#fic: ehc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

suga-kookiemonster · 4 years

Text

ego: hoe chronicles | myg

(cr)

summary⇢ he was messing with you again. he was messing with you, trying to get a reaction out of you simply for his own amusement. but you refused to give it to him—refused to give him the satisfaction of playing right into his hands. pairing⇢ yoongi/reader word count⇢ 7.2k (ffs!!!! 🤦🏽‍♀️) rating⇢ 18+ genre⇢ smut | college!au | fuckboi!au | fratboy!au warnings⇢ sexual content, pwp, mint yoongi, oral (m+f receiving), mutual masturbation, fingering, spitplay, titty fucking 🤪

a/n⇢ wow, i’m really taking my time on these, huh ☠️this one came to me super easily at first and then really fought me in the last quarter, idk 😩 hope it turned out ok and you guys enjoy, tho!! 😘

a reminder that this is an alternate universe piece for my fic ego (i.e., not canon, written just because ya girl is thirsty 😔). can be standalone in theory, but it’s much more fun if you’re familiar with the ego squad, amirite?? mood for this installment is this!

⇢ series masterlist

“Do you really have to do this every time?” Namjoon yelled over the music, reaching over to swipe a thumb over your cheek. Not that it mattered—you were covered head to toe in lime-green jello, so in the grand scheme of things, removing a little off your face meant nothing. Still, you appreciated the gesture. It was one of the things you loved about your best friend.

“You don’t stay the reigning champ by sitting on your ass, Joonie,” you retorted, draining the rest of your cup. “Can’t ever get too comfortable.”

You knew Joon was trying to be annoyed with you, but the dimpling of his cheeks gave him away. “Well, you won, champ—congrats! What do you propose we do now?”

Your booze-laden mind pondered the question. You were just drunk enough that your body was trying to convince you that going home and knocking out under the covers was your best course of action, so you either needed to drink more to keep going, or call it a night. “…I’m hungry,” you answered finally.

“Me too.” Namjoon set his empty beer on a nearby windowsill that was already covered in other people’s garbage. His eyes suddenly lit up. “Ooh, I have some bulgogi at home.”

You grinned excitedly, immediately on board. “Fuck yeah, let’s go!”

The two of you weaved your way through the mass of still-partying bodies, headed for the front door. There were a few people out front too, loud laughter permeating the otherwise quiet night.

You shifted in your gross clothes, enough alcohol in your system that you were able to ignore most of your discomfort. This was not your first jello-wrestling rodeo, but that didn’t mean walking around with a layer of sticky sugar all over your body was a feeling you got used to. Your skin was already starting to itch.

Distractedly, you looked up at Namjoon, triggered by his uncharacteristic silence. He was walking on autopilot, eyes glazed over in thought.

“What’s wrong, Joon Balloon?” you asked, elbowing him softly in the side and knocking him out of his reverie. He looked over at you, lips twitching at the nickname, but quickly settling back into a frown.

“Jia never showed,” he sighed. “She told me earlier this week she’d be at the party, but I didn’t see her and she didn’t answer any of my texts.”

Your mood soured alongside his. You would bet money that she actually had been at the party, but was too busy getting comfortable on some other dude’s dick to pay Namjoon any mind. Good for her, if that’s what she wanted to do, but you just couldn’t see why she kept actively stringing your friend along.

God, you hated that bitch. Still, despite your drunken state, you somehow had enough good sense to hold your tongue. “Maybe she just decided to stay in tonight.”

“Maybe,” Namjoon parroted doubtfully.

“Well, no use worrying about it now,” you pointed out. “We have bulgogi to eat.” Without skipping a beat, you reached down and plucked a plastic flamingo from where it was stuck in the grass next to you, waving the lawn ornament teasingly near his face. “Bulgogi,” you said in a high-pitched plastic flamingo voice, hoping to cheer him up.

Namjoon smiled despite himself. “Bulgogi,” he repeated in an equally-high-pitched flamingo voice.

“Bulgogi!”

The two of you made you way home, drunk and entirely oblivious to the sudden yelling behind you.

“Bulgogi?” a voice asked curiously, and then Yoongi’s mint-green head nosily popped through the kitchen doorway. “Is that bulgogi?”

Of course it would be the smell of meat that would lure Min Yoongi out from whatever hidey-hole he had been lurking in. His hair was mussed and eyes half-mast, and if it weren’t for the fact that he still had his leather jacket on, you would have thought he had just woken up. No, he had just come home, tired and drunk like you.

