#august d

Title: Help pt.2

Warning: talks of pregnancy. mini argument(?). I think that's all.

Pairing: Idol!Min Yoongi x Influencer!Fem!reader

A/N: Part two to help, hope you enjoy. Also lmk if you want to be tagged in future parts of this mini series I have going on!

WC: 1k

not proofread

Seokjin didn’t know what was happening when he had gotten the call from Yoongi. 

He felt really worried, “What’s wrong?”, was the first thing he had said over the phone but Yoongi wouldn’t spit it out over the phone.

So now, at around three in the morning he was taking a private car to Yoongi’s condo. He couldn’t even think what was so wrong to the point where after such a long day of practice he had to come out of his comfortable home leaving his wife and kids behind.

Did he hurt himself again?

That was one of hundreds of thoughts that had passed through Jin’s head. He was really worried…

Going up the elevator, Jin bounces on the tips of his toes in anxiety. When the jingle letting him know he was on the floor he needed to be, he steps into the hall and makes a right, right in front of Yoongi’s door.

It felt like he barely was able to  knock on the door before it swung open revealing a flushed and frantic Yoongi. Being grabbed by his hand, Jin makes his way quickly through the opening, slipping his shoes off in the process.

He was expecting to see something broken or even lit of fire from how frantic he was acting but he seen nothing.

Well…not nothing…there on Yoongi's couch sat Namjoon looking as confused as Jin felt.

They both stared at one another for a half a second before Yoongi pulls Jin towards the couch and says, “Sit. Please.”

Now Jin was even more nervous than before… what could possibly be wrong to have Yoongi this sporadic? 

Taking a seat on his plush couch, Jin sits stiff as a board waiting for the pin to drop. In front of Namjoon and Jin, Yoongi is currently pacing back and forth muttering little things to himself.

“This can’t be… is it true?... what do I do?” Are a few phrases he had caught from his mini mutters and rambling.

Namjoon and Jin look at one another, speaking to one another with their eyes. Jin nods his head at Namjoon and so Namjoon turns to look at Yoongi.

Clearing his throat Namjoon begins, “Um…Hyung? Is everything okay?”

The air in the room felt electric and dead at the same time. It all becomes still when Yoongi stops in his tracks of pacing.

He slightly turns his head towards the pair and before he can think, blurts out, “I think I'm a dad.” 

The air in the room seems to be sucked out with that statement. 

Jin and Namjoon sat their staring at Yoongi waiting for him to laugh, maybe say he was just lonely and wanted some company, but all they get is a straight faced Min Yoongi.

Glancing at one another there is a pregnant pause before Jin busts out laughing.

Trying to catch his breath, “Wow Yoongi, that's a really good one…”He laughs some more, “How’d you come up with that?” Namjoon is quick to follow and lightly chuckles at his hyungs antics.

“Are you drunk?” Namjoon questions while still laughing. 

Yoongi stands there, still straight faced and that’s when the two stop laughing and really start to question… Is he being for real right now?

The room is now back in silence and before they can question Yoongi further, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and hands it out towards the two.

There on the screen is your face, it’s a screenshot from your video he had just watched an hour before, a still image of you holding the yellow duck onesie you had brought out and the men both gasp.

They recognize you…

They glance back at Yoongi then to the phone once more in shock and disbelief.

Neither know what to say… What the hell is going on here? Jin questions himself.

Namjoon is the first to break the silence, “Are you sure?” His eyes glance back to the phone then to Yoongi again.

Yoongi nods his head as he says, “She’s four months along…and four months ago we…” His voice lightly trails off. 

The silence in the room is stifling. None knowing what to say to the other, all just continue staring at the phone almost like the picture will change and this will all be another joke.

Jin clears his throat and grabs the phone, getting a closer look. 

“Yoongi… what are you gonna do?” The question was a valid one but all he receives from Yoongi is a stiff swallow and a scared look on his face.

“Yoongi… we need to talk to the company about this… what if it gets out you’re the dad, it could cause a huge scandal.” It was a valid question but Yoongi scoffs and grabs his phone back.

“She’s not like that, she wouldn’t out us like that for attention.” His voice is stern.

But Jin continues on, “She’s a small creator Yoongi. She could try and use this as a situation to gain more traction.” His voice was biting back at Yoongi.

