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New Blog!!!

Hello! Iki here, so as you might be aware, my previous blog (@closer-to-jungkook) got shadowbanned and it's been over a month and a half and I have no hope that I will ever recover it. I took a break from Tumblr altogether and now I'm back with a new blog. I will post all my previous fics here, though it may take a little bit of time get settled. Till then I'M BACK MFS!! lol and this will be my new and officially permanent blog. Thank you.

ykw let's just do it

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

i must remind you all that all men do is lie

𝖘𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖘𝖔𝖒 𝖑𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖇𝖞

We’re back! 

Last October, I held a small event to celebrate my birthday and may have promised to bring it back during my blog anniversary this year. It’s a bit late, as the anniversary was supposed to happen early March, but after all the support and love you’ve given me, and your kind help during my troubled time, I decided to still hold this small(er) event to celebrate and show my gratitude. I hope you’ll join me again this time around!

𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖔 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞 my ask/inbox will be open from 03/24 to 03/31 for this mini celebration! please send an emoji according to the following rules and I'll give something to you in return! 💕

➛ 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰:

🖋️ ⇝ send me any character or pairing that I’ve written (you can choose from any fic listed on my masterlist) plus a headcanon or any question you may have about the characters or a song that may have reminded you of them, and then I’ll create a mini visual moodboard with a mini blurb/ficlet to come with it!

➛ 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔰:

📜 ⇝ send me one of YOUR fics (open to all kpop groups and k-artists, send me the title and the links!), and in exchange you’ll receive a mini moodboard and a song recommendation based on the vibes I get from the story or the fic summary! bonus point if you add a short paragraph promoting your story in the ask so my readers can see it too! 

➛ 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔬𝔫𝔢:

📸 ⇝ send me your kpop bias or fave group, your core aesthetic or your favourite song, fave colour, and I’ll make a mini moodboard for you!

📚 ⇝ is there a fic that’s been living rent-free in your head? Share me the title and the link to that story and I will put together a fic rec list!  bonus point if you add a short love letter for the author who wrote the fic or the fic itself so I can give a quick shoutout for them too!

Just like how I ended the previous event, I will close the event with a masterpost of all my creations and a playlist filled with the songs included during the event (both the ones you send me or the ones I pick for you) that we can all enjoy together. Once again, thank you so much for all of your support. I can’t wait to have fun with you guys again this time around. 

xoxo, 𝕯𝖎𝖆

the prettiest.

𝐄𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢 | 𝐂𝐡 𝟏

Pairing: Mercenary!Jungkook x ?? Female!Reader

Summary: When past comes knocking on your door wearing the face of unknown dangers, you can either refuse acknowledging it and be a sitting duck or find out what it was that turned your world upside down all those years ago—that has come back yet again to hunt you—with a stranger promising to keep you safe, by your side. One thing is sure: secrets will unfold. And it would not be anything you could've imagined.

Word Count: 8.4k

Genre: Fantasy au; adventure; action. Fluff; angst; future smut(??)

Rating: 18+ (violence and mature themes)

Warnings: Fighting ig. Not much for this chapter

Published: 9th March 2025

Note: Hello! This chapter is being reposted from my previous blog. I've been really excited to share this fic with y'all and really hope that you like it. Thank you for taking your time and giving it a chance. This fic is my baby.

Glossary and Map: here

Esati Masterlist

They say winter is cruel. Harsh and unforgiving. Anyone unfortunate enough to encounter it at its worst seldom survives it. It only knows how to take, how to steal—the warmth from your blood, the hope in your eyes, the life from your soul. The white snow spread like a blanket over the lands and waters alike: beautiful yet a warning of destruction for all.

All but one. Alastair has found no comfort other than these sharp winds and freezing soils in a long time. He took in a deep breath of peace, something he hadn't had the pleasure of for days—or had it been weeks?

It's been so long since he started his travels. Traveller. He liked calling himself that, much better than introducing himself as someone who's being hunted. 

It's been so long; being on the run didn't grant him a minute of peace, but now he could feel a stillness in his mind. A quiet, which only came from knowing no eyes were following him anymore.

He walked higher up the mountains; the path was rocky and difficult to climb, but he managed even in his current state. It also ensured that had anyone been on his trail, he'd have easily known.

But as much as these snowy mountains were liberating to his mind, his body was not in the same condition. After being chased, hunted, and hurt, his body was battered and starting to feel more numb with each passing hour.

A final feeling washed over his mind. Like he knew it was coming. He was dying.

And it seemed fitting. Appropriate. Considering there wasn't anything left for him to do. He fulfilled his duty and played his part in the play of universe, for which he was chosen by Cianbhàta himself. After all, he hadn't escaped for his own safety. It was something greater than his existence that needed to be protected. 

But now, he could sense it. His time was up.

No. No, he couldn't die like this. Not yet.

It felt selfish of him to still be holding on to this useless life. He tried hard, convinced himself it was over, but still, he couldn't figure out why he felt this strong need to keep moving.