Namjoon made an affirmative noise, gesturing to the food. “Want some, hyung?”

Yoongi was already making his way over to where the two of you were eating, reaching for the open container. You slapped his hand just before he dipped his grubby fingers into the food, and he retracted it, frowning at you.

“Get a plate!” you demanded.

“But I just want a taste—”

“I don’t care, who raised you?!”

“It’s not even yours,” Yoongi grumbled. Pouting, but moving to the cabinet to do as you asked anyway. He returned, giving you a proper once-over as he scooped a bit of rice onto his plate as well. “Why do you look like you just crawled from the bottom of somebody’s dirty fish tank?”

“Jello wrestling at EXO,” Namjoon answered helpfully, noticing you were too busy stuffing your face.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow at that. “Did you win?”

That made you look up sharply at him, swallowing. “Of course I won,” you huffed, offended. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Fair,” Yoongi snickered. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“You shouldn’t,” you slurred, elbow knocking into the plastic flamingo you had forgotten you still had. Why did you still have that? You picked it up, tapping along his arm with its long neck. “Here, happy birthday.”

The mint-haired man reflexively took the lawn ornament from you, confused amusement taking over his features. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.”

When you simply turned back to your food, Yoongi merely shook his head at you, shuttling his food and birthday gift back to his room without further comment.

Together, you and Namjoon continued to demolish the rest of the food, leaving nothing but empty containers and dirty plates in your wake. At the end, you let out a dramatic sigh, dreading the walk back to your dorm. “I should go. It’s getting late.”

“Just stay,” Namjoon answered simply. “Like you said, it’s late.”

“But I need to take a shower,” you whined.

“…Then take a shower.”

“My hair is gonna be a fucking mess.”

Namjoon looked at you like you were slow. “Then wash it.”

Oh, your sweet, naive best friend. He tried. He really did. “Thanks for offering, Joon, but don’t nobody wanna use your Dollar Tree shampoo. I might as well just shave my head now and cut out the middle man.”

Namjoon didn’t even look offended. He couldn’t, when he actually did buy his shampoo at Dollar Tree. Hey, whatever worked worked, but that was most definitely not gonna work for you. “I have that bottle of your shampoo from last time, remember?” he replied, starting to clear the countertop. “You can just use that.”

“You still have that?”

“Of course I still have it, that shit cost $15. Why the hell would shampoo ever cost $15?!”

“Beauty ain’t cheap,” you sniffed. “But as sweet as that is, you don’t have any of my other 12 products.”

“Woman, why are you so difficult!” Namjoon huffed. “I don’t care, I’ll just throw the sheets into the washer. Get in the bed.”

“Is this how you normally pick up girls?” you mused. “Because your technique can use some work.”

Namjoon stared at you long and hard. “I changed my mind. Get out of my house.”

“Nope!” you chirped, jumping up to run up the stairs before he could stop you. “No take backs!”

“I take it back!”

“You can’t, it’s the rules!”

The two of you squabbled all the way to his room, and the whole evening was so typical that it could have been considered a standard Saturday night.

Except—you would find out soon enough—

It wasn’t.

You didn’t notice right away.

Your week was too busy for you to connect the spread-out dots, a ten-page paper that you had procrastinated even doing the preliminary research for looming overhead. So you thought nothing of it when Baekhyun stared you down in your calculus class (because you were sitting by the window, and he tended to be a bit spacey), thought nothing when buying a sandwich from one of the campus stores resulted in Kai pointedly dropping your change onto the counter instead of in your outstretched hand (it was lunch hour, and it was busy, and he probably didn’t notice).

No, you didn’t see any possible patterns until you ran into Chen at the library, and, despite being feet away and looking you dead in your face, he pretended he didn’t hear your greeting. You had literally almost crashed into each other near the bathrooms, so there was no reason for his shady silence.

“Damn, who pissed in your Cheerios?” you muttered to yourself, eyebrows raised at his blatant disrespect.

That seemed to set him off. “You did,” he snapped, becoming more riled up when you only gave him a befuddled stare in response. “Don’t look at me like that, you know what you did!”

“I don’t, actually. So it would be really helpful if you could just tell me what has your panties all in a twist.”

“The relic! You stole the relic!”

“What in the hell are you talking about,” you demanded.

“The Omicron relic,” he huffed, looking at you like you were dumb. “The flamingo?!”