Before Yoongi could retaliate, Namjoon cuts in, “You two stop. This is a serious situation and though Jin’s worries are valid, we really need to try and get this all together. Hyung.” He looks towards Yoongi, “Are you absolutely positive this baby could be yours?”

Yoongi scoffs once more and answers with a firm, “Yes.”

That’s all Namjoon needed before he suddenly got serious, getting into leader mode. 

“Then we talk with our manager and try to contact her, get her to sign an NDA so it can’t get out.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but Yoongi almost looks like he’s about to try and fight it.

Yoongi and Namjoon stare at one another for a moment before Yoongi breaks the staring and gives a solid nod in understanding.

Namjoon reaches for his phone calling the manager to get an immediate meeting to try and resolve this as soon as possible. 

For the group and Yoongi’s sake.

©Criminallylyna

Notes: No AI is used in any sort of way for my writings and other content.

overtime Yoongi × female reader

⊹ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : studio fluff, heavy domestic realism, light bickering, angry-to-horny transition, explicit tension, heavy making out

⊹ 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝘀 : workaholic producer yoongi, lap sitting, hidden physical desire, rough/possessive behavior, submissive reader x dominant yoongi tone

​─── ･ﾟ: * 🎙:･ﾟ 🎧 ･ﾟ: * 🎙:･ﾟ 🎧 ･ﾟ: * 🎙 :･ﾟ ​───

⊹ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit language, intense making out, grinding, heavy overstimulation, rough thigh grabbing, clothing manipulation, teasing, toxic levels of domestic attraction.

​─── ─── ─── ─── ─── ─── ─── ─── ─── ─── ───

▷ 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬

​The hallways of the entertainment agency are completely desolate at this hour. The sterile, fluorescent overhead lights hum with a dull, buzzing drone that echoes off the polished linoleum floors. Everyone else has gone home. The dancers, the managers, the security staff on the upper floors—all gone.

​Except for one person.

​You glare at the glowing blue digital lock of the heavy, soundproofed door at the very end of the corridor. The stark white letters stenciled across the matte black surface read exactly what you knew they would: "GENIUS LAB."

​It is officially 1:45 AM.

​Yoongi was supposed to be home over four hours ago. He had literally promised you—hand on his heart, looking you dead in the eyes before he left the apartment that morning—that he would be back on the couch by 9:00 PM at the absolute latest. You had planned a whole night. You bought the expensive ingredients for the spicy seafood stew he likes, picked out a documentary he’d been rambling about for weeks, and actually changed into a cute, soft matching lounge set.

​Instead, 9:00 PM came and went. Then 10:00 PM. By midnight, your phone calls went straight to his voicemail, meaning he had intentionally blocked out all external communication to lock himself into his hyper-focus cave. The stew sat cold and congealing on the stove, and your patience had completely evaporated into thin air.

​You punch your personal code into his digital lock with an unnecessary amount of force, your knuckles practically cracking against the keypad. The lock lets out a sharp, mechanical beep-click, and the heavy, thick door swings inward.

​Inside, the studio is pitch black, completely sealed off from the rest of the world. The only illumination comes from the blinding, multi-colored neon light displays of his three massive computer monitors and the soft, warm orange glow of a single brass desk lamp tucked into the corner.

​Min Yoongi is exactly where you knew he’d be.

​He’s slouched deeply into his ergonomic black leather chair, his long legs spread wide under the massive oak production desk. He’s wearing an oversized, washed-out black hoodie that swallows his frame, a pair of worn-out gray sweatpants, and a black snapback cap turned backward. The backward hat forces his messy, dark bangs up away from his forehead, exposing the sharp, pale line of his brow and the intense, laser-like focus in his dark eyes. A massive pair of professional studio headphones rests over his right ear, while the left cup is pushed back behind his head, letting him hear the ambient room sound.

​His long, pale, veiny fingers are typing furiously across a midi keyboard, clicking and dragging audio files across the editing software with a mechanical, lightning-fast precision. He looks devastatingly handsome, completely in his element, surrounded by millions of dollars of audio gear.

​And it makes you absolutely furious.

​You step into the room, the heavy door sealing shut behind you with a soft, airtight thud that completely cuts off the outside hallway. You cross your arms tightly over your chest, your weight shifting onto one hip as you glare at his profile.

