spoke, "They have nightblades," she said; her voice was hoarse, and her vocal cords were too tight, causing a small shack to how she spoke.
Jungkook did not understand the gravity of this statement; how could he when he knew nothing of the context or the pressure? How was he to know what no one had not told him? He didn't even know if he had signed up to fight or only to be used behind the scenes. It was all very mysterious and confusing, thrown into the war. It was like trying to swim, only he was blindfolded with his hand tied up and had the waves crashing against him. Yet, how (y/n)s face looked peaky and anxious told all he needed to know. This wasn't good, but he would try and fix it.
"So. We're nightblades too; we can handle it," he said in the most soothing voice he could muster. He leaned his arms over the table, rested his head on his palm and waited for his words to sink in. (y/n) stayed silent for a moment.
"I don't know how many or where they are. Namjoon hasn't found any, but I know they're there." (y/n) pushed the papers around her head towards him before reburying her head into her arms.
Hesitantly he took the papers packed with numbers and coordinated written in doctors' handwriting. There were pages and pages of it; it almost made his eyes go a little dizzy.
Namjoon had done all this; it took Jungkook back. He had not been expecting the man who had been so adamantly against helping the war so much work. It was almost enough for jungkook to want to forgive him for the argument. However, he stood where he stood on that matter; he was a grown man who could make his own decisions, not the little boy his friends still saw him as. And much like jungkook had grown up, so had the girl next to him. Yet the way (y/n) was curled up on the chair said otherwise. He wished this wasn't how they saw each other, him in a feud with his brother and (y/n) with the weight of the world falling on her shoulders.
"It's okay if we can sense them well; just have to go look." He said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. His voice was a beckon of optimism.
"What are you on about?" (y/n) said as she peeked out from the crook of her elbow with suspicious eyes.
"Yes, I'd quite like to know too." A new agent spoke up. Jungkook shot up from his crouched position and whipped his head around; he had been so distracted that he evener picked up on the new presence, and by the look on (y/n) face, nor did she.
It was an average-sized man with nothing unique or exceptional about him. he looked like he had lived around forty to fifty cycles, though that had not been easy, it showed in the crows' feet at his eyes.
"Akira!" (y/n) had leapt off her seat. So this was Akira, the Lord he was meant to be helping. It was rather underwhelming. He smiled at (y/n); he looked kind and hopeful.
"Me and (y/n) are going to go over the border to see if they have nightblades." He jumped straight to the point. Akira's eyes widened a little as they met jungkook; once the shock had settled, he smiled again but distanced as he was looking off thinking, giving it a few seconds before reply.
"I'm assuming you are a nightblade much like (y/n), yes?" he spoke slowly as if he was mulling it over as the words left his mouth. Akira was an intelligent man, and he knew now that nightblades were far more common than he ever thought; it was evident in how the boy held himself. That same subtle poise that (y/n) did. "I don't see no reason then if you are willing to take the risk."
If (y/n) had trusted this man, so would the Lord.
To cross the border was a big task, even more so to enter the camp; it would take planning. She didn't have time to do it, but Arkia approved, and Jungkook looked so determined that she didn't have the heart to challenge the idea.
"Okay, we'll go in a week," (y/n) said as she gathered her things.
The two men watched as she rushed about, fumbling with papers, a new urgency behind her erratic movements. She muttered a quick goodbye with her plan to train and fled, leaving behind one Nightblade and one Lord, all stunned and silent.
If they wanted her to sneak across the river, she would do so. It was desperation and exhaustion; she needed to know about the nightblades.
Hello, I hopethis satisfies from lack of posting; I know it's a bit sort, but I know it's been a while, so I just wanted to get something out. Thank you all so much for reading.
