Slow Mornings
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Kim Namjoon is hopelessly in love with his wife, and mornings like this—warm, slow, and full of stolen kisses—are proof he never plans to stop showing it.
𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Namjoon x black!reader (married AU)
Warnings! FLUFF! nothing but pure fluff here, established relationship, husband!Namjoon, suggestive touching, mentions of nudity, sensual language, married domestic bliss
There is a warm, heavy weight on your thigh that can only mean one thing—Namjoon has thrown a leg over you in his sleep again.
It’s a familiar feeling by now, his long limbs sprawled across yours like he’s subconsciously trying to keep you from slipping away. His body is warm, and solid, the faint rise and fall of his chest pressed against your back as he breathes in deep, still lost in sleep.
The room is quiet, save for the occasional snore that leaves his lips and the distant hum of the world waking up outside. Sunlight filters through the curtains, painting golden streaks across the sheets, across his skin. It’s a beautiful sight, almost breathtakingly so.
Your eyes flutter open, vision still soft around the edges, and you let yourself just… exist in it for a moment. Let yourself feel the way his presence settles over you like a second blanket—heavy, grounding, familiar. Safe.
His hand is somewhere near your ribs, palm spread, fingers twitching lightly like he’s chasing something in a dream. You breathe in the scent of him—faint cologne clinging to his skin, something warm and musky and distinctly him—and smile sleepily into the pillow.
You try to shift just enough to stretch your legs, but his arm tightens immediately, anchoring you back down like he knows.
He stirs, frowning as he rolls over and reaches for you, searching for the comforting pressure of your body against his. A sleepy hum rumbles from his throat, low and husky, as he nuzzles closer. His hand slides over your hip and around your waist, pulling you close until your entire length is pressed to his, and there’s something so easy, so natural about the way you fit together.
He makes a soft sound of approval, nuzzling into the crook of your neck before his lips find their way to your jaw.
“Hmm,” you hum, rolling your head to the side to give him better access, letting him nuzzle and kiss his way down your neck, over your pulse point and lower, until his lips are grazing your shoulder.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. His lips brush against your skin, the lightest, laziest touch.
You smile, eyes still half-shut. “Mm. Barely.”
Namjoon lets out a breathy laugh and presses another kiss to your shoulder. “You’re warm,” he says, voice muffled. “I wanna stay like this forever.” His voice is so deep, he's practically purring in your ear, and it sends shivers down your spine.
“Me too,” you whisper, hand reaching behind to run over his thigh. “You’re like a sexy, clingy heater.”
“Sexy, clingy heater,” he repeats with a chuckle, voice rough. “Can I put that in my bio?”
You laugh quietly, body relaxing fully into his. “Only if you put ‘sleep cuddler of the year’ under your accolades.”
He grins against your skin, and then he’s moving—slow and lazy, but intentional. His hand slips lower, palm splayed flat against your stomach. He kisses your neck again, slower this time, lips parting just enough to let his breath trail over your skin before his tongue brushes lightly against the dip of your collarbone.
Your breath catches, feeling it poke you through the thin fabric of his boxers. “Joon…”
“Mm?” he answers, innocent, though his hand is already trailing lower.
“You were snoring two minutes ago.”
“You're warm,” he says again, like that explains everything. “And always soft in the morning. So soft. Can’t help it.”
You roll to face him, shifting until your thigh slots between his, ignoring the small groan that escapes him. His buzzcut is the first thing you see—dark, neat, and low against the light—and you reach up, fingers gliding gently over it. He closes his eyes at the touch, visibly melting into it.
“Still obsessed with it?” he asks quietly.
You nod. “Can’t stop touching it. Your head feels like a peach.”
He opens his eyes with a smirk. “I thought it was a kiwi last week.”
You grin. “That too. Depends on the day.”
Namjoon leans in and kisses you—soft, then deeper. His lips taste like morning and sleep, a little dry but familiar, like a song you never forget the words to. He kisses you slow, and you melt in the intimacy of being this close. This loved by him.
Your fingers dig into his skin, nails scratching him a little. His thumb strokes beneath the curve of your breast and you shiver, just a little, heart thudding under your ribs. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound like it’s the only thing he wants to live on today.
He kisses down again, over your chest, then lower, murmuring against your skin, “How is it possible you get softer every day?”
“You say that like I’m dough,” you whisper, laughing breathlessly.
He glances up. “You’re better than dough. You’re… you’re like a warm croissant. Flaky and golden and buttery—”
“Okay, stop,” you giggle, pushing at his shoulder. “You’re not allowed to make me laugh while you’re feeling me up.”
Namjoon bites back a grin, dimples flashing as he brushes a kiss between your breasts. “Fine. No more breakfast metaphors.”
The heat between you simmers, rising like slow waves. There’s no rush. Just soft touches and deeper kisses and a sense of being wrapped in something sacred.
It’s moments like this that remind you how much you love mornings with him. The way he clings to you, half-asleep and needy like he doesn’t know how to exist without touching you. The way his fingers trace lazy patterns against your skin, his body relaxed, vulnerable, safe.
He pulls back just enough to whisper “You feel so good,” against your skin, voice low, raspy.
You hum in response, letting your hand slide over his, fingers intertwining. “So do you.”
Namjoon sighs again, content, pressing his face into the crook of your neck to press a soft kiss. “I don’t wanna get up.”
“We don’t have to,” you tell him, looking down at him through your lashes. He looks good like this, slow and sleepy, like he belongs in this bed, in this moment, with you.
