#ceo!namjoon

[colormepurplex2]

Loosen Up | Masks Off

↳ Namjoon x f.Reader ⤜ CEO AU, CEO/Personal Assistant, angst, fluff, smut ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 15,705 ⚠️Inappropriate thoughts, flirting, language, mild food play, kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, v. sex, creampie

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Namjoon, 5 Days Before The Gala

There are only so many minutes in a day. Precious dollops of time that Namjoon usually willingly gives to those he cares about; whether friend, family, or more recently, a beautiful, smart woman named Charlotte DuPont. Only, much to his own frustration, he’s finding himself being more and more stingy with those precious drops of time when it comes to the successful beauty guru.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with her. No, of course she’s not perfect, but she’s quite amazing. In fact, Namjoon might even consider her his ideal type. Anyone would be so lucky.

There’s only one problem.

No matter what Namjoon does, he can’t seem to give Charlotte the attention he knows she deserves because his mind is wholly occupied by someone else.

You.

And how dare you consume his thoughts like this?! It’s not fair.

Why did you have to go and say that? 

“I don’t regret it, either. It was actually kind of…nice.”

You, with your inquisitive gaze and body deserving of worship.

You, with your charm and wit that keeps him on his toes.

You, with your—

“Have you even heard a word I said?”

“What?” Namjoon blinks. He shoves the glasses on his nose up to sit in his hair before bringing his fingers back down to rub at his eyes. He was listening…wasn’t he? “No,” he finally admits softly. “I was lost in…it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

Charlotte’s lips poke out slightly, pursing in a red-tinted pout. She tousles her mane of dark curls, her long, slender fingers combing back a few stray pieces out of her face. She shifts her weight on the couch beside Namjoon, clearly making him wait as punishment for his inattention.

The red full-body jumpsuit she’s wearing today irks him as his eyes sweep her form. Red isn’t her color. It doesn’t belong on anyone other than—Charlotte clears her throat, drawing Namjoon’s attention away from the red-covered bend of her knee back to her face. She reaches up and smooths a thumb between his brows. “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.”

It takes every ounce of strength in Namjoon’s core to not flinch away from her touch. But, why? For fucks sake. Namjoon takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before intentionally leaning into her touch and forcing his mouth into a smile.

“You have my full attention now,” he assures her.

Charlotte smiles, dropping her hand into his lap where she threads her fingers through his. “So, the fall line is…”

Namjoon tries so hard to keep his word about her having his attention…he’s not sure if he succeeds.

4 Days Before The Gala

The building is quiet, evoking the same hushed atmosphere as Proof did in its early days—just a small thing, barely big enough for a few desks and some recording equipment. Namjoon thinks fondly of those times, fresh out of college with a dream far bigger than his pockets could allow. Seokjin and Taehyung were just as eager, filling notebooks with endless ideas and plans for how to make it big—for how to make Father proud.

Now, even with a corner office on the top floor of one of Seoul’s most exclusive high-rises, Namjoon still seeks the solitude of those early days. Which is how he finds himself slowly treading along the empty executive hall, glancing through darkened windows into the office spaces beyond. Seokjin and Taehyung’s offices are tidy, perfect reflections of their personalities.

There is a sense of pride in knowing they built this from the ground up. Just as their father did with his own ventures. That was the whole point: to build something that their family would be proud of. It’s not lost on Namjoon that success, especially of this magnitude, comes with expectations. Specifically, when it comes to the future.

Namjoon stops in the open space where the elevators are. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the expanse of the wall across from them, framing a sparkling swath of the city. The glittering buildings seem infinite against the inky sky.

A glance down at his watch lets Namjoon know it’s far past the time he should have gone home. Only, he doesn’t quite feel like returning to his empty apartment just yet. Charlotte offered to come by with a late dinner, but he refused, excusing himself with gala preparations.

It’s a small lie, but a lie nonetheless. There are no more preparations to make. You’ve made sure of that, keeping all the stress well enough off of Namjoon’s plate. But, he refused her all the same.

The tension between you and Namjoon is nonexistent, at least on the surface. If he’s being candid with himself, he hasn’t had a single night of restful sleep since you dropped that little tidbit of information on him the other day. Even with Charlotte, who is wonderful and—

“Burning the midnight oil?”

Namjoon starts, jerking his head around to the elevators. The silver doors slide closed behind the man Namjoon considers to be his best friend. Yoongi has his arms crossed over his chest, his black shirt and jeans echoed in the dark circles under his eyes.

“What are you still doing here?” Namjoon asks.

“If you have to know, I was on my way out, but saw your car still in the parking garage. Now, I could ask you the same thing. Only, I’m pretty sure I have an idea why you’re still here.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Namjoon mumbles, turning back to the windows.

“No?” Yoongi asks, stepping up beside Namjoon.

Silence stretches between them, Namjoon holding off for as long as possible before it grows uncomfortable. Finally, he breaks, admitting, “I was just thinking about how things used to be and where we are now. Do you remember back at university when we first met?”

Yoongi hums thoughtfully. “I didn’t like you at first.”

“Can’t possibly see why,” Namjoon jests.

“Your notebooks…the songs, poems. It wasn’t until then that I realized you actually had a good head on your shoulders.”

“I never would have made a good producer. Not like you, at least. I wanted to, um, thank you…for working so hard. I know things haven’t exactly been easy with bringing JIDA on, but it’s because of you that we now have even more talent on our roster.”

An unreadable look swings Namjoon’s way, his friend tensing slightly at his side. “I’m just doing what I have to do,” Yoongi finally says before turning back to look out at the city. “But, I know Proof’s not all you’ve been thinking about.”

One of Namjoon’s eyebrows twitches as he tries to school his face. “What are you going on about?”

“Charlotte DuPont. Really, Namjoon?”

Now it’s Namjoon’s turn to shrug. “She’s nice. I…like her.”

“Really?” Yoongi sounds unconvinced.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Namjoon quips, “Well enough. But, what’s with the third degree, Yoongi?”

Yoongi turns from the window, arms still crossed over his chest. “You’re a real jackass, you know that?” he says softly.

“What?”

“Sunshine.”

Namjoon takes an involuntary step backwards at the force with which Yoongi utters the nickname he gave you so many years ago. Feigning confusion, Namjoon asks, “What about her?”

“Stop fucking around with her, that’s what.”

“Now, listen, I don’t know what you think you know, but—”

Yoongi holds up a hand, stopping Namjoon’s attempt at refuting the very apparent truth. “No, you listen. You can save that bumbling excuse bullshit for someone who doesn’t actually know you. But, I do. And I’ve been paying attention these last few weeks, and I have to say, man, you’re fucking this up royally.”

Yoongi’s words might have been spoken at an even pitch, but Namjoon can feel them echoing like a shout in his soul. He never should have tried to fool his friend. Not after all these years. The only person he’s closer to than his brothers, and maybe you, is Yoongi. So, needless to say, his friend has put the pieces together. Namjoon is confident his brothers would have, too, if they weren’t so busy preparing for the gala.

“I’m not trying to fuck anything up,” Namjoon finally cedes. “That’s the whole point. I can’t ruin what I have with her.”

“And what is it exactly that you think you have with her?”

His shoulders kick up before he can find words. “I don’t…know. Friendship?”

Yoongi’s raptor gaze slices through Namjoon like a hot knife through butter. “And is that all you want with her?”

“Yoongi, even if I wanted more. That’s not…it’s not appropriate.” The admission provides little relief.

“Says who? It’s not as if she’s a brand-new hire. She’s been here for years, she’s as synonymous with the name Kim Namjoon, CEO of Proof, as you are. If anything, you’re doing her a disservice by keeping her locked in a friendship bubble when it’s clear you want more than that, and anyone can see it.”

“Father wouldn’t—”

“To hell with your father!” Namjoon reels back as if slapped, but Yoongi barrels on. “Sorry, but I won’t take it back. You’ve lived your entire life aiming to please and scrape by in order to gain his favor. But the truth is, Namjoon, your father doesn’t care about those things as much as you think he does. And before you start to try to tell me otherwise, look at how things went with your parents, arranged marriage or not, you can’t tell me he cared that your mother came from nothing. And even when he remarried, he still didn’t choose based on social standing. Your dad didn’t care what the world thought of his choice in partners…why would he care about yours?”

“I just thought—” Namjoon tries to get in a word, edgewise, but Yoongi cuts him off once more.

“That’s the problem! You thought, have you even asked your father what he thinks? Not that it really matters. Fuck, man, you begged Sunshine for her help, she gave it, and somewhere in the process, she succeeded because there’s something different about you lately. Something good, Namjoon…the something I think you’ve been looking for. And it was because of her. It’s not about the new clothes or private dances in your office. It’s about her. You allowed yourself to enjoy her. She’s the key to it all.” By the end of it, Yoongi’s chest is heaving, and the veins in the backs of his hands stand out where he’s clenching them on his own biceps.

Namjoon stands there, struck by the raw vulnerability in Yoongi’s words. He cares about Sunshine; that’s evident. Which, oddly—or maybe not so oddly—doesn’t evoke any jealousy in Namjoon’s heart because he knows the producer sees her as more like a sister than anything.

“Yoongi, I…thank you,” Namjoon says, letting out a long, slow breath. “I think I’ve been so caught up in what I think is expected of me that I haven’t stopped to think if it’s real or just something I’ve made up and projected onto myself. I just, all these years…I’ve only ever wanted to make my family proud.”

“And you’re doing that. Just look around,” Yoongi exclaims, throwing his hands wide to indicate the empty halls to either side. “You and your brothers have built an empire here, and it’s a good one. Don’t let your own misconstrued ideologies make you think otherwise.”

“You’re right,” Namjoon agrees, finally letting himself absorb the revelation. “But, I think I’ve already messed things up…”

“Nonsense. You just have to get out of your own way and see if she’s willing to take a chance…to forgive you for being so damned obstinate and foolish.”

Namjoon can’t help but laugh at that, earning a rueful smile from his friend. It seems so simple. Namjoon knows it will be anything but; however, that won’t keep him from trying.

👔👔👔

3 Days Before The Gala

Anyone who claims that things can return to normal between friends after making out is a liar. It’s like people staying friends after a bad breakup—nearly impossible. So, in the days following your little talk with Namjoon, you can tell he’s intentionally keeping himself away from you. Which is all well and good except for the fact that it rankles every single time you notice the distance.

Thankfully, you’ve had precious little time to actually focus on it much. With the gala in just a few days, you’re busier than ever. Staring down at the envelope with the wax seal stamped with the Proof logo, you allow yourself a small smile. It’s only a formality, you receiving an invitation, because of course you’re going to be there.

But as you finger the wax seal, finally slipping your nail under it to pop it, you can’t help but think about who else is going to be there. Specifically, who will be Namjoon’s plus one; your smile drops. As one of the primary communicators regarding the gala, you’ve read the guest list over several times for one reason or another. Checking spelling errors, removing names or titles, and, well, adding names as well. So when Charlotte’s name popped up on the final list, it’s a wonder you didn’t rip your hair out in the process of the silent fit you threw.

It would have been petty, but a part of you wanted to forward the list to Peach, and oopsie, having accidentally deleted guest number 158. However, once again, you’re trying to be the bigger person here. Sans your little comment to Namjoon the other day, you’d consider yourself having handled the whole situation well so far. Besides, what goes on in your head, what you might want to do…doesn’t necessarily mean it’s what you are going to do.