Your brain struggled to fit together any sort of pieces that would make him make sense. Flamingo? First of all, what were they doing with a flamingo in the first place—and how did they manage to sneak that one past campus security—but you were pretty sure you would fucking remember if you had stolen a giant fucking bird—

Distantly, the memory of drunkenly gifting Yoongi a plastic flamingo rose to the forefront of your mind. Huh. You couldn’t even remember where that thing had come from in the first place. Had you really gotten that flamingo from EXO? Chen seemed to think so, and was hella salty about it.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” you deadpanned, shaking your head in disbelief. “I’m sure there’s a sale at Home Depot.”

Chen pulled a face. “We don’t want another one! That one has been passed down from EXO generation to EXO generation!”

“Okay,” you scoffed. “Why are you lying? Because there is no fucking way—”

“I’m not,” he sniffed. “The relic is Omicron’s most prized possession, one that welcomes new members and sees off the ones that graduate. The vibes in the house have been completely off ever since you took it.”

“…The vibes,” you repeated, just barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Jesus, why were men so fucking dramatic? “You know what? I’m sorry. I’ll get you your dumb bird back okay?”

“The relic isn’t dumb,” he sniffed, but that seemed to pacify him, the clench in his jaw releasing. “And just so you know, we’ll be able to tell if it’s not the real one!”

“Whatever you say, buddy.”

He shot you a long look, cynical of your promise, and finally left you standing there there, baffled and shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the situation. It was only the distant sound of the campus clocktower announcing the time that knocked you out of bewilderment.

So a quick text was shot to Yoongi as you hustled to your next class, distractedly stuffing your phone into your bag. And you thought nothing else of the situation until class was over and you pulled your phone back out, a response from Yoongi patiently waiting for you on your screen.

[3:25] hey, can I have that flamingo back? Exo’s up my ass

[3:27] Yoongs 🌚 no

You frowned, confused by his reply, but Yoongi’s dry humor was always hard to read over text. It was probably better for you to speak to him in person.

As a music theory and composition major, Yoongi spent a large portion of his time holed up in his favorite studio in the music building, which just so happened to be on your way home. So you decided to swing by and pay him a visit, ringing the doorbell next to the door to the room you already knew was soundproof.

There was a long delay, one in which you knew Yoongi was on the other side, debating ignoring you, so you pressed the doorbell again and held it for good measure. The door opened then, revealing your mint-haired friend. “_____?” His eyes widened slightly in surprise at seeing you.

You sent him a small smile. “Hey, sorry to bother you—I just need a small favor and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Remember that flamingo I gave you last weekend?”

Yoongi frowned.

“I kinda need that back.”

“I already told you no,” he replied, eyebrows furrowing irritably.

You blinked, not expecting that. Why did he actually sound offended? “Wait, you were serious?”

“You gave her to me for my birthday.”

Your jaw dropped incredulously. “Yoongi, it’s not even your birthday. Your birthday is in March!”

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Please,” you sighed. “I accidentally pissed off EXO, and now they’re getting on my goddamn nerves. Fine, what…what can I give you for it?”

“Nothing,” he sniffed. “Henrietta is priceless.”

“Henri—” You gaped at him, baffled. He had actually named the thing! WHAT. “Everything has a price,” you tried, shaking your head. This was so fucking ridiculous. “Name yours, come on. What do you want.”

He regarded you silently for a minute, noticing that you were serious. “Titty fuck.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s my price,” he replied smugly. Visibly pleased with himself like the bastard he was.

“What in the hell! Why would you want that?”

“You have nice tits,” he shrugged. “I will only trade Henrietta for a titty fuck.”

“I am not having sex with you,” you scoffed.

“Okay,” he agreed easily. He crossed his arms, lazily leaning against the doorframe and blinking slowly at you. “…So is there anything else I can help you with or…?”

“Are you serious right now, Yoongi?!”

“Cool. I gotta get back to work so. Have a good one!”

“Yoongi—”

His obnoxious gummy grin was the last thing you saw before the door was shut in your face.

Motherfucker.

You made your way home, fuming at his audacity, but honestly, you should have expected it. One of Min Yoongi’s favorite pastimes was actively being an asshole while simultaneously pretending he didn’t realize he was doing it. Usually, this was something you found highly entertaining, but it was becoming startlingly clear that this personality trait was something else entirely when you were the focus of his teasing.

Weeknights at Beta Tau tended to be a much different experience than weekends. Though most people only knew the atmosphere of the raging parties often held on Fridays and Saturdays, being best friends with the president of the fraternity meant that you knew exactly what it was like to be there when the godlike brothers weren’t doing ice luges, but instead were partaking in basic human activities, like finishing homework, doing laundry, and attempting to scrounge up something edible for dinner.

