#yoongixreadersmut

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, Slow-burn (that finally snaps), Age gap. Producer! Min Yoongi x College student! Reader, (Reader is 20, Yoongi is 33), High angst, Minor peril/party drama, Slight mention of sexual assault, Possessive/dominant behavior, Heavy sexual tension, Explicit makeout scenes, Smut (MDNI), Unprotected sex (Spooning sex position. Be smart! Use protection!), Rough sex, Mentions of slight spanking, Dom! Yoongi x Sub!Pathetic! Reader, Mutual pining, Slight degrading, Forced proximity, Dubiously legal "house arrest," reader makes poor life choices, Yoongi being completely gone for Reader.

📌 Note: He is your dad's best friend. Yes, it's messy. Yes, you are going to love every second of it.

✨ 🪐 ⋆ 🧸 ⋆ 🪐 ✨ *

The front hallway of your house looked like a logistics staging area for a major military operation. Suitcases were zipped open across the tiled floor, garment bags hung haphazardly off the banister, and your father was currently running around in a frantic, last-minute panic, checking his watch every thirty seconds while muttering under his breath about flight times and boarding passes.

You stood leaning against the living room doorframe, arms crossed tightly over your chest, watching the chaos with a look of supreme, unbothered boredom. You were twenty years old, perfectly capable of keeping yourself alive for a standard weekend, yet your parents were treating your upcoming solitude like leaving a feral raccoon in charge of a pristine museum.

"Passport, tickets, charger, medication—did I pack the extra adapter?" your dad mumbled, rushing past you toward the kitchen before spinning right back around. He stopped dead in his tracks, pointing a stern, accusing finger straight at your face. "And I mean it this time. No parties. No sneaking out. No random people over while we're in Busan. You are on the tightest leash imaginable."

"Dad, I'm twenty, not twelve," you groaned, rolling your eyes so hard they nearly stuck back into your head. "I literally have college classes, a functioning brain, and a fridge full of food. I don't need a babysitter."

"You aren't getting a babysitter, you're getting supervision," your dad corrected sharply, though there was zero heat behind it. "You are a certified menace, and we both know it. Remember last month when you 'forgot' to tell us you went on an impromptu road trip with your friends and missed your entire weekend family dinner?"

Before you could open your mouth to defend your completely reasonable spontaneity, the heavy front door swung open.

Yoongi stepped inside out of the afternoon heat, closing the door quietly behind him. He carried the aura of absolute, unshakeable calm, a stark and hilarious contrast to your father’s frantic whirlwind of anxiety. He was dressed entirely in his signature monochromatic black streetwear, an oversized hoodie, loose dark trousers, and a silver chain catching the light against his collar. He shrugged off his jacket, revealing a lean, solid frame, and tossed his car keys onto the entryway table with a soft clatter.

Min Yoongi, a notoriously private, deadpan producer who looked like he’d rather chew glass than deal with domestic family logistics. Yet, here he was, voluntarily sacrificing his quiet weekend to act as your warden.

"Yoongi!" Your dad practically lunged across the hallway, grabbing Yoongi by the shoulders as if he were a divine savior sent directly from the heavens. "Thank you. Thank you for doing this. I swear to god, if you hadn't agreed to stay here, I would've had to cancel the entire business trip."

Yoongi offered a lazy, half-lidded shrug, his dark, sharp eyes sliding past your dad's shoulder to lock directly onto you. There was a faint, knowing smirk playing at the very corner of his mouth, a look that said he saw right through your tough act and found the whole situation thoroughly amusing.

"It's fine," Yoongi murmured, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that effortlessly cut through your dad's nervous rambling. "I needed a quiet place to work on tracks anyway. How hard can it be to keep an eye on a twenty-year-old for forty-eight hours?"

"Harder than you think," your dad sighed dramatically, patting Yoongi’s arm. "She's got a masterclass talent for finding trouble. If she tries to leave the house after dark, lock the doors. If she orders junk food, check her blood sugar. If she looks at you with those big innocent eyes, do not believe a single word coming out of her mouth—"

"Dad, I am standing right here," you interrupted, dropping your arms and pushing off the doorframe with an exaggerated huff of irritation. "I am not a toddler. I am going to sit in my room, watch TV, and completely ignore him just like he's going to ignore me."

Yoongi’s lips twitched upward into a full, slow smirk. He turned his head slightly, locking those heavy, obsidian eyes onto yours. "Is that right?" he drawled, his tone laced with a smooth, effortless challenge. "You're just going to sit quietly in your room all weekend?"

"Yes," you snapped back defensively, refusing to back down under his intense gaze. "Try not to strain yourself ignoring me."

"Alright, alright, stop bickering before we even get out the door," your mom called out, finally walking down the stairs with her carry-on rolling behind her. She walked over to Yoongi, giving him a warm, affectionate hug. "Thank you so much, Yoongi-ah. We really appreciate it. Make sure she eats real food and goes to bed at a decent hour."

"Don't worry, Auntie," Yoongi replied smoothly, his demeanor softening just a fraction around your parents, the one group of people he actually tolerated. "I'll keep her out of handcuffs."

"Hey!" you protested loudly.

"We have to go or we're going to miss our flight!" your dad panicked, glancing frantically at his watch again as he hoisted his suitcase. He pointed one final warning finger at you. "Be good! Listen to Yoongi! We'll be back soon!"

Within minutes, the whirlwind of your parents' departure reached its climax. The front door slammed shut, the sound of their sedan engine revving echoed up the driveway, and then... absolute, profound silence settled over the house.

You stood frozen in the middle of the hallway, listening to the tyres crunch down the gravel road until they faded completely into the distance.

For a second, a sweet rush of freedom washed over you. You turned on your heel, ready to sprint up the stairs, grab your keys, and text your friends to let them know the coast was clear for a spontaneous late-night run.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The voice was quiet, but it stopped you dead in your tracks.

You turned back around. Yoongi hadn't moved an inch from the entryway table. He was leaning back against it, arms crossed over his chest, his dark hoodie falling loosely around his frame. He was watching you with a look of supreme, unbothered authority, his head tilted slightly to the side.

"I'm going to my room," you said, injecting as much ice into your tone as you possibly could.

"Right," Yoongi drawled, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face as he pushed off the table and began walking toward you with a lazy, deliberate stride. "Because your room is clearly located out the front door and down the street where your friends are waiting I assumed?"

"I don't have friends waiting anywhere," you lied instantly, narrowing your eyes as he closed the distance between you, forcing you to step back until the edge of the living room sofa hit the back of your knees.

"Mm-hmm," Yoongi hummed, stopping just a foot away. Up close, he towered over you just enough to be imposing, carrying that effortless, heavy energy that always made your chest feel a little too tight. "And I suppose that frantic buzzing coming from your back pocket right now is just a random telemarketer?"

You instinctively reached back to pat your pocket, realizing too late that your phone had indeed just vibrated with a text from your best friend asking if your parents had left yet.

Yoongi let out a low, rich chuckle, the sound vibrating right through the quiet room. He reached up, casually running a hand through his dark hair, pushing the strands away from his forehead.

"Here's how this weekend is going to work, kid," Yoongi said, his voice dropping into a low, smooth register that sent an unexpected, shivering jolt straight down your spine. "Your dad paid me in peace, quiet, and home-cooked meals to make sure you don't burn the house down or end up in a holding cell. Which means you are officially under my roof, and under my rules."

"You're not my dad, Yoongi," you shot back, your chin tilting up defiantly as you glared right up into his dark, heavy-lidded eyes. "You're just some guy he's known since college. You don't get to tell me what to do."

Yoongi didn't get angry. He didn't raise his voice. He just stared down at you for a long, agonizing moment, the air thick with a sudden, palpable tension that had nothing to do with babysitting and everything to do with the way he was looking at you like you were the only interesting thing in the entire room.

"True," he murmured softly, taking another step closer until you had no choice but to sit down on the edge of the sofa unless you wanted to press your chest flat against his. "I'm not your dad. Which means I'm not going to lecture you, and I'm certainly not going to put you in time-out."

He leaned down slightly, resting one large hand on the back of the sofa right beside your head, caging you in completely. The scent of his cedarwood cologne mixed with a faint hint of espresso washed over you, making your pulse spike wildly against your ribs.

"But if you try to sneak out tonight," Yoongi whispered, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a terrifyingly calm intensity, "I promise you, I am going to be a lot less patient than your old man."

The quiet of the house felt almost heavy, pressing down against the walls like a physical weight now that your parents' car had completely vanished down the street.

You sat slumped on the living room sofa, your phone clutched tightly in your hand as your thumbs flew across the screen in a furious, aggressive rhythm. You were typing out a blistering string of messages to your group chat, completely venting your absolute misery.