​He doesn't even look up. He doesn't even flinch at the sound of the door closing. He just keeps clicking, his jaw shifting as he idly chews on the inside of his cheek—a telltale sign that he's deep in a mixing hole.

​"Five more minutes, sweetface," his voice cuts through the low thrum of the bass vibrating from the subwoofers. It’s incredibly raspy, thick with hours of disuse and an endless stream of black coffee. "Just fixing the transition on this second verse. The baseline is clipping."

​"You said five minutes four hours ago, Yoongi," you snap, your voice sharp, cracking slightly with the raw frustration that has been building up since ten o'clock.

​Yoongi’s fingers freeze mid-air over the keys.

​Slowly, the mechanical clicking stops. The studio falls into a heavy, tense silence, save for the rhythmic, low blinking of the audio levels on his screen. Yoongi lets out a long, slow, gravelly sigh that seems to drag from the very bottom of his lungs. He reaches up, pulling the heavy headphones completely down around his thick neck, letting them rest against his collarbone.

​He spins his leather chair around to face you.

​The movement is slow, deliberate. He tilts his head back against the headrest, his hooded, dark eyes heavy and rimmed with a faint pink tint from staring at the bright monitors for fourteen hours straight. He looks at you standing there in your matching lounge set, taking in your crossed arms, your glaring eyes, and the tight, angry line of your mouth.

​"The company pushed the deadline up," he says, his voice a low, rough baritone that sends an annoying, involuntary shiver straight down your spine. He reaches a hand up, running his long fingers down his face, rubbing at his eyes. "The chief producer called at seven. They want the final demo on the server by eight tomorrow morning. I didn't have a choice."

​"You always have a choice, Yoongi! You could have texted me!" You take a sharp step forward, the anger finally boiling over. "I sat on the kitchen floor waiting for you. I cooked the food you asked for. Your phone has been off for five hours. I didn't know if you were dead, or if you just completely forgot that I exist!"

​Yoongi’s brow twitches, his jaw tightening as he looks at you. He hates being interrupted when he’s working, but more than that, he hates seeing that he actually hurt you. Still, his pride is stubborn.

​"My phone died because I forgot the charger in my car," he rumbles, his tone getting a bit defensive, his satoric edge slipping through. "And I didn't forget you. I'm working. This is my job. Don't act like I'm out at a club or something. Don't be like that."

​"Don't be like what? Expecting my boyfriend to keep his word for once?" You let out a dry, sarcastic laugh, shaking your head as a stinging wave of tears threatens to blur your eyes. You refuse to let him see you cry over this. "You know what? Forget it. Stay here. Sleep in your stupid, expensive lab. Work until your fingers fall off. I’m going home."

​You turn on your heel, your heart hammering against your ribs as you bolt back toward the black door, your hand reaching out frantically to grab the metal handle.

​You don't even get to touch it.

​Before your fingers can close around the metal, a heavy, rough palm shoots out from behind you, slamming flat against the wood right next to your head. The force of it rattles the door frame. Before you can even gasp, Yoongi's other hand locks like an iron manacle around your wrist, his grip completely unyielding as he yanks your arm downward and backward.

​"Ah!" you gasp, your balance completely disappearing as he wrenches your body away from the exit.

​With one smooth, effortless display of upper-body strength, Yoongi drags you backward toward his chair. He drops heavily back into the leather seat, and with a sharp, downward pull, he hauls your entire frame straight down onto his wide thighs. The leather chair spins slightly under the sudden impact, stabilizing as he braces his heavy boots against the floorboards.

​"Let me go! I'm still mad at you, let me off!" you hiss, your face flushing bright red with heat as you instantly begin to wriggle and thrash against him, your palms pushing hard against his broad shoulders to try and slide your hips off his lap.

​But Yoongi isn't having any of it.

​His large, veiny hands—the same hands that are usually so precise and gentle on the piano keys—slide around your waist with a bruising, territorial force. He pulls your lower back flush against his stomach, locking his thick forearms over your hip bones like an unbreakable seatbelt, pinning you entirely down against his lap.