You being a frequent guest meant that you had learned to adopt certain habits, for your sake as well as theirs. Ever since you had unceremoniously burst in and scared the mess out of Hoseok while he was in the middle of doing some manscaping, you had made a point to properly announce yourself before entering the usually all-male upstairs restroom. (You hadn’t actually seen anything, because he had been behind one of the shower curtains, but to this day he still moaned about how you almost made him cut his balls off.)

This time, on a weeknight when that coffee you had drank at 4pm demanded that you pee right the fuck NOW, your study session with Namjoon had to be put on pause so you could hustle to the bathroom. As you always did, you pounded on the door before opening it. “I’m coming in!” you yelled in warning. When no protests immediately followed, you pushed inside, heading straight for one of the stalls and slamming the door shut behind you.

The relief you felt after nearly pissing yourself was immediate and immense. You let out a long sigh as you relieved yourself, happy that it appeared the toilet had been cleaned recently and moving to wash your hands once you were finished. It was while you were rinsing the suds off your hands that you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye.

You jumped, looking up in alarm, and Yoongi’s reflection looked back at you. He was visibly amused, but what really drew your attention was that he was also shirtless and wet, mint hair sticking up every which way and likely ruffled moments before by the towel that was slung low across his hips. You swallowed.

“S-Sorry,” you stuttered. ��I called in to make sure—you must not have heard because of the shower.”

“I heard you,” he replied simply.

Your eyes unwittingly roamed his form. You had always thought him rather skinny, but the curve of compact muscle on display for you now said otherwise. Had he always looked like this?! His clothes couldn’t have hidden it that well—you wondered if he had been working out lately…

Drawn to the droplets of water beading the smoothness of his skin, you watched an adventurous drop zip down the pane of his chest and head straight for the dark trail of hair by his belly button, quickly disappearing from sight beneath the towel.

“See something you like?”

Your startled gaze snapped back upwards, meeting the slow smirk stretching across his face, the challenging lift of his brow. You cleared your throat. “Nope.”

“Really?” he drawled smugly. “You sure?”

“Yup. Anyway—” Your face was hot, heart pounding. While you didn’t fault yourself for looking, you most definitely were embarrassed about getting caught. There was a very slim chance that Yoongi would let this go. “You gonna do me a solid and give me that flamingo?”

“No.”

“Then I gotta go. Peace out.”

You didn’t wait for his response, turning your back on him and hightailing it back to Namjoon’s room. “Bye, _____,” he sang after you.

ASSHOLE.

Namjoon looked up from his textbook when you returned, cocking a questioning eyebrow at your visibly flustered state.

“Yoongi blew up the bathroom,” you announced, feeling a bit vindicated at your lie. “Somebody really should light a match. I almost died, Namjoon. The probability of my grandchildren being born with three arms just skyrocketed.”

Your dramatic rambling worked—your best friend was wholly uninterested in that sort of bathroom gossip. “That tailoring bill is gonna be a bitch,” he replied, focus back on his book.

It wasn’t until much later that night—later, when you were back home and mindlessly scrolling Instagram under the covers—that you saw it.

agust_d i’m not a businessman, i’m a business, man 💪🏼

You huffed, still slightly annoyed with him from earlier. Still, you couldn’t deny that it was a nice picture, your eyes roving the caramel expanse of his neck before you realized what you were doing and hurriedly swiped to the next photo in the set. He was looking at the camera this time, the pic taken from a slightly different angle.

Which allowed for you to see the plastic flamingo, peeking seemingly innocently out in the background.

That was for you. There was no doubt in your mind that that was for you.

“GODDAMMIT,” you yelled, fingers tapping against your phone screen with crazy speed as you sent him a text.

[11:47] ASSHOLE

yoongs 🌚 [11:50] what about them

[11:50] YOU’RE the asshole, you dick!!!!

yoongs 🌚 [11:50] ooo, What has *you* all riled up?

yoongs 🌚 [11:50] you know I like it when you’re mean to me

yoongs 🌚 [11:51] 😘

You gaped at your phone in disbelief, skin hot.

He was messing with you again. He was messing with you, trying to get a reaction out of you simply for his own amusement.

But you refused to give it to him—refused to give him the satisfaction of playing right into his hands. So, letting out a long, calming exhale through your nose, you closed out of the conversation and pointedly set your phone on your nightstand, annoyed and staring at your ceiling.