‘I am officially under house arrest,’ you typed out, punctuating it with several angry skull emojis. ‘My dad left me with his ancient friend, Min fucking Yoongi, who apparently thinks he’s a prison warden. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t even breathe without him glaring at me from across the room.’

Across the open-concept living space, Yoongi was sitting at the sleek wooden dining table, a laptop open in front of him and a pair of heavy headphones resting around his neck. He looked entirely unbothered, completely detached from your internal crisis as he casually tapped away at his keyboard. Yet, despite his apparent focus, every time you let out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh or aggressively slammed your thumbs against your glass screen, a faint, knowing smirk would ghost across his lips. He knew exactly what you were doing.

‘Cancel tonight,’ your phone buzzed back immediately from your best friend, Katelyn, followed by a string of laughing and crying emojis. ‘Wait, Min Yoongi is staying with you? As in, hot, stoic, producer Min Yoongi? Girl, are you complaining or bragging right now? Because if I were locked in a house with him..."

You locked the phone screen with an irritable snap, letting out another loud, obnoxious sigh just to ensure he heard it. Yoongi didn't even look up from his screen, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward in amusement.

‘He is a tyrant!’ you aggressively thumbed back, glancing up to shoot a venomous glare across the room. ‘He literally trapped me on this couch the second my parents left. He’s ruining my life!’

"You're going to wear a groove into that screen if you keep tapping it like it owes you money," his deep, gravelly voice cut effortlessly across the room, rich with dry mockery.

"I'm expressing myself," you snapped back, tossing your head against the back of the sofa and staring up at the ceiling molding. "Which is apparently illegal in this house under your strict totalitarian regime."

Yoongi finally paused his typing. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as he turned his head to look at you. His heavy, dark eyes were entirely unreadable under the shadow of his bangs, yet they held a sharp, intense heat that made your skin tingle.

"Totalitarian regime?" he repeated, a low, smooth chuckle rumbling in his throat. "Kid, I let you sit on the couch instead of locking you in the basement. I'd say I'm being remarkably generous."

"Stop calling me 'kid'," you muttered, pulling your knees up to your chest and hugging them tightly. "I'm twenty. I'm legally an adult."

"Could've fooled me based on the temper tantrum you've been throwing for the last ten minutes," he drawled smoothly, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape against the floor.

He stood up, stretching his lean, solid frame before walking slowly across the room toward the kitchen island. He moved with that same languid, effortless grace that drove you completely crazy—completely relaxed, completely in control, and entirely immune to your attitude. He poured himself a glass of water, taking a slow sip while keeping those obsidian eyes locked directly onto you over the rim of the glass.

"If you're quite finished complaining to your friends about your tragic weekend of forced relaxation," Yoongi said, his tone dripping with amused sarcasm, "maybe you can use that twenty-year-old brain of yours to figure out what we're doing for dinner. Because unlike you, I didn't plan on starving."

"I'm not cooking for you," you fired back instantly, uncurling your legs and sitting up straight, glaring at him across the kitchen counter. "If you want food, you can order delivery. But knowing my dad, he probably banned all takeout apps on my phone before he left."

Yoongi let out a low laugh, setting his glass down on the counter. He leaned his hips against the edge, crossing his arms again as he tilted his head. "Your dad didn't ban anything. But he did mention something about you trying to survive entirely on iced coffee and instant ramen if left unattended. Which," he added, his lips twitching into a teasing smirk, "looking at you right now, feels like a statistically sound prediction."

You opened your mouth to deliver a scathing, biting retort, but the sudden, sharp buzz of your phone interrupting you cut it short. You looked down. It wasn't a text; it was an incoming call from your mother.

You groaned, glaring at the screen before tapping accept and bringing the phone to your ear.

"Hey, Mom," you mumbled, pitching your voice into a deliberately miserable tone so she knew exactly how much you were suffering.

"Hi, sweetheart! Just checking in!" your mom's bright, cheerful voice chirped through the speaker. "We just landed in Busan! Everything is so chaotic here, but we made it through security fine. How are things at home? Are you and Yoongi getting along?"

You cast a sharp, sideways glance across the room. Yoongi was still watching you, leaning against the counter with a lazy, challenging smile, clearly listening to every word.

"Oh, we're getting along fantastic," you said loudly and sarcastically, making sure Yoongi heard every syllable. "He's currently standing over me like a prison warden making sure I don't breathe too loudly. It's an absolute paradise."

"Don't be dramatic," your mom scolded lightly through the phone, though you could hear the fond amusement in her voice. "Yoongi is doing us a massive favor. Have you guys eaten yet? Did he make sure you had a proper meal?"

"We haven't eaten yet because your designated babysitter refuses to let me order pizza," you lied smoothly, narrowing your eyes at Yoongi.

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised slightly. Without breaking eye contact with you, he pushed off the counter and started walking across the living room toward the sofa, moving with a deliberate, unhurried stride that made your heart hammer a little faster against your ribs.

"I told you, no junk food," your mom sighed. "Put Yoongi on the phone for a second, let me talk to him."

Before you could protest, Yoongi reached you. He didn't just stand near the couch, he stepped right into your personal space, casually sitting down right beside you on the cushions. The sudden rush of his cedarwood cologne and the overwhelming heat radiating off his body completely filled your senses.

Before you could pull away, Yoongi leaned in close, his shoulder pressing firmly against yours, and gently plucked the phone right out of your unresisting hand.

"Auntie," Yoongi said smoothly into the receiver, his voice dropping into that rich, warm baritone he reserved exclusively for your parents, the one that made him sound like the most responsible, trustworthy son-in-law material on the planet. "Yeah, we just got settled. No, she hasn't starved yet, though she's threatening a hunger strike because I suggested vegetables."

You gasped, immediately reaching out to grab your phone back, but Yoongi effortlessly leaned back, lifting his arm just out of your reach while keeping the phone pressed to his ear. To make matters worse, he casually used his free hand to press his warm palm flat against your chest, gently holding you back against the sofa cushions so you couldn't lunge at him.

The touch of his hand burning through your shirt sent a violent, electric shock straight down your spine, instantly freezing you in place.

"Oh, don't listen to her, Yoongi, she'll eat when she's hungry," your mom laughed warmly on the other end. "Thank you again for taking care of her. We'll call you guys tomorrow!"

"Don't worry about it, Auntie. Have a good flight. Bye."

Yoongi tapped the end-call button, lowering the phone. But he didn't pull his hand away from your chest.

Instead, he stayed right there, leaning over you, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes dropping down to trace your face with an intense, lingering heat that made the air in the living room feel instantly ten degrees hotter.

"You're a rat," you whispered, your voice coming out breathless and thin as you stared up into his dark gaze, hyper-aware of the heavy weight of his hand resting against your ribs, feeling the frantic drumbeat of your heart beneath his palm.

"I'm a survivor," Yoongi corrected softly, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling register that vibrated right through your core. A slow, dangerous smirk touched the corners of his lips. "And for the record, I never said you couldn't have pizza. I just said you needed a proper meal first."

You swallowed hard, your mind suddenly completely blank of all the sassy comebacks you had lined up. The distance between your faces was terrifyingly small. You could count his eyelashes, could see the tiny, faint speck of gold flecked in his deep brown irises.

"Yoongi..." you murmured, your voice trailing off as his thumb brushed slowly, deliberately against the fabric of your shirt, tracing the edge of your collarbone.

"Mm?" he hummed, his gaze locking onto your lips for a fraction of a second before dragging back up to meet your eyes. The playful, teasing barrier he had maintained all afternoon was completely dissolving, replaced by a heavy, magnetic tension that felt like a live wire about to snap.

"You're standing kind of close for a babysitter," you whispered, your heart hammering wildly, a mixture of panic and intoxicating defiance warring inside your chest.

Yoongi let out a low, breathy laugh, the sound dark and rich. He didn't move away. If anything, he leaned in closer, his face hovering mere inches from yours, his warm breath ghosting across your skin.

"Like I said before, kid," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly rasp that sent a full-body shiver cascading down your spine. "I'm not your babysitter. And you're testing my patience way more than you think."

The threat hung in the air, sweet and heavy, making every instinct in your body flare to life. You didn't look away. You didn't push him back. Instead, your hands, which had been clenched into frustrated fists on your lap all afternoon slowly came up, your fingers resting tentatively against the heavy fabric of his black hoodie, gripping the cotton just above his waist as the quiet of the empty house closed in around you.

The pale light of Sunday morning filtered gently through the sheer curtains of your bedroom, casting soft, muted shadows across the hardwood floor. Outside, the neighborhood was quiet, wrapped in the peaceful, lazy stillness of a weekend morning.

You blinked against the morning brightness, letting out a long, slow exhale as your mind slowly dragged itself out of sleep. For a split second, you almost forgot where you were, almost forgot about the absolute emotional whirlwind of the previous evening, the intense standoff in the living room, and the way Yoongi’s hand had felt burning against your chest.

