My submission for Readers Create game!
Title: Golden Hour
Prompts: Sunlight and Summer
Summary: A stolen afternoon.
Warnings: Explicit smut, kissing, cuddling, handjobs, orgasms, cunnilingus, dirty talk, fluff, sleepy Yoongi, ethereal Yoongi, reader in her feels, internal dialogue, teeny tiny angst, honestly I can't decide if this is fluffy smut or smutty fluff 😅
Word count: 641
Note: *Nervous huff* I feel so lucky to be able to contribute in some tiny humble way to the body of work that is this legendary story. I tried to lean way into the prompts and do something in my own way that hopefully, while under a different lens (?) still translated these lovely characters as our beloved author-nim intended them. I'm so scared to submit, but also so excited to have been given this gem of an opportunity. Thank you so much, Ryen, for opening this up - I had a blast!! 💖
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You were bent over on the bed, the hoodie you were wearing - his - was pooling around the top half of your torso, it's warmth contrasting deliciously with the cool air hitting the rest of your otherwise naked body. You let out a shuddering sigh, digging your fingers into fleece lining that was not nearly as soft as the tongue sliding languidly up and down your labia. It was almost too warm for second layers, but his window was open and a breeze was wafting through the room. You could hear the chirp of the birds and the tinkle of a windchime as his lips found your clit and suckled.
"Yoongi…" Your voice was softer than usual, even as you whined his name.
Everything was softer.
He was softer.
He hummed in response against your sex, devouring you with a leisure befitting a stolen afternoon.
You had just come over to return something he had left at yours. When he had answered the door with mop of lovely mussed hair and a white tee and sweatpants, it had been immediately apparent that you had awakened him from a nap. When you had apologized and begged off he had grabbed you by the arm and pulled you into him, his lips skimming your temple. You had protested weakly, insisting that your brother would be home from work in a couple of hours and that it was your dinner night and other nonsense you secretly hoped he would ignore. He had said nothing, but had tugged you along and down into bed with him, pulling you against him greedily and nuzzling into your neck with a smug, if sleepy, grin, as if he know all along that you never meant to leave. The moment your bodies had fitted together in that way they always did, any thought of departure, or cooking obligations, or complicated consequences left your mind entirely. Yoongi, his warmth, his comfort, the butterflies in your stomach and the peace in your heart were all you could fathom. You had drifted off, then awoke to little kisses across your cheek. His hair was curling around his face, longer than usual recently (you knew it wouldn't last, he always changed his hair), and the light from the window behind him and spilling into the room around him made him look angelic. Demon that he usually was, his dark eyes so often full of hunger as he leaned over you, this visage of him took your breathe away. Unfair. "Hustler?" he had murmured in question to your staring, his voice gravely from sleep. You didn't answer, not with words - there was a golden spell hanging in the air, one you thought might shatter if you spoke above a whisper, so, you kissed him. You him kissed unhurriedly, in all the sorts of ways you had ever wanted to, just feeling his mouth move against your own. At some point you had pulled his pretty cock out of his pants started stroking it until he had cum, shaking and cursing softly, against your shirt.
That's how you had ended up in his hoodie, bent over, with his tongue inside you. You were so hazy with the decadent lust of the moment that you could barely hear his mummers against your sopping flesh. He was calling you 'doll'. He was cursing sweetly. He was lewdly and perfectly praising you. With a soft cry you came against his mouth, your orgasm dragging out sweet and long like a spool of honey as his lips continued to purr filth against your sex.
An hour later you were on his doorstep. He was leaning against the frame and looking down at you. Warm eyes, small smile. No rain. Not this time. This time the sky was gold.
They say that nothing gold can stay, but maybe, just maybe…
-Fin-