In theory, the Flamingo Incident would have naturally ended at that. Had been simply an annoyance that faded throughout the rest of the week as EXO found some other bizarre inanimate object to hyperfixate on.

But EXO wouldn’t let it die. As time passed and word started to spread throughout their ranks that you were responsible for the disappearance of their precious relic, dirty looks began to follow you wherever you went. You found yourself actually ducking out of rooms and changing some of your routes to class to avoid bumping into Chen, who was surely looking for you to get an update on your non-existent progress. And, after a solid week and a half of this, you finally hit your breaking point when Sehun, though he had met your eyes and seen you were right behind him, didn’t bother to hold the door to a building for you, resulting in it slamming right in your face.

You were livid.

This was all so stupid. Why were men such pissbabies? You had half a mind to actually go get another flamingo and lie and tell EXO it was their precious relic, but the thought of Yoongi’s consistently smug face fanned the flames of your irritation to such heights that you finally said fuck it.

You were going to get that flamingo, one way or another.

So, on a mission, you found yourself at Beta Tau one evening when you knew Namjoon was out, sneaking through the halls in hopes that no one would see you wandering around while suspiciously without him.

The door to Yoongi’s room was already open when you approached, likely a signal to the other brothers that he was willing to tolerate being social tonight. It only made it easier for you.

He was sitting at his desk, clad in a Bulls jersey that should have clashed with his green hair, but somehow only accented it. He was busy typing on his laptop, and though he didn’t hear you due to the bass-heavy music filtering through the speakers, he looked up when your movement caught his eye.

“What—”

“Where’s Seokjin?” you interrupted, a glance around the room only coming up empty.

“He just went to the gym,” Yoongi replied suspiciously. “Why?”

“I want to make sure he’s not here to witness this. I’ll never live it down.” You shut the door behind you, flicking the lock.

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

“Are you clean?”

He was still looking at you like you had broken in and declared yourself emperor (which, honestly, was less bizarre than what you were about to do). Still, he pointed a thumb at the wall next to you, where two pieces of paper were thumbtacked into the drywall.

The important bits were highlighted—NEGATIVE, NEGATIVE, NEGATIVE—and closer inspection let you know that one was labeled Kim Seokjin and the other Min Yoongi. Yoongi’s was dated a mere two weeks ago.

“The two of you are disgusting,” you huffed, wrinkling your nose at their proud STD result display. “But weirdly efficient. Take off your pants.”

“What?”

It became obvious to you then that Yoongi had assumed that you would never take him up on his ridiculous request—a request he had likely only made in the first place to guarantee that he kept custody of his precious Henrietta. However, he forgot to take into account one major detail—the fact that you would go ridiculous lengths to get what you wanted.

And what you wanted was that flamingo.

Usually, this was one of your most admirable traits. But in times like this, where you were cautiously pulling your shirt over your head, admirable was questionable.

Yoongi blinked wide eyes at you, gaze inevitably drawn to your chest. “_____—”

“Hurry up,” you mumbled, waving an impatient hand at his crotch. “I got places to be.”

His eyes met yours again, clearly gauging how serious you were. And likely how sane.

But whatever he saw there had him standing from his chair and slowly making his way over to you, expression unreadable and dark. You had to crane your head up a bit to meet his gaze, and his closer proximity only made it easier for you to see when his attention flickered back to your tits. As proud of a flamingo dad Min Yoongi was, he was most definitely a fuckboi first and foremost.

A hand raised, and when you did not move away from him, he hooked a finger under your bra strap and snapped it lightly against your skin. “Take this off,” he said huskily, causing a shiver to run through you.

It was a request. A request and a challenge, a demand and an out. You could put your shirt back on right now and leave, and Yoongi would let you—would probably tease you about it later, but never when anyone else could hear. And that was exactly why you were entertaining this idea to begin with. He was not the type to kiss and tell, and he was a man of his word.

In your life, you had given plenty of sexual favors with no promise of reward—might as well get a plastic flamingo this time.

You cleared your throat, suddenly a bit shy. “No touching,” you warned, reaching back to unhook your bra before clarifying, “No hands.”

His eyebrows rose, surprised that you were still going through with it. They only rose further when the fabric fell, revealing pebbled nipples that you tamped down the urge to hide.

“Take your pants off,” you repeated, distracting yourself with sitting on the edge of his bed.

Yoongi didn’t have to be told a third time. His basketball shorts were pushed down his legs and kicked aside, and then, when he realized it was in the way, his jersey was pulled over his head as well. He stood in front of you in a tshirt and boxers, a tongue distractedly swiping across his lips as he took in the sight of you topless and willing.