You shifted under the covers, glancing over at the empty side of the bed. Right. You were still upstairs in your room, locked safely away in your domain, while Yoongi was presumably downstairs commandeering the kitchen.

Throwing off the duvet, you went about your normal Sunday morning routine to anchor yourself back to reality. You dragged yourself into the bathroom, washed your face with cold water, brushed your teeth, and changed into a comfortable, oversized grey sweatpant and a fitted black crop top. You pulled your hair up into a messy, effortless bun, deciding that if you had to serve time under house arrest, you were at least going to be comfortable doing it.

Stepping out into the upstairs hallway, the rich, buttery scent of freshly brewed espresso and toasted bread hit your senses immediately, making your stomach give a sharp, traitorous rumble.

You padded quietly down the wooden staircase, your bare feet making almost no sound against the steps. As you reached the main floor, you spotted Yoongi. He was standing by the kitchen island, leaning casually against the counter with one hand wrapped around a mug of black coffee, scrolling through something on his phone with his reading glasses perched lazily on the bridge of his nose. He had changed into a clean black t-shirt and loose grey sweatpants that rode low on his hips, his dark hair falling softly across his forehead in a way that looked entirely unfair for a Sunday morning.

"Morning, troublemaker," Yoongi said without even looking up from his phone, his deep, gravelly voice cutting easily through the morning quiet.

You stopped near the edge of the kitchen, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. "I'm not a troublemaker. I'm a model prisoner who happens to be starving."

Yoongi finally lowered his phone, pushing his glasses up slightly. His dark, heavy-lidded eyes swept over you slowly, taking in your outfit with a look of quiet, amused appraisal before a faint, knowing smirk touched the corners of his mouth.

"I slept great, thanks for asking," he drawled smoothly, turning toward the stove where a plate of eggs and buttered toast sat warming under a light cover. "Sit down before you pass out. I made breakfast, and before you complain, no, I didn't poison it."

You eyed the food suspiciously, though your stomach growled loudly enough to betray you. Pulling out a stool at the island, you sat down and pulled the plate toward you, taking a tentative bite. It was, annoyingly, incredible.

"Well?" Yoongi prompted, leaning his hips against the counter across from you, taking a slow sip of his coffee as he watched you chew. "Is it up to your high standards, Your Majesty?"

"It's fine," you mumbled defensively around a bite of toast, trying hard not to let him see how much you were enjoying it. "You're a decent cook. I'll give you that."

"High praise," Yoongi laughed softly, a rich, warm sound that made your chest tighten in a way you really didn't appreciate. "Eat up. We have the rest of the day to figure out how to keep you from tearing the wallpaper off the walls out of pure boredom."

True to his word, the first half of Sunday drifted by in a strange, surprisingly domestic rhythm. After breakfast, Yoongi retreated back to his laptop at the dining table to work on a mix, while you curled up on the living room sofa with a book. Every now and then, you’d glance up to find him staring over the top of his screen at you, his gaze heavy and assessing, before quickly looking back down as if he hadn't been watching you at all. It was an intense, magnetic dance of near-misses and lingering glances that kept your nerves buzzing constantly on edge.

By late afternoon, however, the cabin fever officially set in.

You were lying flat on your back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling with a dramatic, audible groan of sheer misery, when your phone resting face-up on the coffee table suddenly erupted with a rapid-fire series of notification buzzes.

You lazily reached out, picking up the device and tapping the screen.

It was your group chat with your three closest friends, and they were already going completely feral.

‘GUYS. EMERGENCY,’ Alicia’s message blazed across the screen in all caps, accompanied by five siren emojis.

‘What is it?’ Zora replied instantly.

‘JAEHYUN IS THROWING A PARTY TONIGHT.’ she texted right after.

You sat up straight on the couch, your eyes widening. Sim Jaehyun was practically royalty in your social circle, the guy threw legendary, exclusive bashes at his parents' sprawling estate whenever they went out of town. Everyone worth knowing would be there tonight.

A heavy sink of despair hit your stomach. You glanced across the room. Yoongi was still buried in his laptop, headphones around his neck, looking like the picture of responsible, unbothered adulthood.

‘Wait, tonight?!’ Katelyn chimed in, typing frantically. ‘Like, right now tonight? I thought his parents were back?’ ‘Apparently they flew out again this morning!’

Alicia typed back. ‘And he’s hosting a massive wrap-up party for the semester. Everyone’s going. Y/N, you’re coming, right? Tell me you’re free!’

You quickly started typing back to the group chat: ‘I literally cannot come. I am trapped under maximum security house arrest. My dad left me with Min Yoongi, who is currently acting as my warden and will literally body-slam me if I try to walk out the front door.’

Almost instantly, your phone began to blow up with disbelieving replies.

‘Are you actually joking right now?’ Zora texted, dropping a row of crying emojis. ‘You’re letting a producer ruin your social life? Sneak out!’

‘I cannot sneak out!’ you typed back furiously, your thumbs flying across the keyboard. ‘He’s sitting literally twenty feet away from me in an open-concept house! He would hear me breathe!’

‘Babe, you’re twenty!’ Alicia messaged, clearly joining forces to pressure you. ‘Just tell him you’re going out to get coffee or something. Or lie and say you’re meeting up with one of us for a study session! You can’t miss Jaehyun’s party, it’s going to be insane!’

‘You guys don’t understand, this man is terrifyingly observant,’ you typed, casting another nervous look over at Yoongi, who had paused his typing and was now slowly turning his head to look directly at you over his shoulder.

Your heart skipped a beat. You quickly dropped your phone face-down onto your lap, pasting a terribly unconvincing, innocent smile on your face.

Yoongi raised a single eyebrow, closing his laptop lid with a soft clack. He pushed his chair back and stood up, walking across the room toward the couch with that slow, deliberate stride that always made your breathing hitch.

"You've been tapping at that screen with enough force to shatter the glass for the last five minutes," Yoongi noted smoothly, stopping right beside the coffee table and looking down at you with his hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his sweatpants. "Is someone threatening your life, or are your friends just throwing a tantrum because you're stuck here with me?"

"My friends are not throwing a tantrum," you defended quickly, shifting uncomfortably on the cushions. "They're just... updating me on things."

"Mm-hmm," Yoongi hummed, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes narrowing slightly as he read the nervous twitch in your posture. "Things like what? A party? A secret outing? Let me guess, something tonight, and your group chat is currently trying to convince you to climb out your bedroom window like a cartoon character."

Your jaw literally dropped. You stared up at him in absolute shock, your face burning hot. "How could you possibly know that?!"

Yoongi let out a low, rich chuckle, the sound vibrating through the quiet room as a smug, knowing smirk spread across his face. He stepped closer, resting one knee on the edge of the cushion beside your hip, caging you in against the back of the sofa.

"I've known your dad for over a decade, kid," Yoongi murmured, his voice dropping into a low, smoky register that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "And I was twenty once, too. I know exactly how teenage—correction, twentysomething—brains operate when a weekend party gets dropped in their lap."

"Whatever," you muttered defensively, though your voice came out breathless and thin as his face hovered dangerously close to yours. "And I wasn't planning on climbing out any windows."

"Good," Yoongi whispered, his gaze dropping slowly to your lips before locking back onto your eyes with an intense, unyielding heat. "Because if you tried, I'd just have to carry you right back inside. And honestly? I'm enjoying having you right here where I can see you way too much to let you run off."

The words hung in the air, thick, heavy, and dripping with an undeniable intimacy that made your head spin. You swallowed hard, your hands coming up instinctively to rest against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body right beneath your palms as the screen of your phone on your lap buzzed insistently with yet another text from your friends demanding an answer.

The heavy tension that hung in the living room dissolved the moment Yoongi finally straightened up, stepping back just enough for you to draw a full, uninterrupted breath. He didn't push the issue any further, but the lingering look in his dark, heavy-lidded eyes made it abundantly clear that he knew you were itching to break out of your confinement.

You didn't wait around to test your luck. Muttering something about needing some space to think, you practically bolted up the stairs, your feet hitting the wooden steps in a rapid patter until you reached the sanctuary of your bedroom. You slammed the door shut behind you, leaning your back against the solid wood panels as you let out a long, shaky exhale, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

For the next ten minutes, you paced the length of your bedroom floor, back and forth across the rug, your mind racing a mile a minute. You refused to spend another night staring at the ceiling while Jaehyun's legendary party happened just a few miles away. But how do you outsmart a man who seemed to read your thoughts before you even finished them?

You needed a cover story. A bulletproof alibi.

Your hand darted to your pocket, pulling out your phone. Without a second hesitation, you tapped on Katelyn's contact and hit call, bringing the device up to your ear as you resumed your frantic pacing.

The phone rang twice before Katelyn picked up, the background noise on her end muffled and chaotic. "Hello? Babe, please tell me you figured a way out of Alcatraz."

"I'm working on it," you hissed in a low whisper, spinning around on your heel as you paced back toward your bed. "Listen to me, I need your help. Jaehyun's party is happening, and I am not missing it. But Yoongi is downstairs acting like a human ankle monitor."

"Oh my god, is he really that intense?" Katelyn giggled through the speaker. "I mean, pictures online of him are one thing, but living with him? Good luck."

"He's impossible," you groaned, flopping dramatically onto the edge of your mattress. "He reads my mind, Katelyn. If I even look at the front door wrong, he cross-examines me. So, here is the plan. I'm going to tell him that I'm coming over to your house to study."

"Study?" Katelyn snorted. "Girl, it's late Sunday afternoon, and we have zero exams coming up. Do you really think a grown-up producer is going to buy that?"

"He has to," you insisted, sitting up straight and pacing again. "Midterm prep, extra credit, whatever. I'll grab a random psychology textbook and shove it in my tote bag so I actually look the part. You just need to play along if he decides to text you or check up on me."

"Okay, fine, I'm down," Katelyn agreed, her voice shifting into a more serious, conspiratorial tone. "I'm actually still at my house right now getting ready anyway. Once you manage to break out and get over here, we can do our makeup together, get dressed, and head out to Jaehyun's place together. Deal?"

"Deal," you breathed, a victorious smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Wish me luck. If I don't text you in twenty minutes, tell the police Min Yoongi locked me in a tower."

You hung up before she could laugh, tossing your phone onto the bed. You took a deep breath, walking over to your bookshelf to yank out a thick, intimidating-looking psychology textbook, Cognitive Neuroscience and Human Behavior, and dropped it heavily into a canvas tote bag. You checked your reflection in the full-length mirror, smoothing down your sweatpants and cropping top, practicing a look of pure, innocent academic diligence.

It was time to face the warden.

You walked out of your bedroom, your footsteps deliberately slow and unbothered as you descended the staircase. The afternoon sunlight was still streaming warm and golden through the tall living room windows, casting bright geometric patterns across the wooden floor.

Yoongi was right where you had left him, though he had moved from the couch back over to the dining table. His laptop was open, and he was scribbling something down on a stray piece of paper, looking effortlessly cool in his black t-shirt and grey sweatpants.

You cleared your throat softly, stepping into his line of sight.

Yoongi didn't look up immediately, but the scratching sound of his pen stopped. A second later, those dark, heavy-lidded eyes slid up to lock onto yours, full of quiet, assessing patience.

"Decided to rejoin the land of the living?" he drawled, his voice a low, rich baritone that seemed to echo slightly in the quiet space.

"Yeah," you said, injecting as much breezy, casual nonchalance into your voice as you possibly could. You slung the heavy canvas tote bag over your shoulder, letting the psychology textbook inside make an audible, heavy thud against your hip. "Actually, I was thinking... since I'm going stir-crazy sitting here all day, I was going to head over to Katelyn's house. We need to work on a group psychology project that's due on Tuesday."

You held your breath, internally bracing yourself for the cross-examination.

Yoongi raised a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow. He slowly leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as his dark gaze swept down to the canvas bag slung over your shoulder and then back up to your face. The silence stretched for three agonizing seconds.

"A group project," Yoongi repeated, his tone entirely flat, dripping with dry, unconvinced amusement. "On a Sunday evening."

"Yes," you replied, forcing your expression to remain innocent and slightly annoyed, as if his skepticism were an insult to your academic integrity. "Some of us actually care about our grades, Yoongi. Unlike some people who just sit around writing music all day."

A low, rich chuckle rumbled in the back of his throat. He shifted his weight, resting his chin on his knuckles as he stared at you with those piercing, obsidian eyes. He looked completely unimpressed by your performance, yet entirely entertained by your sheer audacity.

"Is that so?" he murmured softly, a slow, dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "And what time is this intensive, highly academic study session supposed to wrap up?"

"Uh, probably around nine or ten?" you lied smoothly, crossing your arms over your chest to mirror his posture, though your palms were sweating slightly. "We'll order takeout, go over the chapters, and then I'll head back."

Yoongi didn't answer right away. He uncrossed his arms, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the wooden table. The golden afternoon light caught the sharp angles of his jaw, highlighting the faint, amused glint in his eyes.

"Alright," he said finally, much easier than you had anticipated.

Your heart skipped a beat with a sudden rush of triumphant disbelief. You had actually pulled it off.

"Great," you said quickly, turning on your heel toward the entryway. "I'll grab my jacket, and I'll call an Uber—"

"Hold on a second," Yoongi's voice cut through the room sharply, stopping you dead in your tracks.

You turned back around, narrowing your eyes. "What?"

Yoongi stood up from his chair, pushing it back with a soft scrape against the floor. He stretched his lean, solid frame, pulling his dark hair back from his forehead before sliding his hands casually into the pockets of his sweatpants.

"You're not taking an Uber, kid," Yoongi stated, his tone carrying an absolute, unyielding finality that brook no argument. "I'll drop you off."

Panic flared instantly in your chest. Drop you off? If Yoongi drove you directly to Katelyn's house, he would expect you to walk inside and sit down with textbooks. If he pulled into the driveway and saw no other cars, or if he walked you to the front door to make sure you got in safely, your entire elaborate lie would implode in five seconds flat.

"No—no, you really don't have to do that!" you protested a little too loudly, your voice pitching upward in your panic. "Seriously! It's totally fine, Katelyn lives like ten minutes away, an Uber is completely safe—"

"I said I'll drop you," Yoongi interrupted smoothly, closing the distance between the dining table and the hallway with slow, deliberate strides. His dark eyes narrowed slightly, zeroing in on the sudden panic written all over your face. A knowing, suspicious glint flickered in his gaze. "Why are you so suddenly opposed to a free ride? Unless... this study session is a lot less academic than you're pretending it is."

"Of course it's academic!" you snapped defensively, desperately trying to rein in your panic and summon back your attitude. "I just don't want to inconvenience you! You're supposed to be relaxing and working on your tracks, not acting as my personal chauffeur."

Yoongi stopped right in front of you. Up close, his towering presence and the heavy, magnetic heat radiating off him made it hard to think straight. He looked down at you for a long, quiet moment, his gaze dragging slowly over your flushed face as if trying to decode every single lie ticking behind your eyes.

"It's no inconvenience," Yoongi murmured, his voice dropping into a low, smoky register that sent a shiver straight down your spine. A slow, infuriatingly handsome smirk spread across his lips. "Consider it part of my rigorous warden duties. Go grab your jacket. I'll get my keys."

Before you could argue further, before you could invent another excuse, Yoongi turned away, walking toward the entryway table to pick up his car keys.

Your mind raced in absolute, frantic overdrive. You stood there frozen for a second, realizing you had zero way out of this. You were going to have to let him drive you to Katelyn’s house, cross your fingers that Katelyn was already outside waiting on the porch, or somehow figure out how to pivot this disaster into a miracle.

With a shaky breath, you grabbed your denim jacket off the hook, slipping your arms into the sleeves as quickly as possible.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket with trembling fingers while Yoongi slipped on his black sneakers by the door. Without looking up, you quickly tapped out a desperate message to your group chat and sent it to Katelyn:

‘CODE RED. HE IS DRIVING ME TO YOUR HOUSE RIGHT NOW. BE OUT ON THE FRONT PORCH WAITING OR I AM DEAD.’

A second later, your phone buzzed in your hand with Katelyn’s frantic reply: ‘OH SHIT OKAY ON IT!’

You locked the screen, shoving the phone back into your pocket just as Yoongi straightened up, jingling his keys in his hand. He looked over at you, his dark eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and sharp, calculated curiosity.

"Ready, scholar?" he drawled smoothly, holding the front door open for you.

You swallowed hard, pasting on the bravest, most convincing smile you could manage as you walked past him and stepped out into the golden afternoon air.

Mission accomplished, you thought bitterly to yourself. Now I just have to survive the ride.

The suburban street outside Katelyn’s house was quiet, bathed in the warm, fading amber light of the late afternoon sun.

When Yoongi’s sleek black sedan smoothly pulled up to the curb and shifted into park, your heart was hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs. The entire ten-minute car ride had been a masterclass in psychological torture. Yoongi had kept one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel while the other operated the console, occasionally glancing over at you with those heavy, dark-lidded eyes, tossing out casual, deadpan remarks that made you feel like he could see right through your skull.

Fortunately, as the car coasted to a stop in front of Katelyn’s driveway, your prayers were miraculously answered.

Standing right on the front porch, wearing a chic black mini-dress and clutching a small designer handbag, was Katelyn. Next to her feet sat a large canvas tote bag stuffed with textbooks, perfectly staged to look like a desperate, last-minute study session.