His foot sunk in the soft snow, and he stumbled; leaning against a leafless tree he looked past the branches, up at the gray sky. Looking and searching, hoping to catch a glimpse of the almighty so he could get his answers himself.

He closed his eyes and sat down completely with his head against the rough, cold bark. "Oh almighty," he called out in a croak.

"Forgive your subject for being greedy, asking for more than you've graciously offered to us already. My body is giving up, but my heart is tearing apart," cough, "screaming, screaming at me that I'm leaving something unfinished," His eyes opened, filled with tears of anguished helplessness, "give me a sign. A reason, to-"

He coughed sharply, gasping and wheezing as the numbing winter air pushed its way past his lips, burning a path down his throat. Black spots started blinking across his vision, sorely standing out against the blurry white of the snow. This is it. This is how he will meet his end; he was sure of it.

Accepting his fate, he let his eyes close shut. His bones ached, and his skin was frozen cold. Just as he thought this was it, his ears picked up a faint sound. He didn't pay it any mind; if someone was here to capture him, it would be useless. He would be dead before anyone reached him.

But the more he heard, the clearer the voice became. A cry. He must be losing his mind. He blamed his growing incapability to differentiate in sounds and scenes the more he breathed in the bitter cold air. 

But the cries started again.

His eyes snapped open, he was sure now that the cries were real.

Gaining a burst of strength he didn't know he was capable of anymore, he dragged himself up with the help of the tree and listened for more sounds—trying to locate the direction where it was coming from.

His feet started moving in a direction with thicker vegetation on their own, like they already knew where to go before his ears could actually locate the source. 

He rushed past more bare trees, shrubs, and boulders and came face to face with a series of rocks protruding from the mountain, covered in a thin layer of snow, and then looked around trying to figure out the source where the sound could be coming from—which he now realised couldn't be heard anymore.

To his right, there were more trees packed together tightly, and he considered going in that direction when he heard the tiniest whimper, which he would've missed if he hadn't strained his ears to catch any noise. 

The sound was coming from the rocky surface; confused, as there was no way something could get stuck between them, he looked around some more trying to figure it out when he noticed a hole in the far left side of one of the rocks near a tree growing close to the black rocks. 

The hole was—he found out upon a closer look—no bigger than the size to fit a small dog, it seemed that the snow couldn't reach here because of the thick roots protruding from above, and the shrubbery that was still green and flourishing in the winter, but that's not what surprised him—it was the woven bamboo basket and a thick green blanket covering it and the whimpers that were coming from that basket.

He pulled it out, pulled the covers back, and revealed—

A child.

A very cold child with blue lips and the faintest of breaths puffing past its mouth.

Urgency immediately seized his limbs as he brought the infant out of the basket and close to his chest. It is going to die; this was the only thought echoing in his mind.

He took off running in search of someone. Anyone. He couldn't let the child die.

He ran and ran, holding the baby close to his chest, tucked in his coat.

"Is someone out there!? Help!" There was no response. He knew the tribals lived in this place, but he couldn't be sure of the exact location. And he hadn't been in his right mind to try and get a sense of the direction to figure out where he was at that moment.

"Please," he begged, "it will not survive, please," he cried up towards the sky. The black dots were back in his vision, stronger than before, but before he could succumb to the darkness, he took one more careful look at the child in his arms and assessed its soft breaths.

What a beautiful child. Shame I couldn't save you. 

With that final thought, he tucked the tiny being close and let darkness take him under. 

—————

Warm. Everything felt so warm. Alastair hadn't felt warm in months. He shifted in his position, drifting in and out of consciousness.

The sound of fire crackling was what brought him out of his slumber at last. He blinked his eyes open, still a little dazed, and found himself lying on a cot in front of a blazing fire. He closed his eyes back immediately; his head hurt, and so would have his legs if they didn't feel numb already.

He tried to move his head, his neck protesting after being in that position for too long, and at first he couldn't, but his stubbornness won over his fatigue, and finally he managed to lift his head just a couple of inches. He tried to take in as much as his eyes allowed in that position and discovered that he was placed in a dark room. It seemed the walls were made of mud and the floor was wood.

Before he could think about how he got here, he heard the door behind him creak open. A chilly gust of wind entered the place along with the visitor. He tried turning his head again and just barely managed to lift it when the person came hurrying in front of him.

"Oh! You're awake," the person, who now he could see was an old woman, asked him happily, "must be confusing to wake up here, but not ya worry, ya were saved by our  gatherers." The woman continued, oddly cheerful, in her accented voice as she came around to sit on the mat beside his cot, her arms carrying something he couldn't focus on as she kept talking.

"Found ya freezing on the ground, oh, and ya girl is fine too! Strong child, Cianbhàta himself preserve the child."

Only now did he realise that the thing she put down on the floor wasn't a bundle of clothes but a child. The child—the girl—he found in the snow. She was staring at him, her dark eyes looking innocently up at him, and she definitely looked better too.

He was relieved. A little surprised how she survived long enough to make it here, wherever it is they were at, but he felt safe, and so he let the relief consume him.