“Excuse me.” The soft, unfamiliar feminine voice breaks through your mental spiral. “Is Namjoon available?”

A cold slither of jealousy shoots down your spine before you can steel yourself against the shiver it brings with it. You blink up into gorgeous, rounded toffee-colored eyes, framed by a lush swoop of bouncy, dark cherry curls. A sprinkle of freckles covers the bridge of her nose, complementing the deep olive tone of her skin. Skin that you would be a liar if you said you’d never admired.

Charlotte DuPont stands before you in a smart creme-colored suit that hugs the curves of her long frame. A pair of designer sunglasses sits nestled in her hair, an oversized brown leather bag on her shoulder, and a paper takeaway bag held in her other hand.

“Who?” You hate yourself.

Charlotte purses her lips, a look of confusion glossing over her face. “Oh, is this not his—”

“No. Er, sorry. I mean, yes. Of course you mean CEO Kim Namjoon…this is his—he’s here. Just one moment.” Your fingers feel thick, frozen by the pseudo ice still snaking its way through your body, as you punch in his office extension on the phone on your desk. The line beeps once, alerting Namjoon that you’re trying to reach him.

“What is it? I’m not late for a meeting, am I?” Namjoon’s voice only sounds mildly tinny coming through the line.

“Not at all, sir. You have a…a visitor.” Your voice softens at the end of your statement, eyes flicking back to Charlotte with palpable envy. If she can read you at this very vulnerable moment, she doesn’t let on, simply giving you a polite smile before turning to look at the door to Namjoon’s office expectantly.

Is she just stopping by without letting him know? Or did he know and just forget to mention it to you—is that even something he would tell you? No, no. He absolutely would have told you. If there’s anything you’ve learned about Namjoon in all these years, it’s that he hates anything that might interfere with his work schedule. It’s why he’s so adamant about having everything mapped out, even down to his out-of-work activities, such as date nights, gym sessions, and doctor’s appointments. 

Namjoon’s voice carries through before he’s completely opened the door, “I wasn’t expecting anyone today. I can only imagine it’s Fath—oh, it’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me, silly! Surprise! I couldn’t wait until tonight,” Charlotte gushes, throwing her arms around a rigid Namjoon.

The look he throws at you over her shoulder can only be described as one thing: panic, pure unadulterated panic. He’s stiff as she continues to hug him, a hug he’s not returning. Perhaps when he sees you noticing, it breaks him out of his shellshock. His hands snap to her waist, and your heart gives a little jump at the reminder of what his hands felt like on your waist.

Namjoon clears his throat. “Charlotte. This is a surprise indeed. Um, I’m not sure how much time I have…” he trails off, giving you another glance.

“It’s your lunch break,” you supply. “Your next meeting isn’t for another thirty minutes.” The words come out bland as you fight to keep your voice from warbling.

They look so good together that it hurts. Her slender frame pressed against his defined chest, their light-colored suits nearly matching; by your design, you hazard to remind yourself. If it weren’t for you, he’d be polarizing in a black suit instead of looking like he’s the perfect addition to one of those love-sick Instagram couples who wear matching clothes.

“Perfect!” chirps Charlotte. “Hope you haven’t eaten yet. I brought vegan sandwiches from that new delicatessen I was telling you about!”

There’s a moment, as Namjoon is gently extracting himself from Charlotte’s embrace, that his eyes meet yours, and there is so much there that you have a hard time taking it all in. “I…don’t know, Charlotte. I—there’s…” Namjoon trails off before taking a deep breath and continuing, “Actually, that sounds lovely. Thank you. Come on into my office.” Charlotte allows Namjoon to usher her through the doorway. You just catch the soft words he says to her as he closes the door, “I’m glad you came by, there’s actually something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” 

Jamming your finger against the power button on your computer screen, you shove away from your desk and blindly barrel down the executive hall, making a beeline for the elevators. You’re on the production floor before you even realize what you’re doing, index finger poised over the keypad to Yoongi’s studio.

It’s just him in the room, making the look of surprise on his face be mirrored in your own. “You’re alone,” you pant, the words half-question and half-statement.

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth twitches. “Last I checked, this was my studio…”

“Well, yeah, I just expected…where’s JIDA? She also wasn’t here last time I busted in. Which, I realize, is probably making me out to be a terrible friend...for abusing your trust in giving me the key code to your studio. So, I’m sorry about that. But, no…no, no,” you ramble, waving a hand in the air to dispel your errant thoughts. “Where is she? Grabbing lunch for you guys?”

“She’s probably working.” He shrugs his indifference, but his eyes say otherwise.

“Probably working? Yoongi, what’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing is going on. Now, your problem first,” Yoongi insists. Which, to you, might as well be a giant green check mark confirming that something is going on between Yoongi and JIDA. “What has you ‘abusing my keycode’?”

“How about no? I ignored this last time I was here, but you won’t avoid my questioning this time. What’s going on with you and JIDA?”

Yoongi lets out a frustrated growl. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. Finally, he drops his hand, his dark eyes flicking to yours. “Nothing is going on. I’ve just been slammed with work trying to get things ready for Jungkook’s performance at the gala. Why is everyone giving me such a hard fucking time about it?”

You hold up your hands in surrender. “You can’t blame anyone for asking about the two of you. Not when you spent so much time practically glued at the hip, and now she’s nowhere to be seen in your vicinity. It’s just a little odd, especially considering she’s down as your plus one for the gala.”

“What? No, she’s not.”

You raise a brow, crossing your arms over your chest as you return the deadpan look on Yoongi’s face. “Yes, she is. Did you not read the email I sent out a few days ago that had the confirmed, finalized guest list for Peach? It had her name right there beside yours.”

“Why—that’s…fuck.” Yoongi sighs, a look of defeat washing over him. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? I’ll handle the plus one situation and once the gala is behind us…things will go back to normal.” Whatever normal is. Yoongi doesn’t say that last part, but you hear it all the same in his tone.

“Fine,” you concede.

“Now, out with it.” Yoongi rolls a hand in the air, gesturing for you to spill.

You slump onto the edge of the couch in his studio. “The last time I was in here, you and Jimin gave me some advice.” Yoongi nods, letting you know he remembers. “And I took it. Namjoon and I had a moment to talk, and I was honest with him about my feelings.”

Yoongi gives you a mild look of knowing, like he’s already aware of this. “And have you talked since then?”

“Not at all. Granted, we haven’t really had time. But, he’s also made it abundantly clear that he’d rather not talk about it and would have things go back to how it was before. Only…damnit, Yoongi, I don’t know if I can do that with him anymore.”

“What do you mean? Why not?”

You give Yoongi a sad look. “Because what I feel isn’t normal. I can’t just act like nothing happened; not like he is.”

“Maybe he just needs some time…” Yoongi trails off, and you’re already shaking your head no. “What?”

Shrugging, you pick at a fold in the fabric of your pants along the side of your knee. “Clearly, things aren’t going to magically fix themselves between me and him. It’s evident he’s made up his mind, considering Charlotte DuPont is upstairs having lunch with him right now and she’s going as his plus one to the gala.”

“Ah,” Yoongi hums, wincing. “I kind of thought that…hmm, never mind, it’s not important what I thought. Actions speak louder than words, after all. Look, Sunshine, I don’t know exactly what’s going on with Namjoon. But, just try to give him some time, okay? At least until after the stressors of the gala pass by.”

You shrug again. “I can try. I just…I’m trying to stay professional…only I’m not sure how to do that when I have these,” you pause, pressing a hand to your chest, “...feelings.”

“I get that. Feelings can be tricky,” mutters Yoongi, glancing down at where his hands are folded in his lap, the words seeming directed more towards himself than you. It’s a non-answer, and you’re okay to not push for more. Clearly, there is nothing else to say on the matter for now—purely an unknown.

“Am I an idiot?” you ask softly.

Yoongi’s response is just as soft, whispered into the dark confines of Genius Lab. “No more than I am.”

Silence falls in the room after that. Not an uncomfortable tension, just an easy balm between friends. After a few beats, Yoongi turns back to his computer, and the soft clicking of his mouse settles you further into his couch. You sit there, content with absorbing as much of the quiet companionship as Yoongi will allow before braving the executive floor once more.

👔👔👔

Namjoon

The tofu, hummus, and falafel sandwich Charlotte brought Namjoon sits untouched on his desk. He couldn’t eat it even if he wanted to. Not with the leaden stones churning in his stomach from how she stormed out of here. Thankfully, no one was around, not even his brothers, who he assumes are also taking their lunch hours.

That didn’t exactly go how Namjoon thought it would. It’s only been a few weeks—a handful of successful dates where Namjoon may have seen himself being happy, content…eventually. But the fact that Namjoon hasn’t been able to go more than a few hours without thinking about you isn’t fair. Even when Charlotte would be right in front of him, her fingers intertwined with his and her lips brushing his ear before planting themselves on his mouth.

Everything between Namjoon and Charlotte has been okay. But that’s just it. Fine, okay. Only okay. No mindblowing revelations, no sparks, nothing that even remotely compares to the inferno that was his kiss with you. She’s not even a bad kisser…she’s just not you. She hasn’t been a constant light in his life for years. She doesn’t make his heart beat a little faster with just a smile. She’s not this forbidden enigmatic ambrosia that calls to him like a siren to a lost sailor. And that’s precisely what Namjoon feels like, a lost sailor—marooned by his own heart, his ship utterly destroyed against the rocky shore that everyone calls Sunshine.

Telling Charlotte that he wouldn’t be taking her to the gala snowballed into him telling her that he doesn’t think things are going to work out between them. And even though he knew exactly why, he couldn’t find the words to actually tell her. So, he’s certain he looks like an asshole now, and more than likely, his father is going to hear about it. That’s another conversation he’s not looking forward to having.

It was the look on your face earlier that did it for him. The way your eyes shimmered with hurt, and your shoulders subconsciously curled in on themselves. Your confession to him that other afternoon in his office ultimately set things in motion. He’s been reeling ever since. You enjoyed the kiss. So he hadn’t read the situation wrong; he hadn’t misunderstood your desires for one too many shots of soju.

Well, of course, he already knew that. But what he also knew was that he couldn’t possibly indulge in what either of you wanted. It’s just not right. People would talk…they would—does that really matter? Namjoon has never cared so much as an iota what people think of him; his father being the only exception, if he’s being honest with himself. Then Yoongi had to go and blow the entire box wide open last night with his fireballs of truth, now Namjoon is left picking up the pieces.

So, why does it matter? Why can’t the heart have what the heart wants? There’s an adage there somewhere, one for the soul, surely. That was the whole point of Namjoon seeking your help to begin with, wasn’t it? To help him be his true self. Like Yoongi so eloquently put it, it wasn’t the clothes or the other items on your list—it was you. You are helping him become the person he wants to be. And what if the person he wants to be…just so happens to want you?

Yoongi’s right…you’re the key to it all.

The Day Of The Gala

Of course Namjoon wouldn’t have time to have a proper conversation with you before the evening of the gala. Saturday rolls around, and he’s sliding on the latest addition to his wardrobe. Your encouragement to add more color to his wardrobe inspired him to commission a custom-made suit for the occasion. It’s traditional in being black, but the deep violet accents in the shirt, pocket square, and socks are where he added some flourish.