​"I said, stop wriggling," he growls directly into the shell of your ear, his voice dropping into a dangerous, dark octave that makes your throat go completely dry. The vibration of his throat rumbles right through your back. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, his chest heaving heavily against yours as his grip tightens until you can barely move. "You're not going anywhere. Quiet down."

​"Yoongi, seriously, I am not in the mood for your games—"

​He cuts you off by shifting his hand up to your jaw. His long fingers grip your chin, forcing your face around to the side, and before you can even draw another breath, he slams his lips hungrily against yours.

​The kiss is not gentle. It is rough, possessive, and thick with a pent-up, dark frustration that has been brewing inside him all night. Yoongi doesn't just kiss you; he takes your mouth over entirely. His plump, cat-like lips mold against yours with a desperate, heavy pressure, his teeth biting down sharply on your lower lip until you let out a soft, shocked whimper.

​The moment your lips part to complain, his thick tongue plunges deep into your mouth, claiming you with long, wet, bruising strokes. He tastes like the bitter, dark espresso he’s been drinking all night, mixed with the raw, untamed heat of his own desire.

​Your hands, which had been pressing flat against his chest to push him away, instantly lose all their strength. The sheer, intoxicating weight of his mouth on yours completely melts your resolve, turning your bones into absolute liquid. Your fingers curl helplessly into the soft black cotton of his hoodie, clutching the fabric for dear life as your head rolls back against his shoulder, letting him possess you completely.

​Yoongi lets out a low, satisfied groan into your throat when he feels your body go entirely slack against his. His hand slides down from your chin, his palm heavy and warm as it drags down your neck, over your collarbone, and down to the meat of your left thigh. His fingers dig into your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh through the lounge pants with a crushing intensity that has you moaning directly into his mouth.

​He shifts his hips beneath you, his hard, thick length pressing firmly against your bottom through his sweatpants, reminding you exactly how much power he has over you in this room.

​Slowly, agonizingly, Yoongi pulls his mouth back just a fraction of an inch. His lips are dark, swollen, and glistening under the neon blue light of the monitors. He keeps his forehead pressed against yours, both of your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps that fill the quiet space between your faces. A smug, lazy smirk slowly curls the corner of his lips as he tracks the half-lidded, completely dazed look in your eyes.

​"Still mad?" he murmurs, his raspy voice dripping with an annoying, arrogant confidence because he knows exactly what he just did to your brain. His thumb idly rubs a slow, soothing circle into your inner thigh, moving dangerously close to your core.

​"Yes," you pant, your chest heaving against his as you try to glare at him, though it loses all its effect with how flushed your face is. "You're an absolute jerk, Min Yoongi."

​"Mm, yeah. I'm a jerk," he hums agreement, completely unbothered by the insult. He leans right back in, his teeth catching your swollen lower lip once more, tugging on it playfully before his tongue licks over the skin, making you let out a shaky, desperate whine. "But you're still sitting on my lap. And you're not going back to that apartment without me."

​His hand slides underneath the hem of your soft shirt, his calloused, slightly cold palm making direct contact with the bare skin of your waist. The contrast of his cool skin makes you gasp, your stomach muscles contracting as his hand slides up your ribs, anchoring you firmly to his chest.

​"Yoongi, the demo..." you breathe out, your hands sliding up to cup his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hairs at the back of his snapback.

​"The demo can wait twenty minutes," he rasps against your lips, his fingers gripping your waist tighter as he pulls you flush against his growing heat, completely erasing the argument, the cold food, and the hours of waiting as the entire universe shrinks down to the heavy, breathless rhythm of his hands on your skin under the dark lights of the Genius Lab.

​─── ･ﾟ: * 🎙:･ﾟ 🎧 ･ﾟ: * 🎙:･ﾟ 🎧 ･ﾟ: * 🎙 :･ﾟ ​───

⊹ 𝐚/𝐧 : i would let Yoongi strip me of my rights, slam me onto that midi keyboard and let him mix that baseline right inside me likeeee i am losing my absolute marbles over this man smh somebody lock me up in the genius lab and throw away the key fr !!

─── 💀 :*･ﾟ 🎹 ───

Suga ♪ ↳ Permission to Dance on Stage [11/27/2021]

This is peak happiness for me

Tae is SO LOCKED IN. This is our verse hyung!

I’m exactly where I want to be.

My 34 y/o knees: