Eight Below (Wolf!BTS x Wolf!Reader)

Building Threats

The pounding of footsteps and the rush of blood to your head was enough to sicken you, but by some whim of God you withheld whatever substance was left in your stomach from flying onto the shirt of this stranger. He squeezed you tightly, pulling your body close to his to retain a stronger grip. He peered over his shoulder for a second to yell to his partner,

"Namjoon?!" He turned around immediately, coruscating eyes radiating an urgency to protect the two of you.

Wait, wasn't his name Daejong?

"I'm fine, keep going! I don't see any sign of them." All of a sudden, there was gunfire. The flash of a bullet ripping out of its chamber at the speed of light, and the sound from the blast resonated like canon fire. Was this Sehun's way of saying he was not going down without a fight?

A dismayed scream broke out of your throat as the man clutched you tighter, swiftly curling around the corners of hallways as if he knew the place.

Even though he was carrying you, your weight seemed to be nonexistent. He was running like an olympian, the adrenaline was enough for him.

You were slammed out of your enthrallment like a body crashing through a skylight, as he pushed down the silver bar of a back door. You were outside, and the outline of a black Cadillac filled your eyes.

It was running, the thick exhaust billowing out of the tailpipe into the freezing air. Namjoon met your envoy of transportation at his side, extending his arms outside of his breadth,

"I need you to drive." The man did not hesitate, and handed you over as if the action had been rehearsed several times. He rushed to the drivers side as Namjoon climbed into the back with you. The tires were desperate for traction as they spun into the slick pavement to take off. He set you onto the seat across from him and you swallowed hard, fighting to catch your breath.

His grayish–blonde hair was sticking up wildly, as if he couldn't break the habit of running his hands through it. His thin brown eyes were full and spoke honestly of their owner, he did not look like someone that was doing bad just to do it. There was a cause.

He pulled the black mask down off of his face, catching it under his chin to keep it there. His tanned skin was asking for attention as it gleamed beneath the pearly glow reproduced by the headlights, his thick pink lips pulled apart lightly.

Immediately, you wanted to escape from this alluring man, and you rotated your body on the leather lining of the seat. You lifted your tied hands up to the handle on the door,

"Hey, no, no, no–" Namjoon's arms struck like the fangs of a venomous snake, his voice building volume towards the end, "You're free from them now, don't do anything rash." He pulled you back down into the seat, tenderly leading your hands towards him, "Relax."

He stated softly as his right hand disappeared into his vest for a moment, retrieving a thin switchblade from somewhere within. He brought it down to your hands slowly, as if to demonstrate to you that he wasn't going to use it for anything else.

He began to slice through the thick rope quickly, drawing thin, short slices into the coarse material to power through. In moments, it burst from around your wrists, and you had to refrain from heaving a sigh of relief. He pulled the rope away in limp strands, no longer capable of maintaining its constricting form.

"Thank you." You heard yourself whispering, even though you did not realize you were speaking at first. Namjoon looked up, granting you a small nod before glancing to the driver,

"Taehyung, I know the weather is rough, but if you could speed it up, that would be great." He rolled the words around on his tongue, the nature of his tone was vague and dubious. It sounded as if he was trying to mix anger with a kind, yet stern approach. You could practically hear the driver lifting an agitated lip, but he did not say anything, and the engine thundered on louder through the night of pouring rain.