A lazy grin tugs at his lips. “Yeah?”
A warmth that has nothing to do with body heat spreads through your chest.
This side of Namjoon—the sleepy, affectionate, utterly unguarded side—is something you never get tired of. When he’s awake and alert, he’s sharp, quick-witted, always thinking. But here, wrapped around you, he’s soft. Mellow. Like warm honey dripping off the edge of a spoon.
Then, without warning, he flips you onto your back with zero effort, his arm slipping under your waist as he settles half on top of you. You smile up at him as your body immediately molds to his, the way it always does. His weight is solid, grounding. Familiar.
“Hi,” he says, voice rough and deep.
He lifts a hand, his wedding band catching the light—just for a second—fingers brushing against your cheek, brushing against your braids. His thumb strokes just below your eye, tracing the softness of your skin. There’s something so intimate about the way he looks at you—like you’re something rare, something to be studied and memorized.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you ask, voice quieter now.
Namjoon exhales a little laugh. “Because you’re the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.” His hand slides down to your jaw, tilting your face up slightly. “And because I can.”
You don’t get a chance to respond before he kisses you again, slow and lingering—like he has all the time in the world to savor you. And maybe he does. The kiss is lazy, deepening only when you sigh against his mouth, your fingers curling into the sheets.
His hand slides down, tracing the curve of your waist before settling on your hip. His grip is firm but not demanding, his thumb stroking absent-minded circles into your skin. He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, “Can we stay like this all day?”
“As tempting as that sounds, you have things to do,” you remind him, even though you don’t really want to be the voice of reason.
Namjoon groans dramatically, burying his face in your neck. “Don’t care.” His lips graze your collarbone, slow and lazy. “Cancel my schedule. We can just stay in bed all day and cuddle.” His lips move over your shoulder and back up to your jaw. “We can make out all day if you want.”
“I'd like that,” you admit, laughing. His kisses leave a tingling sensation against your skin, and you don’t even hesitate when he pulls you closer.
He makes another sound, humming deep in his throat as his lips find their way back to yours. He’s the first one to break the kiss this time, and he pulls back with a soft whine that makes you chuckle against his mouth.
“You're gonna be late.” you tease him, voice breathy. You press your lips to the edge of his jaw, nibbling gently on the skin, loving the way his eyes fall shut at the sensation, brows furrowing slightly.
“Fuck that,” Namjoon says. His hands slide down your thighs, lifting your legs over his hips. His fingers are warm as they knead the skin of your thighs, making you shiver against him.
You're the one to finally pull away, though it takes everything in you to do it. You press one last kiss to his lips, then his cheek, then that warm patch just beneath his jaw that always makes him hum.
“I should go start breakfast,” you whisper, dragging the sheets down as you sit up, legs stretching out into the early sunlight.
The cool air hits your bare skin, goosebumps rising instantly. You feel Namjoon’s gaze on you before you even glance back—and sure enough, when you do, he’s already propped on one elbow, eyes tracing every curve like he’s seeing you for the first time.
“I was gonna make you breakfast,” he says, voice still gravelly from sleep.
You snort. “Baby, no you weren’t.”
“No you weren’t,” you say again, laughing now as you stand and reach for your robe at the foot of the bed. “You can’t cook, Joon.”
“Technically, I can cook,” he says, watching you move across the room like he’s in a trance. “I just don’t… thrive.”
“You set off the smoke alarm making toast.”
“It was complex toast!” he argues, flopping back on the bed with a groan. “There were layers.”
You give him a look as you slip into the robe, tying it loosely at your waist. “There were burnt crumbs all over the kitchen.”
He grins, big and unbothered, arms behind his head like he’s proud of himself. “Still ate it.”
“Yeah, and I had to pretend I liked it.”
Namjoon watches you from under the tousled mess of sheets, all bare skin and warm morning light. “I don’t care what anyone says. I make amazing cereal.”
“Oh, wow. You’re so talented,” you tease, walking toward the bed to grab your phone off the nightstand. Just as you lean over, reaching for it, there’s a sharp smack against your bare ass—loud, unapologetic, echoing off the bedroom walls.
You yelp, startled, and whip around, phone still in hand. “Namjoon!”
He’s grinning already, no shame whatsoever, dimples deep and smug. “What?” he says, eyes hooded and voice thick with sleep. “Just admiring the view. It’s mine, isn’t it?”
You rub the spot he slapped, half-laughing, half-scandalized. “You're lucky I love you.”
Namjoon props himself up on his elbows, completely unbothered, eyes trailing after you like you’re the last good thing left on earth. “God, look at you,” he murmurs, still sounding a little dazed. “How are you real?”
You roll your eyes, “You say that like I didn’t drool on your arm last night.”
“Doesn’t matter. Still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He shifts onto his back, arms folded under his head like he’s admiring the ceiling but really, he’s watching your robe-clad figure. “You could roll outta bed with your bonnet half-off and toothpaste on your chin and I’d still be in love with you.”
You shake your head, cheeks warm. “You’re just horny.”
“I’m married and in love,” he corrects, that crooked smile pulling at his lips. “Horny is just a bonus.”
You shoot him a warning look as you pad toward the door. “Behave.”
“Never,” he calls after you.
You disappear down the hall to the kitchen, the soft shuffle of your slippers fading, but he doesn’t stop watching until you’re completely out of view. He lets his head fall back onto the pillow, that smile still tugging at his mouth, a little dazed, a little gone.