He summarised what he remembered and what he was told just now and reached the conclusion that he was saved by these people—likely a mountain tribe—and was in their home right now; he saved the child, and now they think it's his child. That she's his daughter.

He opened his mouth to correct her, tell her that she wasn't his. That they might need to find her real parents. But somehow all that managed to escape was, "thank you for saving us."

"Not a problem! It brings honour to help our brothers in our  community." The woman said kindly and got up off the floor, "I'll go fetch more firewood and something for ya to eat, ya must be hungry too. I fed the child while ya were sleeping, so not worry about her." And with that she left the room.

He got up on his elbows and pulled himself into a sitting position; groaning, he looked at the infant now playing with her blanket.

She looked magical in the glow of the fire, and he felt an inexplicable affection for her.

He stared at her, with a mind full of hundreds of things, thoughts flowing faster than the warm water springs, but then she looked back up at him with those same dark eyes, and his brain stopped in its frenzy. She reached out, a hand making motions as if to grab the smoke rising from the fire. That was the moment everything became clear to him.

He'd decided. He will spend the rest of his life living and protecting this child; after all, she gave him a second chance at life. A will—a reason to live.

He will take this child as his own. He will do all he can to become a father for her.

And for the next decade and a half, he did just that.

huff huff

Hurried footsteps echoed in the silence of the forest. With nothing but the sound of tired pants that carried their way through the saplings emerging from the frozen cold soil, raising their heads to greet the summer only to be trampled by the heavy steps running from everything it had ever known.

"Aghh," a yelp was heard as a lock of dark brown hair got stuck in a branch hanging too low.

What am I doing?

A sharp turn towards a safer path with fewer branches on the way down.

I'm running. He told me to run.

The moss on the uneven ground slipped from under your foot, making you stumble.

Am I dreaming?

You quickly got up, instincts telling you that you had to keep moving. There was no time to collect the few things that spilled from your bag at your fall; you only grabbed the leather journal and kept running. A few coins spilling out from your pouch tucked in your waist. The sound of them hitting the rocks painfully loud.

The forest became a blur; you couldn't focus on anything other than the pounding in your heart and the pain that your brain didn't have the time to register—both physical and emotional.

The way downhill was not too steep, but there were places where soil had shifted away, making it harder to navigate where there was solid ground and where you'll encounter a gaping hole ready to swallow your feet. You'd never been to these parts of the mountains. You never needed to; you lived on the other side. But you have no other option; this was the path your father said was safe and asked you to run to.

Your father. The man who made you leave. The one you were getting farther away from with every passing second. The man who you might never see again.

"Pa."

You let out a sob. Leaning a hand against a leafless tree to brace yourself. This place was a lot warmer than the snow-covered hill you called home; you were sweating—your tears getting mixed with the salt. The evening sun, halfway hidden down in the horizon, warmed your skin, but your insides were freezing cold. 

You left home. left him. How did it ever come to this?

Before today you had been living in a bliss, unaware of the possibilities that such a storm could stir up in your life, one that you never would see coming and snatch everything you held dear. 

You sniffled, thinking back to how everything was so normal and okay just this morning. And now it's not. 

You stumbled, taking one step forward then the next. The sun had long disappeared, the moon hidden behind the clouds. The misty wind carried you forward, whispering a soft melody. You walked and walked, feet aching and heart heavy; your tears had dried off, but all you could do was move. 

There was a light shining in the distance. You didn't know how long you had already walked, but just a little more. A few steps. Another few. 

You reached the door, banging hard on it. The door opened, a middle-aged woman peeking out. 

She said something. She was talking to you. You were so tired. She was shouting now. 

But you couldn't hear her. Solid ground met the side of your head as you fell. Unconscious and numb. 

An owl let out a hoot, breaking the quiet of the dawn. A gust of cool breeze made its way across the empty spaces among the trees, yet to be warmed by the rays of sun. The same breeze rushed into your home, tickling the hair on your neck, announcing their arrival through the jingles of the bells on your window. You forgot to shut them. Again.

You looked out the window at the fog weaving a blanket of white in the evergreen canopy it claimed as home till the sun rose and chased it away. For a moment, just one heartbeat, you thought of home. Remembered the cold of snow, the steam rising from potatoes straight out of the coals and in your gloved hands.

You let out a shaky exhale, willing the memories away.

You picked up the woven basket and strapped the hunting knife to your waist. On your way out you grabbed the hooded cloak off of the hook. Dressed in the dark green of the forest, you ventured away from the deeper parts of the wood where you lived on your way to collect the 'dawn lilies.' They could only be found near riverbanks and must be plucked before the sun came out. You ran out of those after making the previous supply of burn ointments.

The grass was soft under your boots, the morning dew getting soaked in the bottom of your pants. The air was crisp and tinged with a chill; one wouldn't be able to live in the dewy and wet cold of a place such as this without proper gear, but you had always been a little more resistant to the cold. Still, you made a mental note to grab some gloves when you would go to meet Kenzie the week after.

Winter was just around the corner, and you ought to be prepared for the changing season.