When Yoongi cut the engine, the low purr of the vehicle died away, leaving a thick, charged silence inside the cabin. He unbuckled his seatbelt, turning his upper body slightly toward you to rest his arm across the back of the passenger seat.

"Well," Yoongi drawled softly, his deep voice wrapping around you like velvet as his gaze dropped to the canvas bag clutched in your lap. "Looks like your study partner is actually waiting for you. Color me surprised."

"See?" you shot back, injecting as much indignant triumph into your tone as you possibly could while your palms broke out in a nervous cold sweat. "I told you it was legit. You can stop treating me like an international fugitive now."

Yoongi let out a low, rich chuckle, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He didn't move away. Instead, he leaned a fraction of an inch closer, his dark eyes sweeping over your face with an intense, lingering focus that made the air in the car suddenly feel entirely too thin.

"I'll believe it when I see an A-plus on your midterm," Yoongi murmured, his voice dropping into a smoky, gravelly register that sent a shiver straight down your spine. He reached out, his long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your cheekbone for a fraction of a second with an agonizingly tender warmth. "Don't stay out too late, kid. And keep your phone on you."

"I'm not a kid," you mumbled automatically, though your voice lacked any real bite, your skin still tingling intensely where his fingers had touched you.

"Right," he smirked, leaning back as he reached across the console to pop open the passenger door for you. "Have fun studying."

You didn't wait another second. You pushed the door open, practically scrambled out of the low-slung sedan, and slammed the door shut behind you. You threw a quick, stiff wave back at Yoongi through the tinted window before turning on your heel and practically sprinting up the concrete walkway toward the front porch.

Yoongi’s car idled at the curb for a few more long seconds, just long enough for you to feel the weight of his stare burning into your back, before the tires crunched against the asphalt and he finally pulled away, driving back down the street until he vanished around the corner.

The second his taillights disappeared, you let out a massive, explosive exhale, collapsing back against the wooden front door as your knees suddenly went weak.

"Oh my god," Katelyn gasped, rushing forward to grab your arm, her eyes wide as saucers as she stared down the empty street where the car had just gone. "Was that actually Min Yoongi? Driving you? In his own car?!"

"Keep your voice down before he hears you from the next neighborhood," you hissed, grabbing Katelyn by the shoulders and pulling her inside the house, slamming the front door shut behind the two of you with a loud click.

"Girl, are you kidding me?!" Katelyn squealed, dropping her bag and grabbing your hands as the two of you hurried down the hallway toward her bedroom. "He is gorgeous! Like, completely unreal in person! And he drove you here? After you lied to his face about a study session?"

"It wasn't a complete lie," you muttered defensively, kicking off your shoes by her bedroom door and walking straight over to her vanity mirror. "I literally brought a psychology textbook with me. See?" You unzipped your tote bag, pulling out the massive hardcover book Cognitive Neuroscience and Human Behavior and dropping it dramatically onto her desk. "Evidence of my academic dedication."

"You are insane," Katelyn laughed, shaking her head as she grabbed a hairbrush and tossed it at you. "You lied to a notoriously sharp, terrifyingly perceptive music producer who has known your dad for a decade, just so you could go to a high school, correction, college-kegger. You have a death wish."

"I have a social life," you corrected, spinning around to face her as a reckless, excited grin broke across your face. You walked over to her bed where her vanity lights were casting a bright, golden glow across the room. "And now that we've successfully executed Operation Prison Break, let's talk about the important things. How do I look? Is this outfit too casual?"

"You look stunning, now shut up and sit down so I can finish your eyeliner," Katelyn ordered, shoving you playfully down onto the vanity chair.

For the next twenty minutes, Katelyn’s room became a chaotic whirlwind of beauty products, outfit adjustments, and breathless gossip. You sat in front of the illuminated mirror while Katelyn meticulously perfected your makeup, but despite the high-energy music blasting from her phone speaker, your mind kept drifting backward.

You could still feel the phantom heat of Yoongi’s fingers brushing against your cheek. You could still hear the low, rumbling timbre of his voice warning you not to stay out too late. A strange, confusing mix of adrenaline, guilt, and a dangerous, electric thrill buzzed beneath your skin. You were officially breaking every single rule your father had laid out, sliding right out from under the thumb of the most intimidating man you had ever met, and heading straight into the wildest party of the semester.

"Okay, final check," Katelyn announced, stepping back and clapping her hands together as she looked you up and down with an approving smile. "Hair is bouncy, makeup is slaying, outfit is devastating."

You stood up, smoothing down your clothes and flashing a grin in the mirror. "Let's go before I lose my nerve."

"Wait, check your phone first," Katelyn said, pointing to the nightstand where your device was resting face-up. "Did your warden text you yet?"

You quickly picked up the phone, your thumb swiping across the screen. There were no new texts from Yoongi. Just a string of frantic, excited messages from Alicia and Zora in the group chat asking if you had successfully escaped the compound yet.

‘I am free,’ you typed back quickly to the group chat with a row of laughing emojis. ‘Katelyn and I are heading out right now. See you guys there.’

You locked the phone, shoving it securely into your small handbag alongside your lip gloss and keys.

"All clear," you said, looking up at Katelyn.

"Perfect," she beamed, grabbing her jacket off the bed. "Our ride should be here any second anyway. I ordered an Uber while you were fixing your hair."

True to her word, the faint, low hum of a car engine pulling up to the curb echoed through the front window just moments later. Katelyn quickly peeked through the blinds, nodding in satisfaction.

"That's us," she announced, grabbing her purse.

You took one final, deep breath, feeling the cool evening air rush into your lungs as the front door swung open. The night stretched out before you, wide open, chaotic, and entirely unpredictable. You had slipped right through Yoongi’s fingers, stepping out into the neon-lit freedom of the city.

Little did you know, the quiet cabin back home wasn't going to stay quiet for much longer, and your grand escape was about to collide head-on with a reality you hadn't anticipated.

The Uber dropped you and Katelyn off right at the wrought-iron gates of Sim Jaehyun’s sprawling hillside estate. Even from down the street, you could hear the heavy, concussive thrum of the bass vibrating through the pavement, and the bright, erratic flashes of strobe lights cut through the dark night sky like neon lasers.

The moment you stepped out of the car, the cool evening air hit your bare shoulders, carrying the sharp scent of spilled alcohol, expensive cologne, and humid excitement. The driveway was packed wall-to-wall with expensive cars and groups of laughing students shouting over the deafening music, turning the entire property into a chaotic, high-energy vortex.

"Holy shit," Katelyn whispered, her eyes widening as she grabbed your arm, pulling you close to navigate the surging crowd. "Jaehyun really went all out this time. This place is packed!"

"Stay close," you yelled back over the din, a wild, reckless thrill suddenly surging through your veins to chase away the last lingering traces of guilt.

You had done it. You had slipped right past Yoongi’s hyper-observant gaze, traded a quiet night of forced supervision for the loudest party of the semester, and proven to yourself that you weren't on a leash after all. The thought of Yoongi sitting alone back at the house, probably sipping black coffee and working on his tracks, completely unaware that his "model prisoner" was currently swallowed up by a sea of flashing lights and pounding bass sent a wicked, intoxicating spark of triumph straight through your chest.

Pushing past the heavy oak front doors, you stepped directly into the heart of the mansion.

The interior had been completely transformed. The massive living room furniture had been shoved against the walls to clear out an enormous makeshift dance floor, and the ceiling was a swirling canopy of laser lights and haze. Everywhere you looked, people were laughing, drinking, and losing themselves to the rhythm of the music.

"I'm going to find Alicia and Zora by the bar!" Katelyn shouted right into your ear, pointing toward the far end of the sprawling kitchen island where a makeshift drink station had been set up. "Do you want anything?"

"Just water!" you yelled back, shaking your head. "I'll be right over there!"

Katelyn nodded and immediately vanished into the dense, swaying crowd, leaving you standing near the perimeter of the main room. You didn't mind. You liked the momentary buffer, taking a deep breath as you let your eyes adjust to the strobing lights and swirling shadows.

You reached into your small handbag, sliding your fingers past your lip gloss to check for your phone just to make sure it was still there. The screen was dark. No missed notifications, no frantic texts from an angry producer. A triumphant smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You locked your phone back up, feeling entirely untouchable.

With a light, unbothered step, you began to weave your way through the crowd, letting the heavy, infectious energy of the music pull you in. You swayed your hips slightly to the beat, your eyes scanning the faces around you, soaking in the absolute freedom of the night. You ran into a few classmates from your psychology lectures, traded quick hugs and loud laughs over the music, and even caught a distant wave from Jaehyun himself, who was holding court near the DJ booth like a reigning monarch.

For the next hour, time completely dissolved. You danced with Katelyn and the girls, downed a couple of sweet mixed drinks that tasted mostly like fruit juice, and let the deafening roar of the bass rattle straight through your bones. The phantom anxiety of Yoongi’s watchful eyes slowly evaporated, replaced by the warm, buzzing euphoria of youth and absolute autonomy.

However, as the clock ticked past midnight, the sheer density of the crowd began to wear on you. The air inside the main living room was growing heavy and hot, thick with body heat and smoke. Your feet ached slightly from your heels, and a sudden, mild wave of fatigue reminded you that you had been running on pure adrenaline all day.

Deciding you needed a breather, you quietly excused yourself from the group, weaving your way backward away from the pulsing epicenter of the dance floor.

You slipped through a pair of wide, open French doors that led out toward the quieter side of the mansion, a dimly lit, vaulted sunroom that overlooked the back garden. The music was significantly muffled out here, reduced to a heavy, distant thrumming heartbeat, and the air was cool, sweet, and crisp against your flushed skin.

A few people were scattered around the room, talking in low murmurs or sitting on the plush velvet couches, but for the most part, it was a sanctuary of relative peace compared to the chaos raging inside.

You walked over to the far wall, leaning your back gently against a cool, dark wooden pillar near a large arched window. You closed your eyes for a brief second, letting out a long, slow exhale as you tipped your head back, enjoying the quiet chill of the room against the back of your neck.

"Heavy crowd out there tonight."

The voice was low, smooth, and completely unexpected, cutting softly through the quiet space right beside you.

Your eyes snapped open.

Standing just a few feet away, leaning casually against the adjacent side of the same wooden pillar with his hands tucked loosely into the pockets of a dark, tailored jacket, was a guy you hadn't noticed before.

He was strikingly handsome, with sharp, clean-cut features, a shock of dark, messy hair falling effortlessly across his forehead, and a pair of observant, bright eyes that were looking at you with a quiet, lingering intensity. He looked a couple of years older than most of the college crowd, composed, effortlessly put-together, and carrying an air of absolute calm that stood out sharply against the frantic energy of the party.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Yeah," you managed to say, your voice a little breathier than you intended as you straightened up slightly from the pillar. "It's... definitely a lot louder than I expected."

The guy let out a soft, low chuckle, the sound rich and genuinely amused. He shifted his weight, turning his body slightly toward you, his gaze sweeping over you with an open, appreciative interest that made your pulse give a sudden, flustered jump.

"You look like you needed to escape for a minute," he noted, his tone friendly and smooth, carrying an easy charm that didn't feel forced at all. "I'm Minho, by the way."

"I'm Y/N," you replied, offering a polite, slightly cautious smile, feeling a warm flush spread across your cheeks under the directness of his stare.

"Well, Y/N," Minho said, his lips curling into a slow, disarming smile as he pushed off the pillar, closing the small physical distance between you with a deliberate, confident stride. "It's nice to meet someone out here actually breathing oxygen instead of screaming over the speakers."

You laughed softly, the nervous knot in your stomach loosening into a pleasant, fluttering warmth. "Trust me, I was about ten minutes away from hiding in a bathroom just to get some silence."

"We can't have that," Minho murmured, his bright eyes locking onto yours with a heavy, magnetic focus that made it impossible to look away. He tilted his head slightly toward the open double doors behind you, where the faint, rhythmic pulse of the music was still bleeding through. "If you're going to survive the rest of the night, you need proper fuel. Or, at the very least, a better distraction."

You raised a single eyebrow, a playful spark of defiance mingling with the lingering adrenaline in your veins. "And what kind of distraction do you have in mind?"

Minho stepped even closer, his gaze dropping momentarily to your lips before flashing back up to meet your eyes with a bold, inviting challenge. The ambient neon light from the garden outside caught the sharp line of his jaw, making him look straight out of a magazine.

"Hey..." Minho murmured softly, his voice dropping an octave as a slow, confident grin spread across his face. He reached out, his hand hovering gently near yours before he gestured toward the open doorway. "...You. You wanna dance?"

The heavy, pulsating rhythm of the bassline vibrating through the floorboards of the upstairs hallway felt entirely distant, muffled as if underwater.

You had let Minho pull you back toward the swirling, chaotic energy of the main dance floor, letting the neon strobe lights and the residual adrenaline of your successful escape sweep you away. It felt liberating, a fiery confirmation that you were twenty years old, completely independent, and entirely in control of your own choices. When Minho had spun you around, pressing your back flush against the solid warmth of his chest as the two of you swayed to the heavy beat, you had laughed, tossing your head back against his shoulder.

You were invincible. Until you weren't.

When Minho had leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear to murmur, "You're dangerous," it had felt like a playful, intoxicating challenge. But when his hand had gripped your waist a little too tightly, shifting his weight and pulling you away from the crowd and up the dimly lit flight of stairs toward the quieter, unused guest rooms of the mansion, the mood in the air had shifted with terrifying speed.

"Wait—Minho, where are we going?" you had asked, your voice dropping as you tried to pull back, suddenly feeling a cold knot of unease twist in your stomach.

"Just somewhere we can actually hear each other talk," he had smiled, his grip on your hand firm and unyielding as he pushed open a heavy mahogany door at the end of the second-floor hallway, pulling you into a dark, empty bedroom lit only by the pale amber glow of streetlamps filtering through the sheer window curtains.

Before you could blink, the playful charm had completely evaporated. Minho had crowded you back against the locked door, his hands moving too fast, too aggressively, pressing you into the wood with a weight that made it hard to draw a full breath. When you tried to twist away, shaking your head and telling him to stop, he only chuckled darkly, dismissing your protests as playful resistance.

Panic had flared hot and sharp behind your ribs. You shoved hard against his chest, your voice rising in genuine distress as you tried to wrench your arms free.

Bang.

The heavy bedroom door flew inward with a violence that splintered the frame against the drywall, crashing open so hard it rebounded off the wall. A sudden, vicious gust of cold night air swept into the room, carrying with it a lethal, suffocating aura that instantly sucked all the oxygen out of the space.

Standing in the doorway was Min Yoongi.

The sight of him sent a violent shock straight through your core. He wasn't wearing his casual hoodie anymore; he was dressed in a dark, heavy jacket, his hair slightly disheveled by the wind, but it was his face that made your blood run cold. His expression was completely blank, stripped of every ounce of the lazy, amused warmth you had grown used to. His obsidian eyes were completely black with a terrifying, unbridled fury, locked onto Minho with the deadliness of a predator backed into a corner.

Before Minho could even process the intrusion or turn around fully, Yoongi crossed the bedroom in three massive, ground-eating strides.

"Get your hands off her," Yoongi’s voice didn't roar; it dropped into a low, terrifyingly quiet register that vibrated straight through the floorboards.

Minho started to spin around, his mouth opening in an indignant protest, "Hey, man, what the fuck—"but he never finished the sentence. Yoongi’s hand lashed out with shocking, lethal speed, gripping the collar of Minho’s jacket in a tight, white-knuckled fist and violently yanking him away from you. With a sickening thud, Yoongi slammed Minho hard against the opposite wall, pinning him there with a crushing forearm pressed flat across his throat.

You gasped, stumbling forward away from the door, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself as your chest heaved with ragged, terrified breaths.

"If you ever touch her again," Yoongi whispered, his voice dangerously low, shaking with a suppressed, lethal rage that made the air in the room feel electric and sharp, "I will personally make sure you never walk through this city again. Do you understand me?"

Minho’s face turned pale under the chokehold, his hands flying up to grasp at Yoongi’s wrist, choking out a frantic, strangled gasp. "I—man, I didn't mean—"

Yoongi didn't wait for him to finish. With a final, contemptuous shove that sent Minho stumbling hard against the bedframe, Yoongi let go of him as if touching him was toxic. He didn't spare the guy another glance.

Instead, Yoongi’s dark, blazing eyes snapped instantly toward you.

Before your racing heart could even begin to settle, Yoongi crossed the small distance between you in a heartbeat. His large hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly and unbreakably around your wrist. The grip wasn't gentle; it was tight with the lingering adrenaline of pure panic, anchoring you to him with absolute finality.

"We're leaving," Yoongi said, his voice flat, demanding, and impossible to argue with.

"Yoongi, wait—" you stammered, stumbling blindly as he turned on his heel and dragged you backward out of the bedroom and down the dark hallway. "How'd you know–"

"Stop talking, right now." Yoongi cut you off harshly, his long strides pulling you effortlessly along behind him down the staircase as the heavy bass of the party thrummed uselessly against the walls.

"Let go of my wrist, you're hurting me!" you argued back, a surge of adrenaline and humiliated panic making your voice crack as you tried to dig your heels into the polished wooden steps of the foyer. "You can't just barge in here and drag me out like a—like a child! I told you I was fine—"

Yoongi stopped dead on the bottom step. He whipped around, dropping your wrist only to grip your shoulders, his dark, furious eyes boring straight down into yours with an intensity that completely paralyzed your tongue.

"Don't fucking argue with me," Yoongi snapped, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper that sliced right through your defenses, the raw, underlying fear and protectiveness bleeding through his anger making your breath catch. "You had no business being here. You lied, you snuck out, and you walked right into a situation you couldn't handle. Now shut your mouth. Let's go."

Before you could utter another syllable of protest, Yoongi’s hand slid down to securely grasp your hand, his fingers lacing tightly through yours with an ironclad grip, and pulled you across the crowded, suffocating foyer.

The air outside the front doors hit you like a physical wave. The cool night breeze did nothing to cool the hot, mortified flush burning across your cheeks as Yoongi dragged you down the front steps and along the packed driveway where cars were idling in the dark.

Through the blur of the departing crowd, you caught sight of Katelyn standing near the edge of the lawn with Alicia and Zora, her eyes wide as saucers, staring in absolute shock as thee Min Yoongi literally hauled you away by the hand. You offered a miserable, frantic, apologetic grimace, as all three of your friends mouthed a silent 'I'm sorry' before Yoongi pulled you past the wrought-iron gates and onto the quiet, dark sidewalk.

Parked just fifty feet down the curb was his sleek black sedan, its hazard lights blinking dimly in the empty street.

The second you reached the passenger side, Yoongi unlocked the doors with a sharp beep of his key fob. He pulled the door open wide, gesturing for you to get inside with a stiff, unforgiving motion of his chin.

Instead of moving, you planted your feet firmly on the pavement, crossing your arms over your chest as a defiant, angry knot tightened in your throat. You weren't going to let him treat you like a disobedient dog.

"I'm not getting in," you shot back, your voice trembling slightly with a mix of leftover shock and stubborn pride. "You have no right to act like my warden, Yoongi! I am twenty years old, I can take care of myself, and you didn't have to—"

Yoongi didn't blink. He didn't yell. He simply closed the distance between you in one single, fluid step, his tall frame towering over you and trapping you between his body and the open car door. His dark, heavy-lidded eyes were blazing with a terrifying, absolute authority that made every instinct in your body scream.

He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly dark rasp that left zero room for negotiation.

"Get. The. Fuck. In. The. Car... Now."

The sharp, absolute command hung heavily in the air, vibrating against your skin with a terrifying finality.

For a second, you stared up into his dark, blazing eyes, your chest heaving with a suffocating mix of residual adrenaline, humiliation, and burning, unyielding defiance. You wanted to fight back. You wanted to scream at him, tell him he had no right to talk to you that way, tell him you hated him. But the cold, raw intensity of his gaze, still carrying the lingering edge of the sheer panic he’d felt when he pulled that guy off you, made the words die instantly in your throat.

Trembling, you finally broke eye contact. You ducked past him, climbing into the passenger seat of the sedan and yanking the door shut behind you with a sharp, echoing thud.

Yoongi didn't waste a second. He rounded the hood, sliding into the driver's seat and slamming his own door shut. The engine roared to life with a low, vicious growl, and he threw the car into drive, peeling away from the curb with enough acceleration to snap your head back against the headrest.

For the first five minutes of the drive, the silence inside the cabin was completely suffocating. It wasn't the comfortable, charged quiet you had shared earlier in the weekend; it was a heavy, volatile vacuum, thick with unsaid words and crackling static. The streetlights flashed past in a blur of neon streaks, casting erratic shadows across Yoongi's rigid, unmoving profile. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked heavily near his cheek, and both of his hands were gripping the steering wheel with such white-knuckled force his knuckles looked translucent.

You stared straight ahead out the windshield, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your fingers digging painfully into your elbows. The adrenaline of the party was entirely gone, replaced by a churning, hot knot of anger and humiliation.

"You had no right to do that," you finally blurted out, the silence breaking with a sharp, trembling crack as you whipped your head around to glare at him. "You had absolutely no right to track me down, barge into that room, and treat me like some kind of delinquent property!"

Yoongi didn't even look at you. His eyes remained dead-locked on the dark road ahead, his voice dropping into a low, lethal snarl. "Shut up."

"I will not shut up!" you fired back, your voice rising in pitch, fueled by the sheer injustice of it all. "You're my dad's friend, Yoongi! Not my warden, not my owner! I was fine! I was handling it—"

"Handling it?" Yoongi suddenly slammed his foot on the brake as the car rounded a corner near your neighborhood, the tires screeching softly against the asphalt before he pulled the sedan sharply to the curb and killed the engine.

He whipped his head around to face you, his dark eyes flashing with a furious, unbridled storm that made you shrink back against your seat.

"Is that what you call handling it?" Yoongi shouted, his voice cracking with a raw, suppressed rage that terrified you more than his calm had. "You lied to my face, sneaked out to a party full of strangers, and let some guy corner you in a locked room while you were crying out to get him off you! If I hadn't called your friend and been five minutes later—five fucking minutes—do you have any idea what would have happened to you?!"

"I didn't ask you to follow me!" you screamed back, hot, angry tears finally spilling over your eyelashes and tracking down your cheeks, though your voice shook violently. "I wanted to go out! I wanted to have one single night where I wasn't being watched and judged and treated like a helpless child! I'm an adult, Yoongi! Why the fuck are you treating me like this?!"

"Because I can't!" Yoongi roared, the words tearing out of his throat with a violent desperation that instantly sucked all the oxygen out of the car.

The interior fell dead silent.

Yoongi’s chest heaved rapidly under his dark jacket, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned. He closed his eyes tightly for a second, letting out a ragged, shaking breath as the heavy, turbulent storm inside him slowly, painfully crested and broke.

"Just... get out of the car," he whispered, his voice dangerously low, entirely stripped of anger and replaced by an exhausted, heavy defeat.

You didn't say another word. You shoved your door open, scrambled out onto the dark pavement, and slammed the door shut with every ounce of frustration you had left in your body. You didn't wait for him. You sprinted up the concrete walkway toward the front door of your house, fumbling frantically with your keys before shoving the key into the lock, twisting it open, and shoving the door wide.

You stepped inside into the dark entryway, kicking off your heels in a fit of rage, and reached out to slam the heavy front door shut right in Yoongi's face as his footsteps crunched up the steps behind you.

Before the wood could meet the frame, a large, warm hand shot out, catching the edge of the door with effortless, unyielding strength. Yoongi shoved it wide open, stepping into the hallway with a dark, dangerous scowl carved deep into his features.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" Yoongi barked, his voice echoing off the tiled walls as he slammed the front door shut behind him, locking it with a sharp turn of the deadbolt.

"My problem is you!" you yelled, spinning around to face him in the dim hallway light, your hands balling into tight fists at your sides as fresh tears of fury welled in your eyes. "You ruin everything! You follow me, you humiliate me, you treat me like a prisoner in my own home—"

"I saved you from a very bad situation, and you're standing here screaming at me because your pride is hurt?!" Yoongi stepped forward, closing the distance between you with terrifying speed, his dark eyes flashing down at you. "Are you out of your fucking mind, Y/N? Do you have a death wish?!"

"I just wanted to be free!" you sobbed, your voice breaking entirely as all the heavy, exhausting armor you had worn all weekend finally shattered into pieces. You shoved your hands against his solid chest, hitting him weakly. "Fuck you, God, I fucking hate you."

Yoongi didn't flinch. He didn't push you away. Instead, as your weak blows turned into frantic, desperate pushes against his jacket, his hands suddenly shot out, grabbing both of your wrists with an iron grip. He yanked your hands down, pinning them to your sides, and crowded you backward until the small of your back slammed hard against the wall beside the entryway table.

"You don't hate me," Yoongi whispered, his voice dropping into a low, smoky, trembling rasp that vibrated straight through your entire body. His face hovered mere inches from yours, his heavy, dark gaze burning into your soul. "Stop lying to yourself."

"I'm not lying—" you gasped out, but the protest was completely swallowed up as Yoongi abruptly crashed his lips down onto yours.

The kiss wasn't sweet. It wasn't gentle or hesitant. It was punishing, desperate, and starving, a chaotic collision of all the pent-up tension, the terrifying panic of the night, and the magnetic, electric pull that had been burning between you since the moment he walked through the front door.

Your breath hitched sharply in your throat. For a split second, your body locked up in shock, but the fierce, intoxicating heat of his mouth against yours melted every ounce of your resistance away. A soft, pathetic whimper escaped your lips, your hands, suddenly free instantly flying up to grip the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer as you parted your lips, yielding to him completely.

Yoongi groaned low in the back of his throat, a dark, ragged sound that vibrated right through your mouth. He shifted his weight, pressing his lean, solid body flush against yours, trapping you completely against the wall. His large hand slid up the back of your neck, his fingers tangling roughly into your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss until your head spun.

