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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Taehyung had just completed his routine stretching, feeling the satisfying burn in his muscles as he prepared to wind down. His muscles were pleasantly fatigued, a testament to his dedication to physical well-being. As he caught his breath, there was a sound. A soft, almost timid knock resounded, causing him to startle. However, he swiftly dismissed any apprehension and approached the door, intrigued by the visitor on the other side. He peeks through a tiny gap between the door and its frame. His eyes immediately focused on the figure outside; he was pleasantly surprised to see that (y/n) was standing there, waiting. There she stood, the gentle light casting a warm glow upon her features, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on her lip. Wasting no time, he flung the door open. A soft creak of hinges accompanied the action. (y/n) slipped in, and the door was promptly shut and locked behind.
He smiled, not needing to say anything. Acting on instinct, Taehyung reached for two practice swords that adorned the wall, his movements fluid. With a swift motion, he tossed one of the swords in her direction, and she effortlessly caught it. With the sword secured between her knees, she began on the next task, gathering her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck. The few stray strands that evaded the knot were gently tucked behind her ears, their rosy hue contrasting with the chill in the air. Her actions were meticulous yet carried a sense of ease. She shed her fur coat, revealing her attire beneath. The white robes she wore bore marks of the wet, muddy ground, the pristine fabric stained and transformed into shades of brown by the earth that clung to them. Next, she removed her knife and sword from its harness, replacing them with the wooden stick so it sat comfortably on her hip. Watching her go through the motions was rather methodical, stretching her limbs until she felt ready to begin.
(y/n) looked up, the moon hung low, casting an eerie glow upon the duelling ground. The two figures stood silhouetted against the spectral light; their breaths were visible in the cold night air. Their eyes locked again, each combatant assessing the other's resolve, searching for the slightest chink in their adversary's armour. The night had stilled. The only sound was the soft rustling of leaves stirred by the wind and the distant hooting of an owl.
The two-night blades bowed and took the position. (Y/n) stood with her back straight, chin parallel to the ground, her hand hovering on the hilt of the sword, her legs shoulder apart, sturdy but ready to move at a second's notice. Taehyung did the opposite; he was crouched low in a deep lunge. One hand rested lightly on the floor, offering him support and stability, while the other clutched the hilt of his drawn sword, hidden behind his back. His stance was that of a hunter, coiled and ready to pounce. The seconds ticked by, both keenly aware of the anticipation in the air. It was a contest of tolerance and strategy, a battle of wits as much as physical prowess. They watched each other like predators stalking prey, waiting for the slightest movement, the subtlest shift in balance, the telltale sign that would trigger combat.
And then, with a sudden burst of movement, it came—a blur of movement. Taehyung sped forward, keeping low, his sword swung at (y/n) shins. She slid sideways, avoiding the attack, sending her own downward on his shoulder. The sound of the swords swinging through the air rang out. (Y/n) dove out of the way as Taehyung drove forward again; his movements were wide and circular, covering more ground.