With any luck, he can get a moment alone with you sometime during the procession. The car he booked for the evening, the one that would have been heading to Charlotte’s right now, maneuvers through the traffic surrounding the hotel where the gala is being held with ease. The chilled bottle of champagne he forgot to tell the driver not to bother with sits untouched, emphasizing the emptiness of the spacious backseat. Namjoon drums his fingers on his knee, refusing to let his eyes drift to the vacant seat beside him; the seat he wishes you were in.

A nervous tick feathers along Namjoon’s jaw. Tonight is no different than any other big-ticket event Proof hosts or attends each year. But, for some reason, he can’t shake the tremulous fluttering in his stomach. Namjoon’s been meaning to talk to you for days now, there just hasn’t been a good time with you being so busy working with Peach to ensure the Proof gala goes off without a hitch. Which the lack of communication between the two of you has made his anxiety ramp up tremendously—he’s not even certain you’re aware that he’s not bringing Charlotte tonight.

A large group of photographers crowd the steps leading up to the entrance as the car pulls to a stop in front of the building. Strong-armed security guards keep them at bay as the back door swings open and Namjoon steps out.

Mostly ignoring the questions being volleyed his way, Namjoon politely nods, offering small waves and a plastered-on smile. It feels like it takes forever to make it up the stairs and through the doors into the main lobby of the hotel. Velvet ropes cordon off the entrance into the ballroom that BSA secured for the evening, leading Namjoon right into the mostly empty space.

It’s still very early in the evening. As the opening speaker and one of the prominent faces of Proof, Namjoon knew he had to arrive well ahead of the primary attendee crowd. A few of the catering staff give him nods, others afford him a wide berth, scurrying on with their respective prep jobs.

Namjoon spots Peach amid the black and gold-embellished tables that have royal purple nestled in the decor like splashes of paint. She’s really outdone herself this time; everything looks absolutely perfect. Gretchen, Peach’s assistant, directs some of the staff nearby. Peach gives Gretchen a fond smile before turning in another direction, the soft silvery blue of her dress shimmering in the light from the golden chandeliers overhead.

There are only a few tables between Namjoon and Peach, as he’s slowly picking his way across the room, when he finally spots what drew Peach’s attention from watching the smooth machinations of her staff. You come into view from the other side of the curtain that’s framing the DJ booth, and Namjoon stops dead in his tracks.

Peach gathers you into an embrace, her large smile mirroring the one on your face. Your hair is gathered away from your face, little diamond gemstones scattered among the strands like teardrops. The deep amaranth of your dress is just as Namjoon remembers. It’s not his fault you had the garment hanging behind your desk last week, and he just so happened to take a peek into the bag while you had stepped away. And it’s doubly not his fault that he just so happened to request the accents of his suit to match, either.

His eyes sweep you from head to toe, tracing the curving lines of your form. The dress gathers in a ruche at your waist, mimicking the draping lines he’s seen on Greek statues. That’s what you remind him of, with the neckline of your dress sweeping down from one shoulder and a waterfall of silk that goes all the way to the floor, where there’s a peak of your open-toed sandals from beneath the fabric.

You’re Aphrodite from legend, come to draw him into your thrall. All Namjoon can wonder is where your altar is and how long do you need him to kneel before you? It only lasts a moment, him watching you and Peach exchange words he can not hear, but it’s enough time for the world to come crashing back down as a throat is cleared beside him.

“You know, I received a very unpleasant phone call yesterday.”

“Father, I—” Namjoon startles, glancing at him and biting his tongue before he can even begin to make an excuse. By the time he turns back to look in your direction, you and Peach have already moved out of sight. He glances back at his father. “Will you join me for a drink before the evening begins? There is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

👔👔👔

“You know, if you weren’t wearing that white shirt, you would absolutely be the latest Dispatch highlight,” you tease, taking in the full effect of Jimin’s ensemble. The lacy peek-a-boo panels down the front of the jacket are minimal compared to the back, which has a full floral lace window. If he weren’t wearing a crisp white undershirt, there would be a whole lot of skin showing through the black lace.

Jimin’s laugh is bright and tinkling. “Namjoon would have a field day scolding me if I let that happen. The last thing anyone needs right now is a scandal on one of our biggest nights of the year.” Jimin gives you a once-over, his eyes lingering on the skirt of your dress. “I love that color. It’s cute that you and Namjoon match. Was that intentional or by accident?”

“What?” you rasp out, suddenly feeling a surge of outrage.

Surprised by your reaction, Jimin’s brows climb his forehead. “Okay, so not intentional, got it.”

“When did you last see him?” you ask as you turn to scan the crowd. You don’t wait for Jimin to respond, having caught sight of Namjoon talking with his father near the bar set up across from the erected stage intended for Jungkook’s performance tonight. “I’ll catch you later, okay?”

Again, not waiting for Jimin to respond, you begin to pick your way across the expansive ballroom. You’re pretty certain Jimin calls something out to you, but all you can hear right now is the pounding of blood in your ears.

You. Are. So. Mad. Because, how dare he?! You saw him peeking at your dress the other week and had assumed he was verifying the color so as to not match you. It would have been mildly embarrassing for him and Charlotte to show up in colors matching your own.

You don’t see Charlotte anywhere near Namjoon. Maybe she’s in the powder room or chatting with someone else out of sight. Either way, if Namjoon wanted to wear the royal purple with Charlotte, he should have warned you. And if he decided to do it regardless, fuck him for doing that to her…and you. Doesn’t he realize all the tabloids and news outlets are here? It might be inconsequential enough for people to wear the same colors, but all it takes is one person to assume, and rumors about some silly, sordid love affair will spark like wildfire. Namjoon knows better.

“Thank you for understanding, Father,” Namjoon is saying as you draw closer. His eyes flick from the formidable figure that his father cuts, to you, surprise raising his brows. “If you’ll excuse me…I need to, uh, review my opening speech.”

Namjoon’s father turns, following the line of Namjoon’s gaze. His dark eyes meet yours, and there is something there, something you can’t quite read. Suddenly, his face splits, a smile spreading wide across his angular jaw. He tilts his chin, giving you a warm nod before turning and signalling the bartender for a refill.

There is a breath of silence as Namjoon stands with just a foot between the two of you. You can tell he’s thinking, he might as well have giant cogs churning on his forehead with as obvious as it is. Though, is that because it’s obvious or simply because you know him that well? You hmph softly, internally rolling your eyes at yourself and the notion.

You came over here with all the intent to chastise Namjoon, ranting at him for his choice of accent color for his suit. Only, now that you’re staring at him, drinking in the subtle touches of royal purple popping in his shirt, pocket square, and even in the amethyst inlaid in the tungsten ring fitted on his left thumb, the fiery wind disappears from your sails.

In place of the biting words you desperately wanted to lob at him, you ask, “Are you ready for your speech? Gretchen wants things to kick off exactly at six so we can do contributions for the full hour before dinner.”

Namjoon glances down at his watch. “I’ll be ready,” he assures, looking back up at you.

Silence falls between the two of you once more. Inside, you’re screaming at yourself to say something, push him, slap him, do something other than stand there and stare. There is a tenderness in Namjoon’s eyes, letting you know whatever he’s thinking is soft and pleasant. A wild contrast to the acidic thoughts broiling in your head—in your heart—just moments ago.

How could you be mad at him? It’s not like either of you asked for this. In fact, much the opposite. He asked for the opposite of this palpable dizziness that refuses to dissipate in the very air you’re both breathing.

Licking your lips, you shove down the sour words once more and instead choose to follow your head instead of your heart. “Where’s Charlotte?”

“She’s no—”

“Namjoon! Hey, sorry to interrupt, but the sound team is ready for you.”

As if to emphasize Gretchen’s words, the overhead lights dim and the stage lights up, a beacon calling forth for Namjoon’s welcome speech.

“You'd better go,” you murmur.

Namjoon frowns but nods. “Find me after, will you?”

You agree to do that, even if your heart is saying no. But the events of the evening seem to have other plans, no matter how you feel about Namjoon’s request.

There was every intention of finding Namjoon once his welcome speech was over, but you ended up being pulled in several different directions, fielding questions about donations and shaking more hands than you can remember the faces to.

By the time you had a moment to breathe, it was time to take your seat for the first dinner course. From your seat beside Hajun, Yoongi’s assistant, you have a view of only half the room. It’s taking everything in your power to focus on your food instead of turning to look at the Kim family table.

A procession of delicious courses follows, until finally the table is cleared for the final time, and dessert is presented to you. Hajun makes a pleased sound at the glass coupe with the intricate dessert topped with an edible 24-karat gold leaf. It’s a soft burst of flavor on your tongue as you have a small taste, so delicate and melt-in-the-mouth.

There are several bites left when a low voice whispers in your ear from behind, “I need your help.” You start with a slight jolt, your spoon dropping back to the bottom of the coupe glass. Bringing your napkin up to dab at your lips, you smoothly gain your feet and turn to look at the owner of the voice.

Yoongi guides you a few steps away before lowly filling you in on his dilemma. JIDA, the newest Proof lyricist and the woman who has been troubling Yoongi so deeply lately, is nowhere to be found, and he wants her to be there when Jungkook performs her song for the first time in front of a crowd.

You’re mentally going over the map of the venue and the seating chart when your eyes drift over Yoongi’s shoulder, and you pause, mid-sentence, in delegating your plan to find her. “Alright, let’s—”

Namjoon is not sitting where he was placed on the seating chart you had finalized with Peach. More so, neither of the chairs to either side of him hold a beautiful French beauty-guru entrepreneur either.

“What is it?” Yoongi asks.

“He’s not where he should be,” you mutter.

“What?”

“The seating chart of your table is different from what I last confirmed with Peach.” Yoongi hums but doesn’t say anything if he knows something, just meets your gaze expectantly. Right, he needs help. “Come on, follow me.”

Some twenty minutes later, and you’ve confirmed with the others seated at the lyricist table that JIDA texted from a cab on her way to the venue, but that they haven’t actually seen her. 

Gretchen is a little more helpful, able to confirm that JIDA’s invitation was noted as being used to access through security. So, she did arrive.

You’re turning away from Gretchen, intent on finding one of the security guards to inquire further, when a voice catches you off guard. “There you are.” Namjoon sighs as he comes into your line of sight. “I’ve been looking for you. We need to talk,” he says, having to raise his voice slightly to be heard over Taehyung on stage, announcing the information about Jungkook’s performance tonight.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon, the night has been busy. Can we talk after, maybe?”

Namjoon frowns, looking wounded for a moment before his face clears and he glances at Yoongi over your shoulder. “Is something going on?”

“Nothing that you need to worry yourself with. I’m just helping Yoongi find JIDA, that’s all,” you tell him.

“She’s missing? I saw her…well, earlier. Much earlier now that I think about it.”

“You saw her? Do you remember where? When?”

His shoulders lift a fraction. “It was at the beginning of the night, right before my welcome speech. She had just walked in.”

Feeling frustrated, you purse your lips but nod. “Okay, thanks.”

“Hey, let me help you guys—”

“No. It’s okay. Your face is far more valuable to be seen than mine, or Yoongi’s, for that matter. Get back out there and support your brother during his performance and make sure the end of the evening goes smoothly—make sure the donors want to come back for next year.” You try to put on a smile, giving Namjoon a playful wink that you hope eases the worry that’s pinching the smooth skin between his brows.

“Sunshine, we’re running out of time,” Yoongi pleads softly as the first notes of Jungkook’s performance resonate over the speaker system. It’s clear the producer is feeling some type of way about the lyricist. He gives Namjoon an apologetic look before turning and staring at the stage, a haunted look entering his eyes.

Namjoon stares at you for a moment longer, entrancing you with his espresso-colored gaze. It’s on the tip of your tongue to call to Yoongi, to tell him that JIDA is a big girl, and if she wanted Yoongi to know where she was, she’d tell him. But, Namjoon is already turning away, offering you a slight nod in acquiescence, and moving back towards the central ballroom area to support Jungkook.

You take that moment to flag down a passing staff member and air-drop a picture of JIDA to them so they can share it among the rest of the event workers. Your hand on Yoongi’s arm draws him out of his daze. “The staff are going to look for her. I gave them her photo.”

“I couldn’t find her,” Yoongi whispers as the first notes of Who begin to fill the air.

You’re about to try to comfort him further when the first few lines of Who reach you. The song instantly resonates with you, and you stand there glued to the spot.

The lyrics echo through your heart. Wanna give her the world and so much more. There is a reason you chose the songs you did that night in Namjoon’s office when you wanted him to break down his walls and dance with you. Lyrics can be so powerful and speak where the words from your own mouth fail to. Is she someone that I see every day? Part of you had felt guilty for choosing the songs you did, but in the end, you wouldn’t take it back.

It’s in this moment, as Jungkook croons out the last lines of the song, that you make up your mind. Namjoon asked for things to go back to how they were, to essentially erase what happened between the two of you, because it would be too messy otherwise. But you can’t do that. You won’t do that. 

Tonight, you’re going to be honest with Namjoon. And if he can’t accept that, then maybe it’s time for you to move on to…What do they call them, greener pastures? You would be devastated to have to do that, but know it would be for the better in the end. It would be hard enough watching Namjoon with Charlotte, but even harder to do so while also trying to suppress the ache of wanting in your chest. No, you refuse to continue to try.

A quiet hush falls over the ballroom as the song trails off before being replaced by raucous applause and even a few whistles. It’s no less than you expect following a performance like that. Jungkook has always been a crowd favorite.

You want to say something to Yoongi, to assure him that, regardless of the performance being over, you still plan to help him find JIDA, but a hand on your shoulder draws your attention away. It’s the staff member you flagged down at the start of Jungkook’s performance. They let you know that one of the front door security guards might have some helpful information about JIDA.

Yoongi is making his way back towards the lyricist's table by the time you turn back to him. You’ll just have to see what the security guard has to say and then find Yoongi if it’s something worthwhile.

Unfortunately, the information is helpful…but also very alarming, which is the unfortunate part. The security guard distinctly recalls seeing JIDA with tears in her eyes in the lobby. He asked her if she was alright, and she simply bowed and then ran outside. That was hours ago, right before the opening speech.

Seokjin’s voice cuts through the clapping, bringing the noise level back down to a murmur. He’s giving closing remarks, thanking everyone for their contributions once again. The people around you start to give their hushed goodbyes, having every intention of making their ways home soon. How can the evening already be almost over? Desperation makes your feet move quickly until you finally find yourself beside Yoongi once more. He’s at the Kim family table, his words to Jimin and Peach too low for you to catch over Seokjin’s speech.

“She left,” you shout above the noise, though being careful not to be too loud and disrupt Seokjin’s voice. “A security guard recognised her. She left a long time ago.”

The sounds of shuffling and hushed words feed through the speakers, but the only thing you can see is the back of Seokjin’s head as he stands just off stage. It sounds like someone is trying to take the mic from him. But who?

There is no one else scheduled to speak. Seokjin was supposed to be the last of the night, the conclusion after Jungkook’s performance. You glance down at the dainty opal-faced silver watch on your wrist, noting that Seokjin was right on time with his remarks. Who the fuck is—

“Excuse me, everyone, I’d like to make an important announcement.” Taehyung’s words are slightly slurred. The realization that he’s drunk sends a cold sheet of dread down your spine. You swear to all that is good in this world, if your conversation with Jimin earlier about scandals completely blows up in your face…well, you don’t want to think about that.

“No. No, no, no. This can’t be good,” you mumble to yourself as you desperately try to skirt through the crowd. 

The next words out of Taehyung’s mouth have the entire ballroom going eerily silent. There is a fool's grin spread wide on his face, like he just laid out the perfect picnic and now expects everyone to lap up the reality of it.

“What?” you whisper to yourself, eyes automatically snapping behind you to where you just left Peach sitting beside Jimin at the Kim family table. 

She’s sitting there, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, her fingers twisted around her napkin. Sudden movement beside her draws your eyes. Jimin lurches up from his seat, nearly toppling the chair over. In a flash, he’s flicked a pair of dark sunglasses from his inner coat pocket and secures them onto the bridge of his nose. 

Even from this distance, you can see there is some unspoken exchange between him and Peach. You had thought maybe—the two of them are close, dare you to think even intimate at times, especially considering how close you saw them on the dance floor earlier. Yet, Taehyung just…

You have every intention of making your way back over to Peach to help in any way you can. Jimin storms off, and you can tell the action takes Peach’s breath with it, but your view is suddenly filled with black lapels, an amaranth silk pocket square, and shiny black buttons.

“Did you know he was going to do this?” Namjoon asks. The look on his face is one of hurt and confusion. “Please tell me you didn’t know he was going to do this.”

You’re shaking your head before the words are even out. “No, of course not.”

“I have to do something,” Namjoon insists, making a beeline for the stage. The crowd is surging, quickly putting bodies between the two of you as you try to follow behind him. You’re about to call out in frustration when strong fingers thread through yours and Namjoon pulls you bodily around the gaggle of people trying to surround the Kim family table.

You catch glimpses of Peach through the throng of people attempting to either ask her questions or offer congratulations, you’re not sure which, honestly. Jimin has disappeared completely. Part of you wants to pull your hand free from Namjoon and go as you had intended to Peach’s rescue, but a second later, Yoongi is popping up beside her, and you know he’ll make sure she’s okay.

By the time Namjoon is pulling you to the side steps of the stage, Taehyung has handed off the mic, and neither he nor Seokjin are anywhere to be seen.

“What are you going to do?”

Namjoon shakes his head, snatching the mic from the poor stagehand standing there holding it like it’s a live snake about to strike if he so much as twitches.

“Go around the backside of the stage, it’s the quickest way to make it to the bar. Tell them I want as many bottles of Dom Pérignon as they can open; they can put it on my personal tab if they have to. Now, please. Go. Hurry.”

Sprinting in a floor-length silk gown is not exactly how you thought you’d be spending part of your evening. But, as it is, you’re panting soft puffs of breath by the time you make it to the employee entrance side of the bar. Just in time, too, as Namjoon’s words fill the ballroom space.

“Wow. What a pleasant surprise!”

“Dom Pérignon, per Mr. Kim. Open as many bottles as you have to, no matter the additional cost.” The bartender doesn’t even hesitate, grabbing four bottles from below the counter. He sets to working the corks immediately while barking orders at the other bar staff to pull the rest of the stock from the back.

“Congratulations to the happy couple,” Namjoon continues after quiet applause. “Please, everyone, if you would find your way to the bar to enjoy a glass of celebratory champagne.”

That gets the crowd moving, hopefully giving your friends some much-needed breathing room to get things sorted. You leave the staff to their jobs, making your getaway from the bar before you get trapped by the crowd coming for their champagne.

“Where did Taehyung go?” you ask Namjoon once you finally make it back to the stage.

He shakes his head. “No clue. No one is answering their phones, either.”

👔👔👔

Namjoon

All things considered, Taehyung’s announcement is far more acceptable than some other things that could have happened. Still, it would have been nice if Taehyung had mentioned it to the family. Or if he still wanted it to be a surprise, chosen somewhere far more family-friendly and intimate to let everyone know. The annual charity gala isn’t exactly the best place to be fielding such knowledge.

But Namjoon digresses and is doing his best. He caught his mother's eye sometime in the aftermath. She had a smug look on her face when he asked her if she knew this was going to happen. Her hand on his arm was affectionate enough as she told him that it was about time it happened, regardless, and that they’d have plenty of time to talk about it over family dinner the following week.

That was the last member of his family he spoke to before the gala concluded. He had already sent his brothers messages, imploring them to hold off on answering any questions until they could have their Monday-morning meeting in two days' time. Namjoon can see they’ve read his message, but his phone still sits idle with no replies.

Namjoon glances at his phone one last time before slipping it into his right pant pocket. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone what feels like hours ago now. He needed to loosen the hold his shirt had on his throat. Despite not wearing a tie this evening, the closed top hole of his shirt acted enough like a noose itself. He’d have shucked his jacket and shirt altogether if he knew that wouldn’t cause another wave of chaos.

Thankfully, all the news and media reporters have since left the venue. All that’s left are a handful of BSA staff handling the dismantling of the stage and DJ booth under the guidance of Gretchen, and some of the hotel wait staff clearing dishes from the tables. Oh, and you. You’re still here, too.

He watches you move across the ballroom, something clasped in your hands. There is a slight frown on your face, and Namjoon wishes more than anything that he could read your thoughts right now. What’s got you looking so down like that?

He decides there’s only one thing to do now. The thing he’s been trying to do all night to no avail. Namjoon squares his shoulders and makes his feet move before he can change his mind.

“Hey,” he says, waving a hand to catch your attention.

You pause, and Namjoon finally notices that you have a nearly empty coupe glass in your hands. “Do you need something?” you ask.

“What’s that?” He nods at the glass. Is that…dessert?

You snort a half laugh. “I didn’t get to finish it,” you mumble as you hold up a glass. It is indeed a half-eaten dessert. The cream has long since turned to milky liquid in the bottom, and the gold leaf has completely broken apart as the berries macerated in their own juices. “I thought maybe I could still…Well, it doesn’t matter.” You set the glass off on the closest table with a soft look of longing in your eyes. “Not very appetizing after it’s sat for so long.”

“Hm, yeah,” Namjoon agrees softly, feeling a wash of guilt at any part he may have played in that.

“Looks like we have time now. To talk, that is. If you wanted to.”

Namjoon looks around, taking in the soft bustle of the workers moving through the ballroom like well-oiled machine parts. “Right, yeah.”

“Unless you’d rather wait until work on Monday. I think I could squeeze in some time after your lunch hour.”

It’s hard to tell if you’re teasing. There is a guarded look in your eyes, like you’re uncertain how to hold a conversation with him. Which is fair, considering the last week and how it’s gone between the two of you. He’s not made this easy for you. Probably made worse by the acknowledgment that he wanted to talk, but not about what.

Shaking his head, Namjoon says, “No, no. Now is better…I don’t think I could stand waiting until Monday.” He has to clear his throat before finding his voice once more. “I wanted to apologize. For everything. And I also wanted you to know that I ended things with Charlotte.”