He palmed himself over his underwear, smirking when your eyes followed the motion reflexively.

You scoffed in embarrassment. “Hurry up,” you reminded him.

“You’re gonna have to give me a minute,” he replied flatly, dipping a hand beneath his waistband and pulling out his length.

You tried not to react—you really did—but you weren’t expecting him to have such a beautiful cock. Which, in retrospect, was silly of you, because objectively, Yoongi was a beautiful man with some beautifully delicate features. His cock, while certainly not delicate, held the same beauty as the rest of him, thick and veiny, with a slight curve. He was already partially hard, but the slow pump of his fist was visibly working him into something more.

Against your best efforts, it had you shifting from your place on the bed, thighs restless.

Letting out a small, shaky breath, you slid to the ground, cupping your breasts in your hands and giving them an absentminded squeeze before pushing them together and providing him with a nice, warm crevice to fuck into. A lift of your head produced Yoongi, watching you intently with pupils completely blown out. When you nodded, he stepped further into your space, still slowly pumping himself in his fist.

The first brush of him made your breath audibly hollow, the leaking head of his cock carefully curving through your cleavage. The sound made Yoongi pause, the two of you locking eyes, but you only leaned forward, moving yourself further down his length.

“Shit,” he muttered, eyelashes fluttering at the stimulation. A hand reached for you, likely about to wind in your hair for leverage, but he seemed to remember your warning last-minute and it hovered near your head instead, twitching in its need to touch you.

The head of his cock repeatedly slid close to your face and away again as he rutted against you, leaving an increasingly sticky path in its wake. And you watched with interest, tongue dipping out to wet your lips before you finally decided to throw all caution to the wind after a few minutes and spit on him, saliva dripping from your lips and into the valley of your breasts.

Yoongi hissed, hips bucking a bit harder into you at the feeling of you making it all more slick. “So it’s like that, huh, baby?” he murmured, the pet name causing a new wave of heat to wash over you.

“We’re gonna chafe,” you pointed out thickly, the excuse sounding weak to even your own ears. You didn’t admit to the tendrils of desire that were starting to spread through you. And when, on the next upstroke, you decided to lean forward enough to dip your tongue into his slit and taste the beads of precum he was gifting you, you didn’t admit that it was because of burning curiosity.

Didn’t admit that the reason you welcomed his angry head between your wet lips was because your mouth had been watering for it ever since he had kicked off his pants. Ever since that night, when he had cornered you in the bathroom.

You didn’t admit any of this, and Yoongi was much too busy cussing under his breath to ask.

“Fuuuck, baby, that’s it. Open a little wider for me.”

You did, letting him fuck shallowly into your mouth, your hands pressing your tits further together. A swirl of your tongue made him surge forward, cock teasing towards the back of throat, and you looked up at him in warning.

He backed off a bit, apologetic, but the flames of his desire did not wane, instead exposing themselves through his shuddered breaths. You relaxed your jaw, allowing more spit to collect and dribble down his length, a wet smacking starting to be heard as he continued to force air between your titties with his cock.

Yoongi let out a low groan, one that you felt right in your core. God, you didn’t think this through. Yoongi’s voice, always rather deep and raspy, only seemed to get more so when his dick was in your mouth. It made shivers go through you, cunt pulsing in response, and you shuffled from your place below him. Fingers distractedly tweaking your nipples, thighs squeezing together in an effort to dull the ache.

Abruptly, Yoongi pulled away.

You looked up at him in surprise, a string of saliva still connecting you to his member until the tension of distance made it snap. “What’s wrong?”

Yoongi’s pupils were completely blown, lips parted. “I changed my mind,” he said, voice thick and gravelly.

You blinked, brain struggling to process what he had just said.

The fuck?!

“What do you mean, you changed your mind?” you hissed, wiping the spit on your chin with the back of your hand. “Your dick was literally in my mouth, you can’t change your mind!”

“Let me give you head.”

You blinked rapidly, thrown for a loop. “Excuse me?”

“I want to touch you,” he murmured, eyes dark. “I want to taste you.”

This was starting to enter weird territory. Before, your interaction was straightforward—you were partaking in an exchange. Strictly business.

But now...there was no reason for Yoongi to go down on you. No reason, other than both of you wanted him to.

“Please?” Yoongi added, hands twitching at his sides. As if politeness was what would push your decision in his favor.

“Do you have…is there enough time for that?” you asked cautiously, mind spinning.