On your way to the river, you made a detour and took the longer path. Dense shrubbery with no definitive footmarks, a less walked path. Crouching down in a few spots, you checked on the snares you had set up yesterday. The wires and ropes twisted in the way you had learnt when you were seven. Three out of five and no luck. It looked like one of them was triggered, but whatever it was, it got away.

But the fourth one did not disappoint, as you found a marmot trapped and wriggling. Carefully moving it, you untangled the rope from around its body.

You took the knife out from your belt and nodded your head once, "Thank you for giving your life to sustain mine," and swiftly pushed the knife deep in its neck. Swift kill.

You checked the fifth one too. Empty. And continue on your way to the river.

Emerging from the forest line, you ran your gaze along the length of the riverbank, making sure no wild animal was there that would feel threatened by you or threaten your life. It would be unusual, though—for any predator to be here. You have never seen any wild animal that could put your life in danger in all the time you lived here. You concluded that these parts of the woods must not be suitable for them, hence making it safer for you to live.

As you look around, there are only the occasional critters roaming the forest floor. Small animals, those you saw plenty of. You made your way towards the small flowers growing close to the water and began collecting them.

You got up soon, flowers and some wild berries collected in your basket. It also held the meat from the marmot that you had just cleaned in the river, wrapped up in large leaves. Scanning the area once more, you got ready to make the trek back to your home.

I'd have to make another trip to collect some water later in the day.

On the way back, you took the shorter path. The one you used regularly. Munching on the berries as you walked.

————————————————————

"Thank you, Mayah."

The tall girl gave you a smile in response as she heaved up the crates you had brought with you and started walking back towards the open door of the shop. 'Rennie's' written on a wooden board in bold letters. You pulled a wooden case from the wagon and handed it over to the other man, Kane, who stood there with arms stretched out.

"Is that the last one?" He asked, taking the heavy box.

"Yes, that is it." You grabbed your satchel and hopped off the wooden platform. "Take these ones straight to the storage,or else the potions may go bad." And he followed the girl into the shop.

Turning back to the carter, you handed him a silver coin; he examined it and then immediately said, "This would not be enough, miss."

You looked at him, confused. "Why not? It always takes this much. I would know; I travel to Fubroch every month."

You made ointments and health potions—a skill you had learned since childhood. That was what your father did, and you decided to continue on the same path as him.

Once a month, you would travel from your home, half a day's journey away from Fubroch, and sell them at the market here. You were not keen on making contact with many people—the lesser knew of you, the better—so it was comfortable for you to have secured a vendor who bought your products to then sell them himself, and on a fair rate too. This is how you've been doing business for the last few years.

"Ah, miss, you know nothing of the raids that happened down South?" You pushed your lips, eyebrows pulled down, raids? 

Before you could question him about it, he continued, "razed the whole town in days," he shook his head, "coins and cattle all gone. Those Aberrants," he sighed and tried coaxing the bulls attached to his wagon, who had started moving restlessly, "even the Lord turns his eyes another way when it comes to those Diels."

He continued to grumble some more before saying that he had to get going. You pulled a few copper pieces out of your pocket and handed them to him. As you watched him leave, you realised that someone was standing behind you.

"Kenzie," you said, turning back to the elder man.

"You look tired, miss." Kenzie replied, his wrinkle-covered face was kind as ever, and his voice warm. Meeting him always reminded you of a family you didn't have.

"The journey was long, and I left late today too. I'm fine, though. But that doesn't matter; what was that Carter talking about? Aberrants?"

"We shall talk inside, miss," his deep eyes swept the surroundings, and he started walking towards the back door. "Mayah? Bring a cup of water and also brew some tea, dear."

His daughter gave a short nod and went further inside the store, entering another set of doors.

You took a seat on the cot, and Kenzie did the same. "This far out, people are calling them raids," he started talking.

"And... they aren't?" You asked. You were never one to poke and prod about anything that had nothing to do with you. But this time you were curious; after all, this was not the first time you were hearing the name:

"Aberrants," he continued after taking a sip from the cup Mayah handed him. You thanked her when she did the same for you and mirrored him, "the second army of the Lord, I believe you know that much."

You nodded, also aware of how Lord Cras doesn't really have much control over them and lets them run wild. "They are bad news." Was what Pa once said. But that's all; word of their presence never came close to where you lived, and you never encountered them.

You stayed away from things that did not concern you. That's how you've lived.

"They came to a village south of Glenross first. Out of the blue, like they always did. No one knows where they come from or go to. But when they left," a grimace pulled itself on his face, "the village had become lifeless."

"Did they...?" You asked, your brows meeting in the middle as lines appeared between them. You feared they were killed.

"No. They just took everything. Valuables, grains, horses—"

"I suppose that's what a raid sounds like." You interrupted him in the middle, giving your empty water cup to Mayah, who came with a cup of tea in exchange—which you took with a grateful smile. His lips pursed as his eyes darted to his wall, on a painting of the forest on his right, before moving it back up the next second.