“Why? It seemed like things were going well. Is the list not working? I can revie—”

Namjoon holds up a hand, halting your ever need to try and fix things for him. “It’s not that. The list, well, according to Yoongi, is actually working. But, with Charlotte…it wasn’t working. Me, I mean, with me. She isn’t right for me. Not when I couldn’t stop thinking about someone else every time I was with her.”

“What are you saying?” Your words are soft and so full of what Namjoon can only describe as hope that it makes his heart lurch. He never should have denied whatever this is between the two of you. 

“What I’m saying is that I was a fool. I thought if I inundated myself with someone else, I could…I don’t know—forget about you, somehow. But, no matter what I do, I can’t. And…it wasn’t until recently that I realized that I didn’t want to forget about you.”

“Really?” you ask in a whisper. It’s in that one word that Namjoon can hear the hope from before turn into uncertainty. And he can’t blame you. Considering the last time he attempted to talk to you about this, he all but shunned the idea of being with you.

Namjoon watches as your eyes drop from his, your brows lightly pinching together like you’re trying to read between the nonexistent lines in the words he said. Your eyes catch on the ruined dessert you abandoned on the table, your lips further pulling down into a frown.

An idea sparks in Namjoon’s mind. He’s not sure how much good words are doing, so maybe he can show you some semblance of how much he cares for you. A sly curve catches at the corner of his mouth and he takes a leap of faith. “Come with me?” He offers you one of his hands. “Trust me,” he adds when you raise a questioning brow at him.

A hint of a smile creeps onto your face for the first time in hours, and it makes Namjoon’s heart swell. You’ve been run ragged tonight by a multitude of happenstances, from people employing your help to you ensuring the night's events ran smoothly. The meal procession was probably the only time you truly had a moment to relax, and you didn’t even get to finish your dessert. 

Namjoon is going to change that.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you slip your hand into Namjoon’s.

“You’ll see.” He can’t help grinning, leaning into the thrill of surprising you.

The feel of your palm pressed to his fills him with something he can only describe as peace. Your hand fits perfectly into his, something it seems he’s not the only one who notices with the way you flex your fingers against his. Namjoon can see it in your eyes; it feels perfect to you, too.

There is an industrial kitchen accessible through the ballroom's employee entrance. The service door leads to a long hallway, and the kitchen is not far down it. No one else is in the hallway, which is promising.

Namjoon leads you to the swinging doors of the kitchen. With one more meeting of his eyes to yours, he pushes through the doors and pulls you along.

Just as he hoped, the kitchen is also empty. The staff is still out in the ballroom, clearing away the dishes from the last course of dinner—the one you didn’t get to finish—and the last-minute round of champagne.

“The kitchen?”

“More specifically,” Namjoon explains, leading you further into the space until you’re standing in front of a giant industrial stainless-steel appliance, “the fridge.”

With his free hand, Namjoon pulls open one side of the fridge so you can both peer inside. Another score with luck. Arrayed in a smattering of prep containers are just the things Namjoon is looking for.

“What on earth are you doing?” You giggle as Namjoon reluctantly releases your hand so he can use both of his to start pulling the containers out.

He smiles, locking his gaze with yours. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks, quickly washing his hands at the nearby sink before grabbing a pair of tongs and a small ramekin from a clean stack of serving dishes. He begins to fill the dish with the various prepped fruits.

“Namjoon, stop, you can’t!” you protest, giggling softly again. You gently cuff your hand around his bicep, giving it a not-very-hearty tug. “The workers…”

“...Are being paid very handsomely for their hard work tonight,” he fills in. “Besides, I’ll be sure to leave behind a generous donation for the additional dishes and food.”

There is a sparkle in your eyes, one that Namjoon hasn’t seen in so long. You press your lips together, dropping your eyes down to where your fingers are still wrapped around his arm. “Are you sure?” you ask, your eyes slowly drifting back up under your lashes.

It takes every ounce of his self-control not to throw the half-made dessert aside and put you on a serving platter instead. “Absolutely.” The response comes out soft as a whisper; unintentionally sultry.

You suck in a silted breath. “Okay,” you finally concede. The feeling of your fingers wrapped around his arm turns into a phantom burn as you drop your hand to your side.

“Hop up,” Namjoon requests as he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over an empty space on the prep bench he’d been using as a makeshift assembly table. “Right here.” He pats the jacket in invitation.

“Why?” you ask, even as you do as he’s asked before he gives you an answer.

Moving aside the tongs and small bowls of ingredients, Namjoon looks down at his creation. It’s nowhere near as elegant as the ones served earlier. In fact, it looks like quite a mess. But maybe it’ll at least taste okay.

His reply comes out throaty, a rasp that belies the sordid thoughts churning through his brain as he thinks about what he’s going to do next. “Better access.”

It would probably be best to scrounge around and find a fork or spoon, but the humming in Namjoon’s brain tells him there are other perfectly good utensils at his disposal.

The diced berries and cream compote are cold against the tips of his fingers. Your eyes are locked on the cream-covered strawberry chunk pinched between his thumb and forefinger as he brings it up to your lips.

“Namjoon, I…”

He’s not sure what you were about to say. Maybe it was a protest, or a question about his intentions, but whatever it was is lost as your lips wrap around the strawberry and your tongue brushes the cream from the tip of his thumb.

Namjoon swallows thickly, hesitating only a moment before bringing his fingers to his own mouth and licking away the rest of the compote and berry juice. The sweet taste comes alive on his tongue, making saliva pool in his mouth. He has to swallow once more before he can speak.

“I’ve missed seeing you smile,” he says into the silence that follows as you continue to chew slowly. You pause, swallow, and open your mouth to speak, but he continues before you can. “Yoongi’s right, you’re the key to it all.”

“Yoongi said—what? What do you mean?”

Your eyes search his, flicking back and forth, looking for answers. Namjoon keeps his gaze firmly on your face as he fishes another strawberry from the ramekin and brings it to your lips.

The tip of your tongue peeks out before you relent and open for him once more. This time, he slips the fruit in and places it on your tongue, luxuriating in the silken feel of your lips brushing his fingers.

Molten heat flashes in your eyes, your lips closing around his fingers as you give a generous suck to the cream clinging there. Namjoon knows the action is deliberate, and you’re patiently waiting for his response when his fingers slip from your mouth.

Namjoon leans in, closing the distance between your face and his. He can feel the weight of his own breath rolling off your lips as he says, “He said you were the key to it all along. You. You…this. This is what I mean. The answer was always right in front of me. It was never about new clothes or not wearing a tie. It wasn’t about dancing or finding the small things to enjoy. It’s always been about you. You…this incredible, amazing, gorgeous woman who was always the answer, but I was too much of a coward to accept. But, not anymore. Not as long as you’ll let me make it up to you—please, let me make it up to you.”

👔👔👔

You can hear the edge of desperation in Namjoon’s voice. It slices through the last few shreds of your hesitance. As Jungkook sang Who earlier, you made a resolution to be honest with Namjoon, damn the consequences. And here he is, giving you the perfect in you need for just that.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Please,” Namjoon encourages. He sets the ramekin on the bench beside you, giving you his full, undivided attention.

With his hands now empty, you take them into your own. It’s not lost on you, the spark that his touch elicits. Just like earlier, you can’t help noticing how perfectly you fit together.

“It hurt,” you admit. “More than I actually thought it might. I’ve liked you for a while, Namjoon. Well, maybe more than a while.” Heat creeps into your cheeks, but you press on. “Even though, sure, you could be uptight at times, I also saw other sides of you. I saw the Namjoon who always listened intently to what anyone had to say. I saw the Namjoon who would drop everything for someone he cares about. I got to see how you smile whenever you talk about your friends, family, and even Proof. You have always had so much passion, and I got to see that.”

Namjoon shrugs. “Those things are small…”

“And it’s the small things that make up a big thing. And I’m not saying that helping you break out of your shell was a bad thing or that I regret it because I thought you were just fine as you were. What I’m saying is that it hurt me to know that someone else was getting to see those small things…and maybe even more than I was. Knowing you were with Charlotte, that she got to see not just the Namjoon I knew, but the Namjoon you were slowly becoming—I was jealous.”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon implores once more. “Thank you for hearing me out, and I’ll understand if you can’t forgive my being an idiot or if you need time or something. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not going to look for anyone else. I’ll wait as long as you need me to or accept my fate however you see it.”

“Of course I forgive you, Namjoon,” you soothe with a smile. “I already know what I want. And I’m fully prepared to let you make it all up to me.”

“Yeah?” Namjoon mirrors your smile. “Tell me where to start.”

Slipping your hands from his, you slowly bring them up to rest on his chest, watching his eyes for any adverse reaction. When all you see is adoration and anticipation, you slide your hands up until your fingers catch the open collar of his shirt.

“How about we start where we left off?” you ask softly as you curl your fingers around the fabric and use it to pull him close until his mouth is a breath away from yours.

The press of his lips is soft at first, but quickly morphs into an incessant, desperate force. It feels like the universe tilts on its axis, a ripple undulating out, the origin where his mouth presses to yours. It’s easy to open for him, to invite him into the confines of your mouth. His tongue slides along yours, blooming the flavor of strawberries and cream across your taste buds.

Strong hands come to frame your face, Namjoon’s fingers feathering along your hairline. Your own desperation has you pulling even harder on his shirt, trying to bring him in as close as possible so you can feel his body pressed to yours.

Your knees go to either side of his hips as he steps forward at your urging. The slit of your dress peels apart, exposing your left leg all the way up to mid-thigh. A thrill shivers through you when the hard planes of his chest meet the soft curves of your own.

Namjoon breaks from the kiss, sucking in the breath you expelled as you both try to recover from the way the universe shuddered with the brush of his lips against yours. His eyes lock with yours, and it’s all written there for you, every truth behind his words.

“I’ve never felt like this before. There is a buzz beneath my skin, I swear I can feel you everywhere.”

You feel it, too, the way your body hums with a pleasant heat licking at the base of your spine. All you want is to have more. “Again,” you murmur. Namjoon doesn’t resist when you pull him back and slot your lips over his once more.

This time, he opens for you. A deep groan vibrates through his chest, the sound echoing in the back of his throat as you press your tongue teasingly against his. Your teeth come down, nipping at the tip of his tongue as he pursues your teasing caresses.

“Oh my—I’m so sorry!” exclaims a harried voice from across the kitchen.

Namjoon straightens, abruptly ending the kiss. You both glance at the entrance to the kitchen, just catching sight of a retreating back. The loud clang of dishes from the other side of the doors fills in the blanks.

“Shit.” You giggle softly, dropping a hand to cover your mouth.

There is still heat in Namjoon’s eyes when he looks back at you. “Would it be too bold of me to ask you to come back to my place?”

You pause a moment, partly to consider his offer and partly to make him squirm a little before saying, “Not too bold, no.”

“Will you, then? Come back to my place?”

The drive to his place is full of a simmering tension that drips from the two of you like thick, syrupy molasses; just as sweet, too. He holds your hand the entire time and sits so close that the press of his thigh against yours feels branding.

Subtle touches and soft giggling accompany the ride in the elevator to the top floor of Namjoon’s building. As the elevator doors slowly close behind him, your back thumps softly against the wall beside his door.