He smirked. “It won’t take me very long.”

You weren’t really sure about this. It felt like some sort of line would be crossed—did you really want to let your friend eat you out for purely sexual reasons?

But it only took a moment for clarity to strike. Fuck yeah, you wanted to! Who were you to tell a grown man what he should trade his plastic flamingo for? Besides, after all the turmoil you had been put through because of him, you might as well get something out of the situation.

“Knock yourself out,” you shrugged easily, pretending you were unaffected by him. But you weren’t. You most definitely were not. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

The grin he sent you had an edge to it, something that made you pause before you stumbled to your feet. He wasted no time reaching for you, fingers pulling you closer by your belt loops. You looked up at him, wary, but didn’t back away. Didn’t stop him when he carefully unbuttoned your jeans, arms circling you so both hands could slip beneath the waistband at your ass. You let out a small gasp when his palms smoothed over you and Yoongi chuckled lowly at the sound, backtracking to hook his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, too, before finally sliding everything down your legs.

You stepped out of your remaining clothes obediently, completely bare before him, and Yoongi tilted his head slightly as he studied you, an errant tongue peeking between his lips.

“Lay down for me.”

As soon as you were sitting back on the bed, his hands reached for your thighs, thumbs rubbing electricity into the skin. You shivered, not expecting him to push further into your space, face nearing yours. Surprised, you reflexively leaned away until your back hit the mattress, but Yoongi paid you no mind, bypassing your lips for his true target—one of your nipples, puckered for his attention. His mouth surrounded it, hot and wet, and your back arched in response.

“Ungh—Yoongi, we don’t have time—”

He looked up at you then from beneath his green bangs, mouth lazily detaching from you, only to skim further south. “Trust me,” he murmured against your belly button. “We have time.”

Your thighs were spread apart, making room for him to fit between them, and Yoongi took only a few moments to admire you before letting out a quiet exhale and getting down to business. He licked a wide, slow stripe across your folds, and you jerked, hips involuntarily pushing your cunt further into his face. A leisurely swirl around your clit only made your body more restless, but Yoongi simply grabbed your thighs and held you in place.

A bite of your lip muffled the loud moan that threatened to escape you, but you couldn’t stop yourself from carding a hand through his mint hair.

“You like that?” he asked, low tone almost a growl. “Gonna get this pussy nice and sloppy for me?”

The unexpectedly dirty words rolling off his tongue made you immediately clench. “Shit yeah,” you breathed. “Especially if you k-keep doing that.”

So he did. Yoongi somehow knew exactly what he needed to do to work you up embarrassingly quickly. It wasn’t long before you were actually tugging on his hair, desperately attempting to keep him right where you needed him. Yoongi had beautiful hands—a music major with the very definition of pianist’s fingers—and those very hands forced your thighs to stay apart, even when they threatened to snap shut on his head at the overwhelming stimulation. Those very fingers easily pistoned within you, long and nimble. He suctioned his mouth around your clit, tongue flicking against it as he sucked, fingers curling back towards your pubic bone with scarily-accurate precision, and before you could warn him, you were already gone, shoved headfirst off that precipice and grinding hard on his face.

“Fuck, Yoongi, fuckkk—”

He hummed contentedly in response, the vibrations only lengthening your orgasm. You were left gasping when it was over, Yoongi still lapping at your sensitive flesh, and when you realized he had no intention of stopping, you had to push his face away.

He looked up at you, swollen lips almost set in a pout, and it would have been cute if the lower half of his face wasn’t gleaming with your slick. Obediently, he pulled back from you and stood, your eye immediately drawn to the angry, rock-hard problem beneath his legs.

That can’t be comfortable, you inwardly mused, but Yoongi didn’t mention it, instead simply giving himself a squeeze to take the edge off as he wiped the remnants of you from his mouth with the back of his other hand. It wouldn’t hurt to help him out.

Silently, slowly, your hand drifted down your body—but the movement caught Yoongi’s attention immediately. His sharp eyes hung on to your every move, watching your hand curve over your mound and easily sink three fingers into your sopping pussy.

You had only intended to gather some of your arousal for later use, but as you slowly pumped into yourself a few times, the overstimulation making you shiver, a familiar tingle shot through you, quickly changing the plan entirely. On instinct, you spread your thighs wider, giving yourself more room to pound your fingers in and out. Grinding your palm against your clit and biting your lip to stifle your whimpers.

You were too focused on reaching your own high to notice the way the loud, wet smacking was affecting Yoongi, demanding his complete attention. You had inadvertently given him a perfect view of the hungry way your cunt swallowed your fingers, and he stared, pupils blown, breath hollow. You didn’t see him start to pump himself as he watched you, too busy working yourself to another orgasm that, though quick, was markedly less satisfying than the one before it. Still, it had you swallowing a moan, cum dripping down your fingers as you shuddered through it.

“Fuck,” you heard someone hiss, and all at once, you remembered where you were. Blinking away the spots from your vision, you sat up a bit on one of your elbows, met with the sight of Yoongi urgently fucking into his own fist.

This wasn’t going to take long.

Carefully, you slipped your fingers from their velvet prison, strings of your arousal visibly webbing them together before you smeared your own mess between your cleavage. “Okay, go ahead.”

His hand slowed a bit in his confusion, but did not stop. “W-What?” he panted, his near-release evident in the difficulty he had pushing the word out.

“A deal’s a deal,” you clarified. “Come on, you can finish.” You were a woman of your word—but you would be lying if you said that was the only reason. The thought of such a hard, beautiful, eager cock relieving itself because of you made you lick your lips in anticipation.

Yoongi was visibly starting to sweat, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. “You’ve already held up your end of the deal,” he reminded you.

You shrugged casually, shooting him a cheeky grin. “Happy birthday, I guess.”

A moment passed, two, and then he was grinning too, making his way back into your space and clambering over you. You dutifully leaned back, pushing your tits together again, and Yoongi hovered over your stomach, sliding his weeping cock through the space. It was different this time—more slippery, more urgent. The speed and force that he used to buck into you actually started to rattle the bedframe, his headboard knocking against the wall every few thrusts. You locked eyes with him, your whole body buzzing with desire. Unable to stop the quiet moans from escaping your lips at his own loss of control.

Yoongi grunted, rapidly nearing his end but not quite there. So you decided to give him the little push he needed.

“Give it to me,” you whimpered. “Come on, baby, I want it. I want it so bad—”

“Fuckkk,” he groaned, pressing into you harder. “You want it, baby? Want me to give you it all?”

“Mmmm.” You opened your mouth in answer, sticking out your tongue obscenely and giving him a nice target. That seemed to do it—Yoongi gave you two more strokes before he let out a strangled moan, hot cum hitting you in spurts. Splashing your chest, your neck, your chin. Despite your awaiting tongue, only a bit hit the corner of your lips, and you reflexively licked it clean as he tiredly slumped onto the bed next to you.

The two of you laid there in silence for a few moments, Yoongi trying to catch his breath, and neither of you moved until you finally reached for the sheet, using it to wipe his mess from your fevered skin.

Yoongi didn’t say anything when you rolled out of bed—didn’t seem to notice when you slipped your panties back on, then your pants.

Seemed completely out of it until you demanded his attention.

“Give me the flamingo, Yoongi.”

A stark difference from what you had been demanding he give you just moments before. This didn’t seem to be lost on Yoongi, who huffed out a laugh to the ceiling. “You know, your pillow talk is really shitty,” he answered conversationally. “You should really work on that.”

“Give it to me.”

Yoongi shrugged, lethargic by nature, but even more so now that he had nutted all over your titties. “Closet,” he said agreeably, closing his eyes.

You couldn’t seem to find your bra and didn’t feel like diving beneath his bed looking for it, so you made the quick decision to leave it behind, slipping your shirt over your head and hoping no one would notice your newfound freedom on your walk home. You would pour one out for your fallen undergarment when you got home, but for now, you needed to make sure her sacrifice was worth it.

When you slid open the closet door, you let out an immediate sigh of relief. There it was, right there on top of a pile of dirty laundry—Henrietta the EXO Relic. You snatched up that plastic flamingo before anything could stop you and held it close to you, as if this was all a trick and it might disappear. But as you made to leave, you found your head turning back to your older friend.

You knew he wouldn’t tell anyone. You knew that. But that didn’t stop you from covering your ass, turning to point a threatening finger at him. Yoongi looked notably unthreatened as he peered at you from beneath his heavy eyelids. “Keep your mouth shut, Min.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he drawled in response from his place on the bed. He hadn’t moved a muscle. “Let me know if you need anything else that’s mine—I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Bitch.”

When he sent you a photo a couple days later—your rogue bra dangling from his finger, a smirk on his lips—you could do nothing but sigh.

⇢ series masterlist

#btsbookclub #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi scenario #bts scenario #min yoongi #gimme some suga #fic: ehc #mine

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