"Not quite. It was more than just that. Those deils brought a curse on the lands," Curse? This is not the first time you're hearing of something like this, but something about the tone in the old man's voice made you think of the stories from your childhood. The ones you had shut the doors to a long while ago, yet on the days the wind is stronger, you can hear their whispers rising with dust from between the cracks in the wood.

"By word of mouth, they drained the fertility from the soil and spat poison in the waters. The people became ill, so deathly ill." He coughed, chugging the rest of the water from his cup. "Nothing has come out of that town in the past half of the year. No yield, no supplies, no tax money that the incompetent Lord demands," Kenzie finished, his breath slightly laboured.

You made a note to make extra potions for him to use throughout the cold months. It did look like an extra harsh winter was casting its shadowy wings over the country. It is possible that your next trip down here might be the last one for this year.

You took his words in, trying to make sense of them. "And that's what caused an upsurge in prices?" You asked.

"No, that was not it. It has been months since the incident in there. They chose a small village at that time, but recently," he tried to continue but stopped as his daughter came back in the room, a hot water bag in hand.

"Don't speak so much at once, Pa," She scolded him gently in her soft voice. You looked at them, talking; your eyes that were tired just now had a glassy film to them, and your body stilled for just a second as she placed the bag on one of his shoulders. You turned your head away, focusing on the conversation.

"Then what caused it? All of a sudden?" You prodded, clearing your throat.

This time Mayah was the one who spoke, "It was after last month, when the same happened in Cunkeld." You've never been there, but you knew it took some time to reach there from Fubroch. 

Her face took on a grave expression, "this time though the country is suffering. Taxes are higher and commodities got expensive, we expect it to only get worse during winter."

You listened intently, forgetting about the tea in your hand.

"I fear what they are doing is more than just raids or spreading poison for just the wealth," sighed Kenzie, his eyes shut; you wanted to ask why he thought that and what more he believed was there. But you didn't. The less you got involved, the better, and you believed that you had already questioned about things more than you should have. 

Kenzie didn't look like he would be answering more of your questions either; he needed to rest. And so, you bid goodbye to Mayah, who handed you a small bag of coins. "I know it's not the whole amount—"

"Don't stress. Pay me the rest when you've sold all the stock," you smiled at her. Waving Kane off when he tried to walk you back.

Leaving out from the front this time, you slung your satchel across your body and decided to find a tavern for the night. It was late afternoon; the sound of bells ringing came from the center of the town having. The journey back would take hours, and it would be past midnight by the time you reach home. Not that you had any problem with traveling at night. But the wagon carters might not be too keen on that.

It didn't matter; you had errands to run either way, so you won't mind spending just one night here. And you were tired. You left later than expected in the morning; something had felt off, and you had checked around the perimeter. Although nothing was out of place, you still decided to be cautious, and it took some of your time.

So you started walking in the opposite direction of bells, on your way to the smaller market stalls.

"How much for the lotus seeds?"

You asked around about different items, things that you needed for your workshop as well as other necessities. Soaps. New wires for snares. Some red clay.

You bought a few things and left behind a few others. There was not enough money for everything. You had to prioritize carefully.

A cat purred loudly as you neared a stall with fabrics of all colours arranged orderly. You scratched the cat on the head, and she went back to hissing at the stall on the left, one with shiny green apples. It was when you were inspecting a brown shawl that the vendor noticed you.

"What you lookin' for, girl?" an old-aged woman asked.

You looked up, hands pausing, "gloves for winter, leather."

The woman began rummaging around and produced a pair in a minute, "shoulda fit you, six silver pieces."

Your hands, previously reaching for said gloves, stopped in their tracks. "A bit too much, don't you think, madam?" Finally getting some movement back, you plucked the gloves, inspecting them, almost hoping to find some defect so that you can bargain for less.

"Leather comes precious these days, no bargain," She sniffed, then with a furrow in her brows, said, "No supply, so we're low on material; some rumored monster in the forest. No bigger monster than the cold and hunger, I  say." She scoffed.

You looked at the leather gloves, clutching your coin bag with one hand, deep in your satchel, "Can't do more than 3 coins, I'm afraid."

The woman's face took on a look of annoyance before she sighed, a look of understanding passing over her face. "Tell you what, here," She produced a pair of woolen gloves, "sellin' them for three silver and two copper, but they are the last ones, on a discount, take it."

You picked up the ones she tossed your way. You really would've liked the leather ones, preferable when working near water. You put your hands through, noticing how it swallowed your hand and still had space to sneak half a dozen grapes.

"Do you have a size smaller? They seem a bit big." You asked, biting your lips, hands tugging the wool between your fingers.

"Told you they are the last ones. They'll work just fine; the weaving is higher too, will stop the cold and water."

You left, walking further away from the crowd, with black wool adorning your hands.

————————————————————

The tavern you chose for the night was brimming with patrons. Tables full of people eating and drinking. Located on the outer part of the town, it was not your first time at this place, but yet it managed to look new to you every time.

You got yourself a room on the second story. The rooms here were cheaper due to the dripping roof when it rained and poor insulation caused by paper-thin walls. But for you it was more than enough.