“Namjoon,” you sigh, his name turning into a soft moan as he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat.

The elevator vestibule for the penthouse is decorated with subtle hints of Namjoon’s personality; small things that most people might miss. But you see it, perhaps more clearly now than any other time you’ve visited his top-floor apartment.

A plush rug covers the dark wood floor, and a console table with a cluster of leather-bound books and a small potted plant sits to the side. Floor-length navy curtains are open, revealing the glittering city beyond. There is a biometric fingerprint scanner and number pad that you can feel pressing against the swell of your hip as Namjoon continues to administer fluttering kisses along your neck and jaw.

“I’m getting carried away,” he husks against your throat.

You can tell it takes considerable effort for him to pull himself away from you. A part of you wants to beg for him to keep going, to forget about propriety and take you right here in the foyer. “Namjoon—”

But, a second later, his thumb is pressing to the fingerprint reader, and the sound of the lock disengaging is barely heard over the sounds of your combined breathing.

“Let me be a gentleman. Please come in,” he says, voice softer than it had been all night. The confession in the kitchen and mutually assured desire have smoothed the edges of his usual CEO precision, leaving something lighter, more vulnerable…something looser.

With a small nod, you allow Namjoon to usher you inside. Once inside, you slip your sandals off and drop the small clutch you squeezed your wallet and phone into onto the low, narrow settee positioned by the door.

You don’t even have time to fully turn around before Namjoon has you in his arms once more. “Oh!” you yelp in surprise, flushing with heat and exhilaration.

“Tell me again what you want,” he requests. His voice isn’t commanding, but it’s rough all the same. There’s an edge to it. Almost pleading.

You swallow, pulse hammering. “I want you.”

Something in him breaks then—not violently, but like a dam giving way after years of pressure in a swift and consuming sweep.

It feels surreal, the way Namjoon scoops you bridal-style into his arms and your hands find purchase against the smooth fabric of his jacket. He’s solid beneath your touch, grounding in a way that steadies you completely.

You can feel the rhythmic gallop of his heart beneath your palm as your other hand winds around his neck to nestle in the hair at his nape. His face is so close you can feel each puff of warm air he releases ghosting over your lips. All it would take is edging a few inches closer…

The silk skirt of your gown cascades over your legs, the slit opening to reveal where Namjoon’s fingers dimple the side of your thigh. You both drop your gazes to stare at where his hand grips you. His fingers flex, and you’d swear his hand was somewhere else with the way heat scorches through you as he does it a second time.

“I don’t know if I can be gentle,” he growls, the words broken and desperate as he flexes his fingers again. “Touching you—it feels…I need more of it, of you. All of you. Please.”

“Then shut up and have me,” you rasp out.

The hair along Namjoon’s nape feathers through your fingers as you grip it and use your hold as a way to pull his mouth to yours.

His lips hit yours hard, taking your breath away. Your lips part in a gasp, and Namjoon takes the opening to slip his tongue in and toy with yours. There is an urgency in the way he kisses you, a consuming need that mirrors your own.

If you had known that agreeing to help Namjoon break out of his shell all those weeks ago would lead to this, you wouldn’t have been so hesitant to say yes.

Namjoon staggers down the hall, stopping periodically to gain his bearings as he continues to ravish your mouth. You’re flushed and panting by the time he gently sets you down onto the plush sheets of his bed.

He finally breaks from the kiss, lips swollen and glistening in the city lights sparkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows across the room. You watch them form around his words as he breathlessly says, “Action item number nine: don’t forget to breathe.” You both take a collective breath and chuckle softly before melting into another more languid kiss.

You sigh when he pulls away once more, pushing to stand to his full height. Staring up at him, you take in the way his eyes sweep your prone form lying across the foot of his bed.

With delicate, feather-lite brushes, Namjoon explores the exposed skin along your throat and chest. His knuckles brush along the angled neckline of your gown, eliciting goosebumps in their wake.

“Namjoon,” you whisper his name, uncaring of how it comes out as a desperate plea.

“Let me take my time. Please, let me worship you,” he responds in kind as he drops to his knees.

You push up onto your hands. The silk of your gown makes it easy for him to turn you so your legs dangle off the side of the bed where he kneels.

With trembling hands, Namjoon parts the slit in your dress and pushes the fabric aside. A hunger enters his eyes, a silent plea asking for permission. You lift your chin a fraction, staring at him down the bridge of your nose. He looks like a man starved, on his knees, begging for his next meal.

A small shift of your hips is all the encouragement Namjoon needs for his fingers to slip up the sides of your hips and curl around the band of your silk thong. It slips down your legs easily, dropping to the floor at your feet. “Namjoon,” you sigh his name as he gently pushes your knees apart. His eyes slowly descend, sliding down your body until his gaze rests at the apex of your thighs.

The tip of Namjoon’s tongue pokes out, wetting the plump cushion of his bottom lip. “I want to taste you. I need you on my tongue,” he tells you fervently.

You don’t even have a second to steady yourself from the way those words have your insides churning into molten heat before he’s leaning in. Just from the shifting of your hips as Namjoon presses you open, you can feel how wet you are. His nose nuzzles against your thigh as he breathes you in. Maybe if your head weren’t full of clouds, you’d have the wherewithal to feel self-conscious about Namjoon dragging in a lungful of your arousal, but if anything, it adds to the throbbing ache you can feel pulsing through your clit.

A soft flick of his tongue has you instantly seeing stars and arching your back. The hot, wet heat of his mouth envelopes you the next instant as he latches onto your clit and sucks. His tongue slides down, the tip slipping over your entrance before coming back up to swirl around where his lips are still pressed to you.

“Yes, yes,” you chant, chest heaving and toes curling against the hardwood floor to either side of Namjoon’s knees.

You don’t mean to, but on instinct, you fist a hand in Namjoon’s hair and pull tight in order to press him harder against you. His nose presses against you, tongue and lips plucking and lashing with precision, clearly encouraged by your enthusiasm. 

With his other hand, Namjoon grips one of your thighs, using it as an anchor to keep you open for him. Every slide and flick of his tongue edges you closer and closer to that precipice of euphoria. You can feel your whole body tighten, each muscle growing taut with anticipation. A quiver begins in your thighs, making the moan that comes from deep in your throat warble.

Namjoon makes his own sound of pleasure, a rumble in his chest that mingles with the obscenely devious noises his mouth is making against your pussy. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your other hand fisting the sheets beneath you as you’re taken over with a full-body shudder before you completely unravel.

The pulsing begins deep, rippling out until you’re throbbing against Namjoon’s tongue. “That’s it, yes!” Namjoon growls around your clit, renewing his efforts until you’re shaking so much your teeth clack together.

“Fuck,” you gasp as you use your hold on his hair to ease him away from your very sensitive sex. The fluttering has eased, but you can still feel your body responding to the orgasm with lazy, slow clenches.

“That was…” Namjoon trails off, his panting breaths hitting the heated skin of your thighs. “I can’t even think of words to use.”

“Amazing,” you supply for him. Because it was. Fuck, it was. You’re not sure you’ve ever experienced an orgasm that intense before. “Let’s do it again,” you tease, earning a soft chuckle and a smile from Namjoon.

You smooth your hand through his hair, the strands mussed from your grip. He’s flushed, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. There is a distinct glisten to his lips, one that makes heat flood through your body. Normally, you need time to cool off between orgasms, but there is something about the way Namjoon looks right now on his knees between your thighs, your cum still lingering on his chin, that has your body keening in anticipation for what you want next.

Namjoon places an open-mouthed kiss on your thigh, the motion soft and languid. “I’ll do it as many times as you’ll let me,” he murmurs. The tip of his nose brushes your mound, the flat of his tongue pressing over your clit.

As tempting as it is to let Namjoon lick and suck another orgasm out of you, there is something more you want. “As amazing as your mouth is,” you begin, lightly gripping his hair once more to angle his face up so his eyes meet yours, “the next orgasm I have will be when I’m fucking you.”

A sly curve turns up the corner of Namjoon’s mouth. “When you’re fucking me?”

Tightening the grip in his hair, you push him back until he’s resting his ass on his heels, and you have room to stand up. Even like this, Namjoon is still so big that you don’t tower over him nearly as much as this position should allow. Still, though, you feel powerful like this. “Yes.” The word is not a command, just a statement of truth. By the look in his eyes, Namjoon accepts it, too, and if he has any qualms with you taking charge, he doesn’t show it. If anything, his body relaxes further, his will pliant and supplicant to yours.

“I’m yours,” he whispers, the ‘to command’ unspoken but heard all the same. “Tell me.”

Releasing his hair, you crook a finger under his chin and push up, guiding him without words to his feet. “Take your clothes off,” you instruct. “And then mine.”

Watching Namjoon slowly undress is a whole thing unto itself. The flex of sinew and muscle, deft fingers making efficient work of buttons and zippers. Finally, he’s left standing in front of you in only a pair of royal purple boxer briefs. You can’t help but smile.

“Like them?” he asks lightly, teasing the band with his thumbs.

The outline of his cock is distinct, the rigid length creating a direct line to a dark, wet spot on the front. Your mouth waters at the prospect of running your tongue along him from root to tip. But that will have to wait; the ache between your thighs is much too insistent.

You press your lips to keep from giggling before murmuring, “I’d like them better on the floor.”

“As you wish.”

The moment he is bared to you, his boxer briefs straining around his thighs before dropping to his ankles, you can’t help the soft groan you let out. It seems like a subconscious action, the way Namjoon cups his balls and then gives his generous cock a slow stroke, his eyes locked on your face the entire time.

You have to clear your throat before finding your words, “N-now me.”

A predatory glint burns in Namjoon’s eyes as he steps closer. So close that his erection slides along your belly, leaving a trail of wetness that you can feel subtly through the silken fabric of your dress.

Namjoon toys with a length of your hair before pushing it aside and trailing his fingers along your bared shoulder until he finds the clasp holding your dress up. When you purchased the gown, how quickly it would be to take off was the furthest thing from your mind. Now, however, you say a silent ‘thank you’ to yourself of a few weeks ago for making this choice.

The fabric comes loose, falling in a cascade of silk to puddle around your feet. Your nipples instantly respond to the cool air of Namjoon’s bedroom, pebbling tight. Yet again, you give yourself another little pat on the back for choosing to go braless tonight. One less article of clothing to stand in your way.

You can taste the tang of your arousal on Namjoon’s lips as you draw him to you. The press of his body against yours sends a new wave of appreciation through you. He fits so perfectly, your body molding to his effortlessly.

He’s a moaning mess by the time you pull away, chastely nipping at his bottom lip. A light press of your hands to his chest guides him onto the bed, his back hits the sheets, and his gaze stays firmly locked on you. It’s sinful the way he looks, stretched out on the bed, cock straining and muscles corded with anticipation.

A pearly bead has collected at the tip of his length, smearing across the flat plane of his belly where it rests. It’s far too tempting this time. Your knees dimple the mattress to either side of his legs as you crawl onto the bed after him.

Your breasts feel heavy, arousal making your nipples ache to be touched. Bending your arms so you hover just over him, the pert buds scrape along his thighs, making you both moan in appreciation. Just a small flick of your tongue, that’s all you need—for now.

The flavor of Namjoon bursts across your tongue as you collect the smeared evidence from his belly, the underside of your tongue only slightly grazing the crown of his cock. It jumps, the velvety length brushing against your chin.

“That’s dangerous, baby,” he says, voice husky and raw.

You’re tempted to continue, to see exactly how far you can take him before he’s a writhing mess erupting under your ministrations. But the throbbing of your pussy reminds you of something you want more right now.

With one last lave of your tongue over the mess on his stomach, you crawl forward until you’re straddling his hips. The underside of his cock fits perfectly against the slit of your lower lips. With as turned on as you are, you’re certain that all it would take is a few well-placed shifts of your hips for you to cum.

The skin of Namjoon’s chest is warm, the palm of your hand fitting perfectly over the curve of his pec as you brace yourself forward to lift your hips. Namjoon’s pupils are blown, making his eyes seem even darker than their usual espresso dapple. You can feel the course they trace down your body, lingering first on your right breast and then your left, before dipping down to where your sex kisses against his.

As you lift your hips higher, you can feel the length of him slide along you, collecting the arousal that has gathered there. Your other hand slips between your bodies, fingers circling the hefty girth of his shaft. The muscles in Namjoon’s stomach tense with your touch, and his mouth pops open with a hushed rush of breath.

It’s easy to fit him against you. Your body accepts the thick crown of his cock like it always belonged as you slowly lower yourself onto him, inch by inch. A shudder ripples through you, eliciting a similar response in Namjoon when you’ve finally bottomed out. He’s snuggly buried to the hilt, making you feel so full you’re certain if you looked down, you’d see a bulge low in your belly.

A torrent of affirmations and confessions that taste sweet on the tongue dribble from between your lips. You can’t help the babble, needing to let Namjoon know exactly how he makes you feel. “You feel so good. So perfect. Fuck, you’re amazing,” you continue whispering, letting your mouth move of its own accord as you begin to move.

Namjoon grips your hips, encouraging you in his own way with sounds that spur you on. You thought him a man starved before; now he’s a man possessed. There is a need, a hunger, in the way his fingertips dimple your skin and his lids droop, mouth open as he groans with pleasure, urging you to move faster and harder.

Using both hands to brace yourself on Namjoon’s chest, you roll and undulate your hips smoothly, chasing that release you both so desperately need. The angle has Namjoon’s body grinding against your clit when you drop your hips over his, shooting sparks up your spine every time.

You can feel it, that building pressure of another orgasm tightening low in your belly. Namjoon’s body shifts under you as he braces his heels against the mattress and lifts his hips to meet yours, increasing the sensations thrumming through your body.

The grip on your hips tightens, anchoring you in place as Namjoon thrusts his hips up in quick succession. You pitch forward, chest meeting his. His mouth slots against yours, tongue thrusting deep, the action being rewarded with a keening moan from you.

A sudden and sweeping deluge of pleasure engulfs you as your body clamps around Namjoon. “Oh, Namjoon,” you moan his name, long and breathy.

“That’s it! Fuck, Sunshine!” Namjoon shudders, and a new sensation blossoms within your body—warmth. You can feel the rhythmic pulsing of his cock in tandem with your own throbbing walls.

Muscle by muscle, your body relaxes until you’re fully resting on Namjoon’s chest. His lips strum against yours in lazy kisses, both of you content to simply bask in the afterglow of what you just shared. The kisses turn sleepy, trailing off until you’re resting your cheek on his chest, listening to his breathing as it evens out and softens.

Sometime later, you’re not exactly sure what time it is, you rouse, still nestled atop Namjoon. His arms are wrapped around you, one hand lightly cradling your waist and the other tracing delicate patterns against the middle of your spine.

“You called me Sunshine,” you whisper, a soft smile curling your lips. You noticed it earlier when it happened, but were too far gone to bring attention to it.

Namjoon chuckles lightly. “Mmm. I did.” A knuckle under your chin has your face turning up toward his. “Is…is that okay?”

You search Namjoon’s face and realize that he’s asking seriously. “Of course, that’s okay,” you assure him. “I’ve always wondered why you didn’t.”

The look in Namjoon’s eyes softens, and he goes back to sweeping gentle fingers along your back. “Honestly? I didn’t feel worthy of using it. When Yoongi first started calling you that, I was…jealous, I think is the best word to describe it. It’s not that I wanted to be the one to call you it, I just wish I had thought to do so first myself. You’re every bit deserving of it, being the light that you are. You fill any room you walk in with warmth.”

“You know, I like to think of myself more as a moon…reflecting the light and warmth of others back at them. But, I guess Moonshine doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it?”

You both laugh.

“Don’t tell Yoongi that, he might take it as a challenge.”

Time seems to stand still even as the rest of the weekend creeps by. Hour by hour, you find yourself laughing or sighing with content when you’re not being showered with affection—oh, and endless orgasms. When Monday rolls around, you’re fairly certain you’ve never had more orgasms in a twenty-four-hour span than you did over the weekend.

After a quick stop at your own apartment for a change of clothes—wearing one of Namjoon’s shirts was an acceptable thing to do at his place, but you’re not sure that would go over quite as well in the office—you proudly walk hand-in-hand with Namjoon into Proof.

“Are you free next weekend?” Namjoon asks once the elevator doors have slid closed behind you.

You think for a second, for once not entirely sure since you didn’t spend any time at all this weekend reviewing your calendar. “I think so, why?”

“Let’s take a trip. Spain, maybe?”

“What? Namjoon, no.”

“Why not? I want to show you to the world, let everyone know—”

“We both have responsibilities—”

“Next month, then.”

You have to hold back a laugh. The elevator continues to ascend, the hum a quiet background to your conversation.

“Namjoon,” you state, trying your best to keep at least a somewhat serious face.

He counters in a sing-song voice, “Sunshine.”

You can’t resist when he looks at you like that, eyes crinkled and lips lightly curled. “Oh, fine!”

“Yes!”

“No, not so fast,” you correct him, finally allowing yourself to laugh. “We will talk about it, okay? I’ll check our schedules, and we can discuss it further…say, tonight, over dinner?”

“As long as I get to have you for dessert,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand before bringing it up to brush a kiss across your knuckles.

It takes every ounce of your self-control to keep from pressing the emergency stop button on the elevator panel. What you wouldn’t give for another few minutes alone with Namjoon, especially after those slick words of his.

“You’re certain about this?” you ask him as the elevator slows to a stop at the executive floor. “About everyone knowing so soon?” With a laugh, Namjoon presses a kiss to your forehead. “Never been more certain. Relax, Sunshine.” You look up at him, seeing all the confidence and assurance you could need shining back at you as he adds with a wink, “Loosen up.”

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Loosen Up | Shut Up and Dance

↳ Namjoon x f.Reader ⤜ CEO AU, CEO/Personal Assistant, angst, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 9,172 ⚠️Inappropriate thoughts, mild flirting, language, kissing, semi-over-the-clothes grinding, drinking, angst

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Namjoon, a week later

“So, you want me to add your Thursday date night back to the schedule?” you ask, giving Namjoon a look he can’t quite read.

“For now, yes.”

There is only a small moment of hesitation before you turn to do as he’s asked with a soft, “Okay.” But it’s enough that Namjoon notices. For some reason, his asking you to add a date night back on the schedule has made you upset.

“We’re not done with your list, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Namjoon adds, thinking perhaps you’re upset because it might seem like he’s abandoning your plan after just a week.

“Hmm? Oh, okay.”

Is it something else?

“It’s my father. He, uh, he called last week and asked if I would set aside a night for dinner with the niece of a friend of his. She is pretty nice. At least, she seems to be in the short time we spent together last week.”

You pause in your typing, fingers poised over the keyboard. “You spent time together last week?”

Namjoon wasn’t by any means keeping that from you. Or, rather, it’s not as if he has to tell you everything about his personal life—only, well…fuck. Why does he feel like he’s been caught in a lie?

Taking a deep breath, Namjoon concedes, “Wednesday. I skipped the gym that night and met her for dinner.”

For a second, you look wounded by his words, but your expression quickly becomes unreadable once again as you finish adding his date night back to his schedule. “That’s nice. I hope it works out.” It feels like you just kicked him in the gut, even though you haven’t moved an inch from your desk.

Not for the first time in the span of the last five minutes does Namjoon feel like he’s doing something wrong. Should he have waited to tell you until after he’s been on more than one date with Charlotte? The spur-of-the-moment date he went on last week, per his father’s request, went well enough. Far better than many of the others. So, why does he feel like he deserves to be scolded?

In an effort to put this dreadful conversation behind him, he asks, “Well, can we…that is, did you have plans for dinner tonight?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Not like that, not as a date. That would be really shitty of me to ask you on a date when I just asked you to add a date with someone else to my schedule,” he rushes to clarify, the words nearly melting together into one. “Just to work on the list some more. I can order something in for us.”

Namjoon doesn’t like the way you purse your lips before nodding, accepting his invitation. Just as he’s about to turn and go back into his office, you catch him off guard with the way your eyes dance over his forest green suit, and how you softly say, “I know I mentioned it before, but color looks good on you, even when it’s not your underwear.”

Unbidden to his mind, the memory of you kneeling beside him in the dressing room surfaces. The smile on your face, the laugh you tried to suppress. The sly quip about his red boxer briefs. The way you stole glances at him the entire time you helped him untangle his legs. Are you trying to remind him of that night?

It was a thrilling experience and was the first time Namjoon had allowed himself to indulge in his schoolboy crush on you. Even if just for a moment. He imagined what it would be like to pull you into his arms there on the floor of the dressing room, what your lips might taste and feel like. Whether or not you would still laugh if you could feel the way his cock swelled every time your gaze traced over the exposed flesh of his thighs.

“Ah,” Namjoon snaps himself out of his thoughts before said swelling can start to happen again. Even nearly two weeks later, the memory is still so fresh in his mind. “Er, thank you…I think.” Your soft laugh threatens to take him back to those thoughts once again. “Seven o’clock…I’ll order from that Thai place you really like.”

👔👔👔

You’ve always prided yourself on being as good a person as you can be. But when Namjoon asked you to add Thursday night date nights back to his schedule, you wanted to not-so-kindly tell him to do it his own fucking self. Of course, that reaction is entirely out of line, and you’ve since set yourself straight, but damn did you nearly blunder it.

The delivery driver buzzed in fifteen minutes ago, and with bags of food in hand, you’re taking your sweetass time making your way back to the CEO floor. You’re reluctant to dive into your evening plans with Namjoon, after how things went with him earlier. If you weren’t such a hardass on yourself and filled with the innate fear of disappointing Namjoon, you’d cancel your evening altogether.

As it is, you gave him your word, and you’ll be damned if you don’t keep it. So, standing outside his office, you square your shoulders, give a gentle knock on his door, and slip in when he calls for you to enter.

“Evening,” you offer by way of greeting your boss.

“That smells absolutely divine,” Namjoon groans, his eyes locked on the takeaway bag in your hand. “I forget how good this place is, but I should know better, considering it’s your favorite. So, of course it’s good.”

You hum in agreement. The spicy-sweet aromas wafting from the bag have had your stomach growling appreciatively ever since you accepted it from the delivery driver. A cheeky retort sits on the tip of your tongue, but you busy yourself with sorting the food on the low table in front of the couch in Namjoon’s sitting area instead.

