Subway Footlong With All The Sauces

I may be a Whore, but atleast I'm self aware.

[baguettejoon]

Did you plagiarize this or write it for someone else initially? Since in numberous paragraphs instead of namjoon it says Shawn

Hello! When I wrote this initially I used to write it for Shawn Mendes, which is why it says Shawn instead of namjoon. Thank you for pointing it out , I had technical glitches while posting it, so I couldn’t edit properly. Hope this clears things up! :)

[baguettejoon]

Sweetheart I KNJ [M]

Kim Namjoon was your wild card.

You’d started out knowing about him only what the rest of the world did; that he was rich, charming, extremely handsome and could charm the pants off anyone, which he did too often for even Dispatch to catch a break, and that was saying something.

But then you met him at a New year’s party that he hosted about three years ago, when you were young and naïve and still holding out hope for your one true love. And boy, had he delivered.

He’d always shown interest in you through your mutual friends, but you hadn’t ever paid it any mind. You knew his reputation, and you knew yours well enough to know that he wasn’t the kind of man you’d ever get involved with. But Perhaps it was something with the way the lights illuminated his face and the sharp edge of his jaw that had you so lost, that when he kissed you at the stroke of midnight, you lost hold of all rational thought.

So, you let him push you up against the wall just outside his bedroom, long after all his guests had either left or passed out in his living room, and let him kiss the breath right out of your lungs. And even when he pulled away, towering over you, your name just a breathy moan on his lips and a warning sign in his eyes, you still didn’t run.

You’re sure it was the way his hands felt against your skin, warm and calloused, but gentle as though you were made of glass, and you remember the look in his eyes when he pushed the straps of your dress down your shoulders, dark and dangerous and sinful.

You’re convinced it was his mouth against your body, leaving feather light kisses all the way from your neck to the swell of your breast. Or maybe it was the way he bit down on the skin behind your ear and then proceeded to suck a bruise into it, unbothered by the moans leaving your mouth.

You should’ve known then that he was bad news, but you let him touch you, bring you to the brink of ecstasy once, then twice again in his bed, and by the time morning rolled around, you were too far gone to realize anything when you woke up to him pressing gentle kisses to your neck.

You gave him three months.

90 days where he was all yours, in your arms, or between your legs, neither of which you minded even one bit. He was a generous lover, always giving and kind, and never once did he make you feel like anything short of a queen. But generous didn’t mean gentle, and you were okay with that. For once, he was becoming the man of your dreams, exactly how you wanted him, and you were perfectly fine with the way things were playing out.

Ninety days were enough for you to find things about him that even the best journalists couldn’t dig out. He was, behind the playboy persona and extremely handsome face, the most driven man you’d ever met. He was meticulous with detail, a perfectionist in every sense of the word, and his attention to detail was the backbone of his success. He had the world at his feet, and he was well aware of the fact.

Which, if you were being truthful to yourself, was the sole reason you were expecting him to walk out of your life once the three months were up. You were holding out hope for your one true love, but you didn’t think it would be him, that it could be him, so you expected that to crash and burn at your feet.

It didn’t.

Because you didn’t realize, that above all, he was simply just a man in love. Had been since the first time he’d seen you all those years ago, pretty dress and beautiful eyes, so innocent and in utter awe of the world around you, and when he introduced himself to you, you’d politely smiled, shook his hand and moved on, like he wasn’t the one man everyone was all over, like he wasn’t Kim Fucking Namjoon, and that had stuck with him, for all the years that came, and would, he was sure, for all of eternity. So, when you’d finally let him kiss you at his New Year’s party, no backing out, no hesitation, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

And here you are now, four years later, so in love and absolutely enamored with each other that you don’t see the way other people look at you. Well, you don’t. Namjoon does, every fucking time, and he isn’t ever happy about it. Because, while he is practical and rational most times, when it comes to family, above and beyond, Namjoon is fiercely protective and extremely possessive.

You feel him before you see him, his massive arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you closer into his side, while you talk to one of the employees, Habaek, you think his name is. You see then man gulp and politely acknowledge Namjoon before he excuses himself from the conversation and walks away, leaving you confused and alone to deal with your fiancé.

You turn your head to face him, smiling gently at the way his jaw is clenched, staring holes into the retreating man’s back. When he looks down and meets your eyes, his gaze softens only slightly and he leans down to peck your mouth.

“Having fun, Mr. CEO?” you tease, knowing full well his reaction. You ask him this every time he finds you at these parties, after he’s done being the Boss, and he says the same thing every time, but it’s become tradition now, and you’re not going to be the one to break it.

“Not particularly enjoying the way they’re looking at you,” he mutters, face cold and emotionless, but you know there’s insecurity there. You feel it behind his words every time he says them, and it breaks your heart that he thinks, even after all these years, that you’ll ever leave him for someone better.

Truth is, you’re not part of his world. Not part of the flashy cars and glitzy parties and all the fame that comes with being a young, successful socialite. He’s afraid you’ll realize that this isn’t for you, that you deserve a simple man who can give you all his love and be there for you and doesn’t make you rethink your life every time you open up a tabloid. He’s afraid that you’ll realize that he’s not good enough for you.

You’re quick to shut down those worries every time they rear their ugly little heads, but sometimes, he’s good at hiding them, behind masks ranging from cool intimidation to indirect threats and his signature smirk, just like he’s doing right now. Something’s bothering him, you know that, but you also know you need to give him time to let it bubble over on its own instead of pushing it.

Namjoon is usually very good at talking to you. He’s great at negotiating ties and communicating with you about every little thing, but sometimes, he gets into these moods, where he’s silently fuming and broody and snippy at anyone who tries to approach him. And his moods usually leave you aching and sore for weeks to come, so it’s not like you ever complain about them.

You can tell, by the way he’s tugging you close and glaring at anyone who so much as looks your way, he’s in one of those moods right now, and try as you might, you can’t do much to help the way your cheeks catch colour in anticipation of what’s to come. And by the way he smirks down at you, you know he’s caught on as well.

His hands are firm on your hips when he pulls you into him, leaning down to gently tug your ear between his teeth and pull. While PDA like this isn’t unusual for him, it’s highly unlikely in front of a couple hundred of his employees, and it has you smiling bashfully and gently pushing his chest, but everyone else just smiles and looks away, unbothered. Your fiancé simply chuckles, the lighthearted tone seemingly back in his voice and for a moment, you think he’s going to behave.

He doesn’t.

He moves you to stand in front of him, your back pressed into his unbelievably hard chest, and you can feel the soft material of the Armani suit he’s wearing.

Good fucking GOD, the suit.

You’ve given in to your thoughts too many times this night, watching him quietly in that suit, watching the way it wraps around his arms and clings to his back and you’ve housed too many fantasies in your head within the span of these couple hours for them to not bubble up now. A sigh leaves your mouth at the thought, and Namjoon catches on.

“You alright there, baby?” he whispers in your ear. For a moment, you believe that perhaps he hasn’t caught on to the way that you shiver slightly when his fingers trail down your bare arms to lace with yours, maybe he isn’t on the same page as you, but then, he leans down again.

“You want to tell me what’s going on through that pretty little head, Sweetheart?”

The nickname sets your nerves on fire. Namjoon, over the years, has called you about a million nicknames, some of which have stuck with you, others which haven’t. But the only time he ever calls you Sweetheart is when he wants to bend you over and take you. It’s a simple thing, really, but it makes you want to combust.

“Joon,” you mumble, his name reduced to a breathless whisper, and he kisses the side of your head in acknowledgement. “Please.”

“Please what, Sweetheart?” he hums, “what’re you thinking?”

You’re thinking a lot of things. Things that range from getting home and cuddling with your fiancé, to Joon in his suit with his head between your thighs, doing unspeakable things to you, and not necessarily in that specific order. But whatever it is going on in your head, doesn’t seem to make its way past you lips. It doesn’t even have to.

“It’s alright, doll,” he hums quietly, “I know what you want.”

He kisses your neck softly and smiles down at you, and to anyone watching you from afar, it would seem like an innocent gesture, like he’s just told you how much he loves you before grinning like a lovesick fool, but you know the truth. You know him well enough to see the way his pupils dilate slightly and the look he gives you is full of promises you can’t wait for him to keep.

“Joon,” you say, your voice is almost a whine, but you’re in too deep to care, “please, can we go home, please?”

He says something to someone and is leading you out of the venue and into his car before you can even comprehend it. The tension in the car is so thick you could cut it with your pinkie. You want to do something, anything to diffuse it, to diffuse the heat that’s slowly spreading through your body, but you know he won’t like that.

So, you settle for looking at him from your seat while you’re leaning against the window. He’s lost the jacket somewhere on the way, and the sleeves of his white button up are rolled up to his elbows, the first three buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned. The pendant around his neck gleams occasionally as it catches the light in the streets. You stare at his face, eyes tracing the sharps lines and contours of his jawline as he focuses in the road ahead. He hands tighten around the steering wheel when another car cuts in lane, and you see the way his jaw tightens, but you say nothing.

Commonplace as it is, you can’t help but bite your lower lip in a futile attempt to stave off the beginnings of a familiar heat between your legs. You inhale sharply, and assume it’s fair to be turned on anyway. After all being with someone with a mouth as sinful as Namjoon’s was an occupational hazard.

“Can feel your eyes on me, honey. Did you want something?”

And it’s not fair, because as soon as you’re about to say ‘no’, one of his hands trails up you bare thigh to rest dangerously close to your center, and your breath catches in your chest.

He catches your disgruntled expression and throws you a wink. Goddamn it.

“Did you want something?” you throw back the question at him, albeit a bit breathless, and he chuckles.

“I do actually,” he says, in way of making conversation, but you know it’s far from that. “Just need you to follow rules for tonight,” and there is an amused lilt to his voice you don’t miss. “and no cuming without permission, sweetheart.”

And just like that, the air shifts. He’s back to rubbing quick circles into your inner thigh, but it’s not nearly enough to give you the friction that you need and you find yourself bucking your hips to get his hand closer to where you need him. But he’s quicker, his massive hand coming down onto your thigh to hold you in place.

“Behave, baby,” he warns, and that’s enough to make you stop all movement.

The rest of the ride back home is the same, very uneventful and extremely frustrating, with the way Namjoon keeps stroking your thighs, getting slightly closer to you soaking panties every time, but never doing anything. The relief that floods you when the gates of your home looms into view is unimaginable, and apparently he is as worked up as you are, because he’s out of the car and opening your door before he’s even properly parked. He carries you up the stairs to the door, the car long forgotten on the driveway.

He has you pressed up against the door before he can fully place you onto your feet the moment he nudges it closed with his foot, and his lips are on your neck, sucking a bruise into your skin. His lips pepper kisses down your neck and then up your jaw, nibbling and licking, until they meet your mouth in a searing kiss. His hands trail up your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake and push the straps of your silk dress down your shoulders, and it reminds you so much of the first night you were together.

The thought alone is enough to make a moan slip past your mouth and Namjoon smiles against you lips, gently pecking them before pulling away. One of his hands tweak your nipple through your bra, and you cry out at the sudden sensation.

“Sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” he chides, mouth back to sucking an identical bruise on the other side of your neck. You simply moan in response.

“Gonna be a good girl for me tonight Sweetheart? Will you follow all of my rules?” he asks huskily and you can only nod in response.

“Use your words, sunshine.” He tweaks your erect bud a little harder and you moan out a yes, praying to whichever god will listen that he stops teasing. Instead, he pulls away from you completely, hands on either side of your head against the wall.

“I want you naked on the bed in five minutes. Don’t make me repeat myself, kitten.”

There’s a finality in his voice that makes you shiver. When he backs away and saunters into the kitchen, you find yourself rushing to your bedroom, stripping on the way, leaving Namjoon with a trail of your clothes all the way. You can’t be bothered about the mess you’re making, and besides you’re sure he’d appreciate that.

You don’t hear when he comes in, bare feet softly padding against the plush carpet of the room because you’re too busy staring out the window that overlooks the city, imagining him fucking you against it.

You’re lying on the bed, head turned to stare the window and Namjoon just takes a moment to appreciate how absolutely divine you look perched on top. He smiles to himself, thanking his lucky stars for blessing him with you before he walks up to you.

You’re pondering the finer points of the situation, desperately trying to ignore the ache in your groin and the despondent urge to touch yourself, when you’re abruptly dragged to the edge of the mattress.

“Joonie!” you yelp, shock returning alacrity into your limbs and consciousness

“Give me a colour, Sweetheart,” he says softly, leaning down to press a kiss against your knee, fingers warm and breath ticking against your skin, but his intense gaze remains locked on yours. You whisper a ‘green’ into the air around you, but it seems to diffuse in the haze that surrounds you. Namjoon hears anyway.

“Hands to yourself, baby,” he says, and at that moment, you feel something cold touch the inside of you knee and trail up your leg. “Do you remember your safe word?”

You’re too lost in sensation to register what he says, and its only when he stops and repeats himself that you hear him and moan it out. You realize it’s an ice cube when it continues to ascend your thigh.

He doesn’t say anything the whole time he traces your labia with the ice cube, moving it up and down your slit slowly, torturously close to your clit but never close enough for sensation. You’re not too proud to beg when he swipes it up your clit once, the chill making you freeze in place as a loud moan breaks through your throat. He moves the ice down your slit again and pushes it into your entrance, shallowly thrusting a few times to push it up your opening.

The contrast of the cold ice against your warm walls is maddening, and the sensation is only added to when Namjoon collects your wetness and drags it up your slit to rub your clit in small, practiced circles. You swear you can cum then and there, you’re unbelievably close, in fact, when he reminds you that you’re not allowed to without permission. It’s more of a warning, really, one that you have no choice but to heed.

The stroking thumb on your clit stills as soon as the fullness of the ice cube leaves, melting inside of you, and you want to cry out at the loss of touch, but Namjoon is on his knees, blowing air into your opening. You shudder with the feeling, legs jerking to close around him, but his hands are on your thighs, spreading you open on his bed.

“What do you want, kitten?” he asks, voice even, but you can see the tenseness in his jaw.

“I want—” a broken moan leaves you when his fingers find your clit, but he urges you to continue.

“I want—anything, fuck” you breath out, “your mouth, your fingers, fuck I want something in my pussy, please, Joonie.”

You’re too desperate to see him smiling down at you, proud of how beautifully you’re begging. For a second, he loses himself in the way you’re spread out on his bed, and he’s very tempted to screw his elaborate plan of drawing out your orgasm and fuck you senseless at this instant, but the thought of you begging keeps him grounded.

“Then do it,” he says simply, pulling away from you and moving backwards, towering over the bed. Your eyes snap open and meet his, wide and confused, but he just looks knowingly at you, his pretty mouth pulling into a self-satisfied smirk. “Touch yourself for me, kitten.”

You’re almost ashamed at the alarming rate your hand moves to your clit, rubbing rough circles around the swelling bud. It doesn’t feel nearly as good as when he touches you, but you’re desperate and impatient, and you only slow down when Namjoon pulls your hand away from your dripping cunt.

“Slower, Sweetheart, I need you to last.”

You whine out in protest, deprived of not only is touch, but also your own, and you can almost feel your clit throbbing for attention. Truthfully, you’re not sure how to do this. Sure, you’ve touched yourself before, but it’s always been in times of frantic need, either when you didn’t have enough time to drag it out, or when you didn’t have the patience. Besides, you’re almost never allowed to touch yourself without Namjoon’s permission, so you’ve never really needed to master the art of drawing out your own orgasm, and his hands always work wonders on you whenever you ask them to. Every time except now, it seems, because he simply sits back on the couch that’s across the bed, watching you intently, and it’s then that you realize that he’s not holding your hand anymore.

He sits on the couch like a king sits on his throne, confident and cocky with an air of dominance that hangs around his head like an oversized halo. He’s as naked as you are now, shirt tossed to the side of the couch and his slacks pool at the bottom of his feet as he palms his hard cock through his boxers. A guttural moan leaves you at the sight and you feel yourself get wetter, if that’s at all possible.

“Tell me how,” you croak out.

“Two fingers, Sweetheart,” he says, voice strained, “want you to fuck yourself nice and hard for me, can you do that?”

The intensity of his gaze is burning holes through your body, but you don’t seem to mind. Your fingers work their way into you, shallowly thrusting until he tells you to go deeper, harder and faster. You’re about to let your other hand wander to your pussy and rub your clit, but Namjoon stops you.

“No touching your clit,” he rasps, his hand stroking up and down his cock, matching the pace of your own fingers, “I don’t want you to cum. Do you understand, Kitty?”

You’re too fucked to do anything more than nod your head, moving your fingers out of you a little slower than before, trying your best to prolong your end. You look at him then, sprawled on the couch, legs spread wide apart. He’s all muscle and grace, built for destruction and sin and every other dark fantasy you’d ever entertained. He could destroy with his body, and right now, he was destroying you.

“Can I touch my clit, Joon, please,” you drag out the last syllables, your breath hitching when your fingers brush against you g-spot and Namjoon catches on.

“Did I say you could?”

“Joonie, please,” you start, but you don’t have to words to finish your sentence.

“Are you gonna cum, kitten?” he asks, and you can only nod in response.

“So close,” you mumble, too lost in chasing your orgasm to form coherent sentences when he tells you to stop. It draws out a groan from you and he only chuckles in response when you let out a frustrated sob.

“C’mere,” he says, spreading his legs farther and pats his thigh. When you’re close enough, he tugs you onto him so you can straddle his thigh, your back pressed to his front.

Namjoon lifts his thigh a little, grinding into your sex and the motion has you bucking forward, mewling incoherently. His hand trails to your sex, gently rubbing over your clit as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth.

“Joon,” you moan, his name nothing but a breathy whimper on your lips as you desperately try to grind into his thigh to no avail. His hand around your middle pins you in place as he continues his assault on your neck, occasionally rubbing your clit, but it’s never enough friction.

“Look at yourself, sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling your head back, “always so ready for me.”

“Such a good girl for me, baby,” he groans, his fingers moving down your slip to dip into your opening. You moan hoarsely, adjusting to the slight stretch of his enormous finger.

“Pussy so wet for me,” he mumbles, but his hands leave you and trails up to your breasts.

“These.” His hands reach up to grab your breasts roughly, making you whimper. “Are mine,” he growls lowly into your ear, pulling at your erect nipples until you cry out, surprised at his sudden roughness.

One of his hot, heated hands moves down your abdomen to your bare sex. On instinct, you try to close your legs and shy away, but you can’t, because his legs are between yours. Instead they pull apart until you’re completely spread out for him.

“This.” He growls as his hand cups your weeping pussy. You cry out, your back arching as he grasps your sex, his fingers digging into your clit. “Might be between your legs, but it belongs to me.”

“Oh,” you gasp. Your back arches as you push your dripping cunt into his open palm. An appreciative groan leaves his throat, vibrating up to his lips as they crash onto your own.

He kisses you like he wants to devour you and in theory, you have no doubt that he does. Two of his fingers press deeper into you pussy, angling upwards as they drag against your g spot, making you moan into his mouth. His thumb takes residence on your clit then, rubbing slow, but firm circles on you bundle of nerves and you swear you could cry from joy.

“Can you take one more, kitten?” he mumbles against your lips, and his ring finger is already nudging the rim of your opening as his pointer and middle thrust deeper into you. “Fuck, I know you’re tight, but you can take another one for me, can’t you?”

You let put a breathless ‘yes, please’ against his lips and then three of his fingers press into you. The stretch burns at first, two of his fingers were already bigger than three of your own, but it’s a good burn, the kind that has you quivering in his arms. One more swipe of his thumb against your clit has you clenching around his fingers, the coil in your stomach tightening and ready to burst.

He pulls away before you can cum, and he’s already carrying you to the bed before you can protest, but your pussy whiles the loss of his fingers, clenching around nothing, begging for release.

The bed dips bedside your hip when he kneels on it, hands on either side of your head. His dark gaze is all consuming and you almost don’t hear what he says. Almost.

“Think you’re ready for my cock, kitten?” he asks, already dragging his tip through your wet folds to your clit. He lets it rest there, tip nudging your clit as the thrusts lightly. The feeling is maddening. You moan in response bucking your hips to let him slip inside you, but he’s faster, pulling away slightly and pressing your thighs open.

“Use your words, baby,” he chides, tip of his cock dipping shallowly into your pussy.

“Please…,” you whimper, pausing slightly to fully comprehend your next words and commit to them before they leave your mouth. “Fuck me, sir.”

And it’s like a switch flips inside him, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches as he hoists your legs up and around his hips.

“I’m going to fucking wreck you, Sweetheart.”

And he does, in a metaphorical sense.

Namjoon’s thrusts are brutal, but efficient. He stays for as long as he can, drags out the slide of his cock against your tight slick walls, always stopping to grind into you and feel you clench around him when the head of his cock is just barely inside your entrance. He’s trying to wreck you by way of sensation.

He comes this way too, forelocks of black hanging in his face, sweat clinging to his nape and shoulder blades, mouth planted in the valley of your breast, kissing up the side of your breast to pull a nipple into his mouth, rough palms pressing your thighs open. You let out a shaky sigh and run your hands through his hair, and the down his shoulder and his back, your nails leaving faint, angry red lines in their wake. But your hand comes back to tug in his hair when he bites down gently onto your nipple.

He withdraws again, and this time, you know he’s close by the way his hips give tiny jerks.

“Sweetheart… you’re close?”

You can’t answer coherently, can only nod your assertion, tugging on his hair and mewling when his hand travels up your chest to your left breast to squeeze the soft mound and the other down to your wet folds, tracing the area where you’re stretched out around him and flicking over your clit, gently pinching the bundle of nerves in intervals.

Your breath comes in faster, ragged strokes, on the verge of losing out as Namjoon thrusts deeper, bringing you closer to your end. Every inch of your body is tingling, aching with the promise of release and you can’t hold back the whimpers that leave your mouth.

“Gonna cum around my cock, kitten?”

Again, you can only nod in assertion, once again reduced only to sensation.

“Good, ‘cause I can’t hold out any longer.”

To this, he fully slips inside you, the tip of his cock dragging against your most sensitive spots every time he pulls out, and the look on his face is just pure bliss as he grinds up into you, rocking his hips back and forth as he tries to press deeper into you. His voice catches on a particularly loud moan, and you know he’s done.

He pushes himself on his elbows then, pulling himself out until your entrance, and cums. The first splashes coat the shallowest parts of your insides, just behind the folds of your mound. In the next instant, he’s pulled out completely and the second spurts of cum splash against your inner and outer folds, the white thickness dripping down onto the sheets.

You cum then, the steady warmth of his release hitting your clit stimulating your end. Darkness washes over you as you close your eyes and lay on the bed, letting the muted waves of pleasure carry over you.

You don’t notice the way Namjoon’s eyes wander down your body to you pussy, trailing down your slit and watching in fascination at the way his cum drips out of you. He runs a finger down your folds, collecting his seed onto his fingers to slip into your entrance. His hand is splayed over your heat, thumb drawing sticky, lazy circles over your clit. You shudder from the sensation, legs moving to close around him but he pushes them away and withdraws his hand.

“Colour?” he asks softly, eyes still trained on your dripping pussy, and only nods in acknowledgement when you reply with green.

He moves to sit back on his haunches and stroke his cock, the interval between coming doing barely anything to ease his arousal. He pushes forward, hand guiding his cock to slide between your folds, gathering the remnants of his cum before pushing into your very sensitive entrance.

You quietly whine out his name, and he simply smirks at you and continues to thrust shallowly in and out of you, your still quivering sex letting him ride out the dredges of his orgasm.

“Relax, Sweetheart, I’m just fucking my cum back into you.”

You whine again and slap his arm, and he lets out a raspy chuckle as he finally pulls out of you. A thin string of your combined fluids follows his cock as he withdraws from your wet insides, but Namjoon chooses to not comment on it, instead sticking to rubbing gentle circles on you clit again.

“Think you can give me another one, baby?”

You merely whimper in response as he continues to toy with your clit, rolling it between two fingers and pinching gently. Before long, he has you coming around his fingers again, your back arching off the bed as you ride out your orgasm.

When you finally come back, Namjoon is smiling softly at you. He kisses your knee before he gets up, heading in the direction of the bathroom, and you hear the bath running not long after. Feeling sleepy, you decide to close your eyes for a little bit, uncaring of the mess, but the next time you open your eyes, you’ve already been cleaned up, all traces of sex and sweat gone from your body.

Namjoon is beside you, typing something down on his phone, but he looks at you the moment he feels your eyes on him and you can’t help but giggle tiredly.

“Hi,” you whisper, arm reaching across the duvet to lace your fingers with his.

“Hi,” he whispers back, a crooked grin taking over his face. He brings your hand up to his mouth and kisses your knuckles softly and a giggle leaves you at his antics

“Joonie...” you start, struggling to find the words to voice your question.in the end you settle with, “Good?”

And he can swear he physically feels his heart swell, the grin that splits across his face is enough proof of that. In that moment, Kim Namjoon doesn't remember a single moment where he hasn’t whole heartedly belonged to you.

He leans down to kiss your forehead tenderly.

“So good, baby, you were so good for me.”

“Go to sleep, darling,” he whispers, pushing your hair back and out of your face, “I’ll run you a bath when you’re up.”

You’re out like a light and you don’t hear him whisper any more.

“I love you.”