You would have preferred to go straight to bed, but having forgotten to eat at the market earlier, you were currently on your way up the stairs after getting some food.

Gathering your skirt with one hand, you lifted your foot up to take the first step, only to stumble back as a body slammed straight into you. Hard.

"Ah! Whoa, be careful, mister!" You exclaimed as you righted yourself with the help of the wall.

As you looked up, wondering how you didn't hear his footsteps, especially on creaky stairs, your eyes made contact with a hand—outstretched, as if trying to reach you in case you needed assistance. You looked up, eyes now fixed on the dark face wrap covering half of his face, and a hood was pulled low, casting a shadow on the other half.

He looked scary at a glance, but when you looked a little below, you caught his eyes. Dark and wide. And beautiful.

You stood there breathless, tracing the kohl lining his eyes with your own.

He pulled his hands back and jerked his body, sitting down on the floor. Reaching for something near your skirt.

You jumped back, startled.

But he was only grabbing for the apple that had rolled away on the floor, which he must've been holding when he bumped into you.

He looked up at you, apple in hand, "Hope I didn't startle you."

You looked down, shook your head once, and opened your mouth to say something, but he straightened and was up in a flash.

He stepped closer, and you noticed how he was towering over you, the black of his flowy tunic—untucked from his leather pants—brushing against your arm crossed in front of your belly.

"Don't go bumping into things," he leaned down now whispering beside your ear, "you might get hurt."

You were barely breathing and didn't even notice that he had unfurled your fist and tucked something in there.

By the time you regained your senses, he was already walking in the direction of the bar.

You looked down when you finally felt the weight of something in your hand and saw that it was none other than the fruit he was carrying. A bright green apple.

You looked after him for another second before deciding not to think much of him and walked up the stairs. Off to get some sleep and start the journey early tomorrow.

Knock knock knock!

You woke up to frantic knocking on your door. Heart thundering, matching the raps of wood on the other side, you got up.

The knocking stopped.

In the silence of the darkness spread over the room, you stood still. One look out of the window and you confirmed it was early, the sun yet to rise.

For a moment you convinced yourself it was your imagination—a nightmare, maybe. It wouldn't be the first time. You decided to just go back to slee-

Knock knock knock!

The knocking resumed.

You walked up to the door and in a hesitant but loud voice questioned, "Who is it?"

The knocking stopped. You held your breath. Waiting for an answer.

Knock knock knock.

You felt through the slit in your skirt for the small blade on your thigh. Feeling nothing, you recalled having placed it on the side table. You grabbed it. Just in case.

"Who is it?" You placed a hand on the handle, another holding the blade.

A moment of silence. Just as you were about to question again, a voice called out,

"Open the door," a deep voice answered.

Body frozen, you took a big gulp of air. Where have you heard it? Warning bells were ringing in your head, telling you how this situation felt familiar.

You backed away, hand leaving the handle. I need to get out of here. In blind panic you started considering your options. You certainly couldn't fight whoever was outside. Maybe you could climb down the window?

But you stood still. You focused on the voice; it was familiar. Something in you was telling you that you should open the door.

Another knock, and you were opening the door before you could stop yourself.

The door cracked open just a sliver, but the stranger didn't make any attempt to make the gap wider or push his way in right away, unlike what you would have expected. It gave you a moment of clarity, and you came back to your senses. Raising your eyes, you were met with a half-covered face and dark eyes, lined with kohl. You knew where you had seen them.

"You are—"

"You need to come with me."

There was an urgency to his voice. His eyes were locked on yours, urging you to take a dive into the essence of midnight they held. A lock of hair fell in front of his eye; he pushed it back.

"Who are you?" The words were a whisper, but in the quiet of dawn they rang loud and clear.

One of his hands reached up, pulling the dark piece of cloth, hiding half his features, down. He gazed at you while you stole glimpses of the rest of him. Full cheeks but a sharp jaw. Soft lips but a tense tilt to them. If it were any other situation, you would have been captivated by his contrasting features. But now was not the time.

Breaking you out of your thoughts, the man in front of you glanced back at your room, then back at you, lips pursed for a moment, before he parted his lips and answered, voice clearer now without any obstruction. He answered your question.

"Someone who is going to make sure you don't bump into anything and get hurt."

You stepped back on instinct as he made his way in.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," He was crazy, and you had finally shaken yourself out of his spell. You needed to get him out of here and then get yourself out. Probably leave this town for good.

"You don't have a choice. Either you come with me or we die."

Your brows shot up in disbelief at the situation. This can't be happening. Was he messing with you? Trying to trick you? Make you think he's here to save you—from what?—and then thrust the blade deep in your ribs when you let your guard down.

You opened your mouth. To question him or cry out for help—you weren't sure. But you didn't get a chance.

Not when you heard a dull thud.

You looked behind his back, but your door was already open halfway, and no one stood there. The sound had been distant; it must have come from the room on the other end of the corridor.

While you didn't think much of it—too preoccupied with thinking how to get away—the man in front of you turned and walked back to the doorway. He only peeked outside for a single moment before sucking in a breath through his teeth and shutting the door close, rushing back towards you.

"Stay quiet!"

You jerked away, back against the wall. "What do you think—" you pulled the knife out, brandishing it in front of you, "—you are doing?"

"Shut up." He gritted through clenched teeth, eyes on the door.

"What—"

In the time it took you to release half a breath, his left hand rose, wrapping around yours, twisting your wrist, and bending your arms back. He tugged you towards him, forcing your right hand behind your back, making you loose your grip on the knife.

You stood there, chest to chest, as he peered down at you with hooded eyes, while yours squinted as you wriggled trying to get free.

"Shhh," he shushed you, putting the palm of his other hand up above your mouth and walking you a step back towards the wall. Your eyes widened as he trapped you there, with just enough force to keep you that way and not hurt you.

Heart thundering in your chest, your head pounded, matching its beats. You tried to come up with all the possible ways to get yourself out, but the warm exhales leaving his parted lips left your brain a scrambled mess.

It was stupid. To let this stranger in. You just might have invited your own death over, dressed in rugged leather, with gleaming orbs of darkness for eyes.

You shut your eyes tight as you felt him lift his hand up, releasing your mouth. You could scream, but what use would that be? Those blades you saw strapped to his back, they could slit your throat before the scream could fully form.

Expecting the press of the blade on your skin, you tried to prepare yourself. But soon were extremely surprised when a gentle finger tapped on one side of your jaw, just below your ear.

"Listen."

Blinking back at him, you squinted your eyes at his command. With no understanding of the situation, you had no other choice but to oblige. That's when you heard it.

Bang

That definitely came from the same direction as the sound before.

"What was that?" You whispered. Creases appearing on your forehead as you tried to listen more carefully.

"We should go." He stated calmly and stepped back. Putting his head against the door, he started listening for something.

"No. I don't understand anything, and unless I do, I'm not going—"

"You're not listening!" He hissed, and for the first time, his carefully managed emotions cracked, giving way to compelling urgency. He moved back to stand in front of you. "If we don't leave now and they find us, it will all be over."

They? Who is he talking about?

You eye him, your gaze full of skepticism, and it is then that you hear a muffled sound, neck snapped towards the wall as if you could see past the wood; you deduce it sounded like a scream. Your blood ran cold.

"That was a scream. We c-can't leave; we need  to—" Your breath hitched when you faced him again and came face to face with a knife.

"You're in no position to worry about that." It took you a moment to realise he was holding the knife by the blade, urging you to take it. It was yours; he must have picked it up from when you dropped it.

"But—"

"They are after you."

He you dead in the eyes and tilted his head, hair falling in his eyes, silently asking you to cooperate.

It was just like five years ago. The weight of your feet doubled, sinking you deeper in a darkness you knew too well. Your head spinning, a whirlwind of different shades of green flew past you. And you were fifteen again. Your father was asking you to leave, to run away. And you wanted to cry. "They are coming for you."

"Hey." He touched your shoulder softly, "It's okay; we'll get out of here. You can trust me."

"I don't." You replied shakily.

His eyes gleamed, "Good." You thought you heard a smile in his voice, but when you looked back at him, his face was as stoic as ever.

He motioned for you to follow as he cracked open your door just barely enough for his thumb to fit. He peeked out—assessing the corridor. Finding it bare, he pushed the door halfway open and stepped out, then motioned for you to follow.

You eyed the distance separating you and him, the doorway right in the middle. You could lock him out right now, when he was distracted. There was no proof he was telling the truth—that he was actually helping you. But deep inside you had an inexplicable inkling that doing that would not work in your favour.

You gathered the few things you had and were out the door, following close at his heels. You meant it—you didn't trust him, but at this moment he seemed like your best bet at figuring out what was going on.

And maybe, just maybe, even shine some light on a past you couldn't quite let go.

Giving your head a shake internally focused on the current situation at hand and started walking in the opposite direction from where the sounds had been coming from.

Behind you, the stranger shut the door behind you and urged you to move in front of him. He stood there for just a second longer before matching you step by step.

You walked faster, turning the corner before he did and missing the guy emerging from the other end. He locked eyes with the man walking behind you but didn't pay any mind, his attention focused somewhere else.

The other man—about to enter your room—stopped there for a second, hands on the doorknob. They were warm. The metal of the knob shouldn't be warm in this chilly tavern. Unless someone had made contact with it not too long ago.

The moment you both rounded the corner, safely out of sight, your partner wasted no time in taking huge steps forward, leaving you no option but to increase your speed as well. Not even two breaths passed before you heard thundering footsteps hot on your heels. You turn around, and your eyes meet with that of a man.

The man is dressed in peasant clothing, but it doesn't hide the sword at his waist. Hair a reddish brown, you only caught a brief glance of his enraged expression because the next thing you knew, a hand was grabbing your wrist tight and breaking off in a sprint.