You felt entirely helpless beneath him, all your fierce independence melting away into a breathless, submissive haze as his tongue swept masterfully inside your mouth, tasting every inch of you.

A low, dark chuckle rumbled right against your lips, rich and triumphant.

"Look at you..." Yoongi murmured softly between heated, bruising kisses, his breath hot against your skin as he pulled back just enough to look down at your flushed, slack expression, his dark eyes heavy with wicked satisfaction. "...so tough out there, and now you're melting right in my hands."

"Yoongi..." you breathed out, your voice sounding small, whiny, and utterly ruined as you arched your back instinctively against his chest, desperate for more friction, more of his weight pressing you into the wall.

He didn't give you a chance to catch your breath. Breaking away from your mouth, he peppered hot, heavy kisses down the line of your jaw, down your neck, making your knees buckle beneath you. Before you could slide down the wall, Yoongi swept one arm securely around your waist, lifting you slightly as he backed away from the entryway, carrying you straight into the adjacent kitchen.

With a heavy thud, he slammed your hips back against the smooth, cold surface of the kitchen island, slotting his body perfectly between your thighs.

He captured your lips again in a ravenous, consuming kiss, his hands gripping your waist fiercely before sliding lower, tracing the line of your hips and moving frantically around to the back of your dress.

A sharp, ragged "Fuck" tore from Yoongi's lips against your mouth as his fingers fumbled with the hidden zipper of your outfit, dragging the metal slide down with a harsh, tearing sound that exposed your bare skin to the cool air of the kitchen.

The contrast of the cold air and the blistering heat of his hands burning against your spine sent a violent, shuddering wave straight through your core. You whimpered softly, your fingers clutching desperately at his shoulders, your mind completely unraveling.

Yoongi pulled his head back an inch, his chest heaving, his dark, obsidian eyes completely dilated and blazing with a raw, dominant hunger that made your heart hammer like a trapped bird against your ribs. He stared down at you for a long, heavy second, his thumb wiping roughly across your swollen, parted lips.

"Get up," Yoongi rasped, his voice thick, heavy, and commanding, sending a lightning bolt of sheer anticipation straight down your spine. He stepped back just enough to let you slide off the counter. "Go in your room and strip... I'm fucking done playing games."

The bedroom door clicked shut behind Yoongi, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of your own room. Your heart was still hammering against your ribs like a trapped animal, each beat echoing the terrifying, exhilarating violence of his kiss. You moved like a marionette, limbs heavy and disconnected, as you stripped off your dress. When you finally stood naked in the dim glow of your bedside lamp, you felt exposed not just physically, but spiritually. The defiance you had carried all night had been stripped away as thoroughly as your clothes, leaving nothing behind but a raw, aching vulnerability.

When he entered, he didn't knock. He didn't ask. He simply appeared in the doorway, his dark jacket discarded, his black shirt completely gone too. His eyes swept over you, dark and hungry, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed the irises. The silence between you wasn't empty; it was charged with the static of everything unsaid the years of watching you grow up, the years he had spent pretending he didn't notice how you flushed when he entered a room, and the years you had spent pretending his protective streak didn't make your blood sing.

"Come here," he commanded. It wasn't a request; it was an ultimatum.

You obeyed, your bare feet silent on the carpet as you crossed to him. When you reached him, he didn't embrace you gently. His hands shot out, gripping your hips with bruising force, pulling you flush against the hard heat of his body. "You want to be treated like an adult?" he rasped against your ear, his breath hot enough to scald. "Fine. Then accept what happens when you provoke a man who has been starving for you."

His mouth found yours again, but the desperation had shifted from anger to something far more dangerous: ownership. He tasted like whiskey and fury, his tongue claiming your mouth with a dominance that made your head roll back. One hand stayed locked on your hip while the other slid upward, fingers splaying across your ribs before diving lower, cupping your breast with enough pressure to make you gasp into his mouth. He kneaded you roughly, his thumb flicking over your nipple until it peaked hard against his palm, sending jolts of electricity straight to your clit.

"Yoongi please..." you whimpered, the plea breaking as your knees threatened to give out.

"Please what?" he growled, breaking the kiss to trail his teeth down your throat. He bit at the sensitive cord of your neck, a sharp sting that made you arch your back, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. "Please stop? Or please don't stop?" He pulled back to look at you, his thumb dragging roughly across your swollen lower lip. "Because I'm not going to be gentle with you tonight, Y/N. I've been too gentle for too long."

He spun you around abruptly, bending you over against the mattress. The cool sheets felt like ice against your heated skin as he climbed over you, his heavy weight pinning you down. You felt his hands working at his belt, the metallic clink of the buckle sounding deafening in the quiet room. When he freed himself, the tip of his cock brushed against the small of your back, and you let out a broken moan. The sheer size of him, the heat of him, made your inner walls pulse in desperate anticipation.

He didn't waste time with prolonged tenderness. He reached between your thighs, his fingers finding your slick heat without hesitation. When he pushed two fingers inside you, it wasn't a slow exploration; it was a demand. He stretched you open, his middle finger curling upward to find your G spot with ruthless accuracy. You cried out, your hips bucking reflexively, but his free hand came down hard on your ass, the sting of the slap making you gasp and surrender even further.

"Shh," he hissed, though there was no comfort in the sound. "Take it. Take all of it."

He fucked you with his fingers in a punishing rhythm, each thrust designed to drive you closer to the edge while keeping you firmly under his control. Your breath came in ragged sobs as the pleasure began to overwhelm your ability to think. You were drowning in him, in the scent of him, in the terrifying realization that you loved the way he took what he wanted.

"Turn over," he ordered, his voice thick with restrained need. "On your side."

You obeyed automatically, rolling onto your left side, your body shaking with residual tremors. You felt him shift behind you, his body settling against your back, heat seeping through your skin. Then, he reached down and grabbed your right leg, hauling it upward. He hooked your ankle over his shoulder, forcing your hips to open wide, exposing your most intimate self to the cool air and his burning gaze.

"This is where you belong," he whispered, his lips pressed against the nape of your neck. "Right here, under me."

The first thrust of his cock was devastating. Without the cushion of foreplay to ease the entry, he slid into you in one long, relentless motion that filled you to the absolute limit. You screamed into your pillow, your body seizing around him as he bottomed out, his pelvis grinding hard against your ass. The position was intimate yet primal you couldn't see him, you could only feel him, a solid, overwhelming force that seemed to occupy every inch of your existence.

He started to move, and there was no mercy in his pace. He fucked you with a raw, animalistic intensity, each thrust driving you forward against the mattress. Because your leg was propped up, every stroke went deeper, hitting your cervix with a blunt force that made your vision blur. The friction was exquisite, a building storm of sensation that threatened to shatter you.

"Be a good girl, come on," he commanded, but you couldn't turn. "Feel how fucking good this is."

He reached around, his hand finding your clit and grinding against it in perfect synchronization with his thrusts. The dual stimulation was too much. You began to climax before he even reached his peak, your inner muscles clamping down on him in desperate, rhythmic waves. You cried out his name, your body convulsing as pleasure tore through you like lightning.

But Yoongi wasn't finished. "Not yet," he growled, his voice cracking. "I'm not done with you."

He increased the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, more desperate. He was chasing his own release now, his breathing coming in harsh, guttural pants that echoed your own. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room a wet, rhythmic percussion that drove you deeper into the haze. You felt his hands grip your thigh, his fingers digging into your flesh to hold you steady as he hammered into you.

The taboo of it the fact that he was your father's friend, that he was supposed to protect you, not ruin you only served to heighten the intensity. Every thrust felt like a transgression, a beautiful, filthy violation of everything you had been taught. And you craved it. You craved the way he claimed you, the way he erased the girl you used to be and replaced her with this creature of pure sensation.

"Yoongi I'm–I'm going to... Fuuuck," you gasped, your voice breaking as the next wave of climax built behind your ribs.

"Do it," he roared, his own control finally snapping. "Cum for me, baby. Fuck, cum for me."

The orgasm hit you like a physical blow, sending you spiraling into darkness. At the same moment, Yoongi let out a raw, triumphant shout as he buried himself inside you one last time, pumping his hot seed deep into your womb. His body shuddered violently against yours, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder as he emptied himself into you.

For several long minutes, the only sound in the room was the labored breathing of two people who had just survived a war. The intensity slowly ebbed, leaving behind a heavy, boneless exhaustion. Yoongi didn't pull away immediately. He stayed wrapped around you, his heartbeat thundering against your spine, his arms holding you close as if he feared you might disappear if he let go.

Finally, he shifted, rolling off you and pulling you back against his chest. His skin was slick with sweat, and his breathing was gradually evening out. The anger from earlier was gone, replaced by something quieter, something more permanent.

He pressed a kiss to the back of your head, his lips lingering there. "Don't ever run from me again," he whispered, the command softer now, but no less absolute.