The man gave chase. You change direction, disappearing from view, but you could hear him coming. The stairs were only a few steps away; you quickly tried to make your way there, eager to descend the stairs but felt yourself get tugged in the opposite direction.

"Not there," he said, moving up the stairs, you following behind.

"We will be trapped up there! We need to get out of this building if we want to loose that man."

"We are not trying to loose him," he calmly stated even as you both ran up the stairs. You reached the top floor and saw a large iron plate suspended in the middle, ropes dangling in front of it where there should have been a log hanging. You realised this place was once used as a bell tower.

"What now?" You asked him as he kept walking forward and did not stop until you reached the other side of the spacious place. The large open windows on all sides letting the cool wind in, spreading goosebumps all over your arm.

"Did you think these were just accessories?" He motioned back at the handles peeking out from behind his back, a pair of twin short swords. 

Your lips parted open and eyebrows raised up, "Are you—"

With a bang, the man slammed open the door where you both had just come from.

"Stay back."

Before you even registered what he said to you, you saw him pull one of the swords out and sidestep the other man who had already started lunging at him with his own sword out. Their blades clashed, a ring echoing in the empty space. Similar sounds followed the one before with the grunts of the two men adding to the cacophony of noises.

"Mako," the stranger let out a laugh, the sound light as the air, after deflecting his opponent's last blow, "I thought they would send their best?"

The man, Mako, raised his sword, aiming for the chest, but the black-haired stranger blocked him and raised his leg, kicking him in the gut. The man stumbled, almost doubling over before he took a swing at his feet. Hurriedly he stepped back as the Mako stood straight, slashing the air in front of his face.

This Mako was clearly trained in fighting, and you would be worried if your savior didn't seem just as good at it, if not better.

"You seem to know me," he heaved a breath, and they both circled each other, "but you don't seem to know who you're messing with." The man swung repetitively at him, but he couldn't land a single scratch on the stranger. After another swing, he shoved him back with a powerful push. "I get the girl, and you go free," he heaved.

You felt your heart drop but stayed silent. This was no time to panic.

Coming to a standstill, not a single drop of sweat visible, he replied, "I know what I am doing. The girl is going nowhere."

Mako, now furious, let out a yell and charged at him with more vigor. He met his swings with his own slashes and started walking backwards. Nearing one of the windows, he changed to offense and pushed back hard. Sending the man a couple steps back. He prepared for another attack and picked up speed, running at him.

Just where he wanted his opponent.

At that precise moment, the stranger stepped to the side in a swift movement. The man missed him, but before he could turn and deliver another attack, he was onto him, thrusting the sword at his neck.

Mako's upper body dangled out of the window, and his hands became useless as he tried to grip the railing to keep himself from falling over. He could easily have pulled himself inside had it not been for the blade keeping him there. He grunted, letting out curses directed at the owner of said blade.

"As I said, I know who I'm dealing with, but maybe you don't." He whispered lowly—doe eyes gleaming—so only the man in front of him could hear.

Breathing calmly and getting the beating of your heart back to normal, you stepped out from the corner; eyeing the door, you wondered if you could make a run before either of their companions came looking. But you were curious too.

Walking behind him, you chanced a glance at the man hanging out of the window. His gaze trained on you, and he did something unexpected. He had a wide grin that made you uncomfortable. You stepped back, away from his sight, and eyed the other man.

The fighting couldn't have lasted more than five minutes, and even though you weren't the one brandishing a sword, you felt winded.

"What are we going to do with him?" You voiced your question at the same time he shifted the sword to his other hand.

Mako screamed just as the stranger swept both his feet off the floor in a single sweep of his foot and sent a punch directly at his chest.

You watched in horror as the man fell out of the window and ran, leaning against the railing as you saw him groaning on the pile of hay. Alive. You released a shuddering breath and twisted your body to face your savior.

The first rays of sunlight began shining from the east, making their way through the scattered clouds. Their glow was soft and warm, and as he stood there looking back at you, his eyes glowed iridescently.

But that was not what caught you off guard. It was the upturn of pink lips, white peeking out between them.

"Haven't done that in a while," He groaned, stretching his arms back and sheathing his sword.

He was smiling; it was the first one you witnessed. He was smiling after he threw a man out the window. Something was wrong with him.

You couldn't will your eyes to look away. Perplexed. A little scared. Amused.

A question ringing out in your head: where do you go from here? But another quickly emerged, pushing past it—

"Who are you?"

Dark-lined eyes locked with your wide ones. His grin faded, and instead his mouth attained a genuine, friendly quirk.

"Intelligence gathered and former mercenary," he offered his hand in greeting, "Jeon Jungkook."

As you stared at his extended hand and up at his face, you came to a conclusion. One your subconscious had already realised the moment he appeared at your door. 

Wherever you go after this, it won't be back home.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠♡

𝘛𝘢𝘨-𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯! 𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥.

Don't Say You Love Me - Jin

you’re a hero, jungkook cr. beehobi94

🤣

Kskakznkskkskwksmsak🥵🥵

JUNG HOSEOK HAVE MERCY 🤯🤯🤯