Working at Proof has given you a whole new appreciation for silent luxury. The Kim brothers aren’t boastful with their wealth by any means, but the subtle touches of designer brands throughout their offices speak to it. You know for a fact that the private bathroom off Namjoon’s office features imported marble, heated floors, and a shower large enough for two–not that that’s important or any indication of the luxury, just something you’d noted the few times you’ve been in there.

Namjoon has excellent taste in comfort, choosing to accent his office with earth tones. Bookshelves line the walls, those not with the floor-to-ceiling windows, giving the whole space a subtle scent of parchment and leather. It’s a soothing atmosphere, one you’ve grown to love over the years.

There is pleasant small talk during dinner, Namjoon recounting his day with you, and you telling him about Eunji’s recent influx of clients thanks to Namjoon’s subtle name drop of her boutique via his Instagram. It made you smile when the notification popped up on your phone. You knew he coordinated with Rocco to have some shots taken after the fittings were complete, but the fact that it was his own idea to do so warmed your heart beyond measure.

“So, what’s her name?” you ask in a lull of silence after Namjoon cleared away the empty takeout containers and resumed his seat in a chair opposite where you are on the couch.

Namjoon’s gaze is cool, mostly unreadable, as his eyes flick across your face. It’s clear he’s looking for something in your demeanor, but you refuse to let your jealousy show. Or, at least, you hope it isn’t showing. Though if you’re looking a little green, who would blame you?

Finally, he sighs, offering you the kernel of information that’s been burning a hole in your brain all day with the desire to know. “Charlotte DuPont.”

Warmth leeches from your cheeks, an icy hopelessness slipping down your spine. “Of DuPont Beauty?” You don’t have to ask. You already know that’s exactly who he means; why wouldn’t it be? Because, of course Namjoon would land a date with the hottest of hotties, who just so happens to be the founder of the most viral beauty line in the last twenty years. But for the sake of your sanity, or perhaps because you want it to hurt a little more, you can’t help seeking that clarification.

A small flicker of surprise glitters in Namjoon’s eyes before a smile tugs at his lips and his whole face lights up, immediately dimming your own. “You’re familiar with her?”

Familiar with her? You have her complete line sitting on your bathroom vanity at home. He asks, as if she’s not slowly becoming a household name across the globe —a worldwide phenomenon, a beauty and skincare guru. Then again, you know Namjoon doesn’t particularly keep up with media trends unless they directly impact him or Proof.

You shrug, trying to remain as impassive as you hope you were before. “Nari’s mentioned her before.” Not a total lie. As Jungkook’s artistic strategist, she’s very much in the know with these kinds of things. In fact, you’re pretty confident that Nari received a few DuPont Beauty PR packages when the latest spring line moisturizers launched.

Namjoon nods as if that’s completely believable, and you have to cover up your guilt by pushing up from the couch and busying yourself at the minifridge in the corner. “Drink?” you ask, hoping he’ll drop the subject and mentally kicking yourself for bringing her up to begin with. 

“Oh. Yes, please. There should be some grape soju in the back.”

You throw him a raised eyebrow over your shoulder. “Soju?”

Now it’s Namjoon’s turn to shrug. “If judging by the next items on the list and how well I know you, which I’d wager is fairly well…then, yes, I think I’m going to need it.”

And just like that, the tension eases out of your shoulders, and you can feel warmth suffusing back into your cheeks. This is normal. This is okay. You are okay. Charlotte DuPont is a subject for another day. Right now, it’s just you, your boss, and a long list that needs a few more check marks.

👔👔👔

Namjoon

Namjoon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He doesn’t have to check it to know it’s another text message from Charlotte. There has been an endless stream of conversation since the end of the date last Wednesday—a first for Namjoon, and a feeling he’s immensely enjoying. Only, despite reaching for his phone every chance he could before, he’s somehow okay with ignoring it right now. 

He blames it on manners, that he simply doesn’t want to be rude by being glued to his phone while in the company of a friend. Though it very well could simply be your magnetism. But Namjoon isn’t ready to confront that feeling right now; the same feeling he’s been running from for the last year. No, it's much safer—and more professional—to keep it to niceties.

For the first time in a long time, he’s truly feeling comfortable in his own skin—not just as CEO Kim Namjoon, but as just regular-guy Namjoon. It’s wild to him how just a few small changes, like what color suit he wears and whether or not he knots a tie around his throat each morning, could impact him so significantly in such a minute span of time.

It’s as if you knew all he truly needed was a little push to begin the metamorphosis. A literal changing of colors, and he feels like a completely different—in a good way—person. But you’re not done with him yet. A thought that makes Namjoon smile just a fraction bigger as you pull the bottle from the fridge.  

“You honestly think you need this?” you ask with a playful smile as you hand him the chilled drink.

You settle back on the couch, perched on the edge instead of being relaxed into the cushions like you were before. Someone else might mistake your body language for being anxious or flighty, but Namjoon can see the gleam of mischief in your eyes and knows by the way you’re softly tapping your toes on the carpet that you’re trying to contain your excitement.

Namjoon doesn’t even need to consult the list at this point. He has the first dozen items memorized. “Action item number three: When was the last time you danced? Yep. Pretty sure I need this.” He chuckles, pouring out a generous glug into his empty whiskey tumbler on the coffee table. Not the ideal vessel for taking a shot, but it wouldn’t be the first time Namjoon’s made do with what he had at hand.

The bubble of laughter you let out is absolutely charming and adorable. Especially with the way your eyes fully light up, and you try to hide your smile behind a hand. “Okay, I suppose that’s not very subtle in intent, is it?”

“Not in the slightest.” Namjoon tosses back the shot, savoring the sweet, robust muscat flavor. “Go on, let’s hear it.”

With your elbows resting on your knees, you steeple your fingers under your chin and give him a pointed look. When a few seconds of silence pass, you blow out a playful bubble of air and ask, “Well…when was it?”

“When was what?”

“After all of that…you truly need me to ask you plainly?”

Nope. Namjoon just likes the way the smooth skin between your brows pinches whenever you’re about to scold him for being blatantly obtuse.

“I’m kidding,” he concedes, holding up a hand to stop your pending lashing. “I…uh, well, honestly, I don’t know when the last time I danced was. Maybe when Father remarried?”

Namjoon wishes he could capture the comical way your eyes widen and your lips part in a perfect pout of surprise. “But that was…you were—”

“A kid, yeah. What can I say? I’m not really the dancing type.”

“Well, that changes tonight! Come on, get up. Up, up, up!”

“Wait, wait,” Namjoon tries to voice a protest as you grab one of his hands and begin to try to pull him up from his seat. “Let me—ah, hey!”

He’d only managed to pour a second shot of soju with his free hand when you snatched it up before he could drink it. You’re giggling as you down the liquor, earning a snort of satisfaction from Namjoon when you make a face and instantly relinquish your hold on his wrist.

“How can you drink that straight with no chaser?” you ask between soft coughs. “Yuh, that burns!”

“Maybe you’ll think twice before stealing my shot next time.”

Namjoon makes a point of training his eyes on yours as he leans forward and grabs the half-empty soju bottle once again. He stands up, then, towering over you and nearly chest-to-chest. Namjoon can feel the heat from your body because of how close you are, and can smell the soft fragrance of your perfume.

There is a heat there behind the mischief in your eyes, no mistaking that. It’s bold of Namjoon to relish it, indulge in the suddenly palpable tension in the air. Bringing the bottle to his lips, he lets the cool glass sit on the cushion of his bottom lip, eyes still trained on yours. He’s read about this in books, the way a woman watches the bobbing of an adam’s apple, and how, for some reason, that simple biological movement can—

“So,” you say with a rush of air, breaking the moment. Namjoon downs a generous gulp and instantly takes a step to the side, creating some distance between you. “Maybe the liquor was a good idea, after all. Okay, okay, here we go.”

You hurriedly grab your phone from where you left it on the couch and begin to swipe across the screen. A second later, the telltale beep of Namjoon’s office Bluetooth sounds before the opening beat of a surprisingly familiar song starts to rumble through the surround sound system.

He can’t help the burst of laughter he lets out. “This song, really? What’s this, from 2007 or something? I haven’t heard this since I was a teenager.”

“2005, actually,” you correct before joining in with the song, your voice endearingly sweet with sultry undertones. Namjoon laughs again as you give the lyrics your own twist, “I'm telling you to loosen up your buttons, babe. But you keep frontin', uh.”

The sway of your hips shouldn’t be so enthralling to Namjoon, but he finds himself mesmerized anyway. You continue to sing, your eyes closed as you lose yourself in the first verse of Buttons by The Pussycat Dolls. 

“What do you expect me to do?” he asks absently after another moment of watching you.

Your eyes pop open, and you let the singers carry on without you. “I’ll hold your hand if you need me to.” The next thing Namjoon knows, your hand is slipping into his free one, and you’re pulling him to the open space in the center of his office. “Do what feels natural.”

“Natural?” Easy for you to say. What feels natural to Namjoon might earn him a slap in the face. If you would just stop moving your hips like that, he might be able to concentrate on what it is you’re asking him to do. Instead, he stands there like a dumbstruck statue.

“You can’t be that stiff,” you jest, laughing. “Come on!”

The clasp of your hands on his hips sends a jolt through his nervous system, setting his body alight. Soju bottle still in hand, Namjoon finds his body moving far more fluidly than he thought possible. One of your hands disappears from his hip, and a second later, the bottle follows suit.

You laugh as you take a swallow directly from the bottle. The curve of your bottom lip dimples around the opening of the bottle; the same opening his mouth was just on—a pseudo kiss, if Namjoon believed in those types of things. Which he most absolutely cannot stop himself from doing, yet he still grasps your hand and brings the bottle back to his own mouth. If he were in a better headspace, he might not have flicked his tongue out, intent on seeing whether or not your taste lingered there among the fruity notes at the mouth of the bottle as he finishes it off.

Perhaps with the help of the soju, when the chorus comes back around, Namjoon finds himself singing along, belting out the obviously promiscuous lyrics right along with you. As much as Namjoon values your very no-nonsense and go-getter attitude, it’s just as rewarding to see this side of you. Never in all the years of working together did he imagine you could or would move like this; especially in his presence.

“I think I like this,” Namjoon says, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the ending chorus lines.

The song draws to a close, the office falling into a soft silence. You’re grinning from ear to ear, your body still moving to some unheard beat. “I knew you’d like dancing.”

“Dancing. Right, yeah.” Because that’s what tonight is all about. Dancing.

You discard the now-empty soju bottle onto the table and grab your phone once more. “Now, if you ever expect to impress a woman, you have to be able to do more than dance to a pop song. You need to be able to sweep her off her feet, bespell her with a gentle sway…”

“You mean slow dancing?” Namjoon gulps. Dancing to an upbeat pop track is one thing, but the sedated plod of a slow dance leaves far too much room for making a fool of himself; stepping on toes, swaying off beat, who leads and who follows?

He’s about to protest when you continue, saying, “Not like what you’re clearly thinking of by the terrified look on your face. I’m not talking Righteous Brothers or Etta James slow dancing, though those songs have their time and place, too—I mean…sexy, sensual slow dancing.” Namjoon knows that if he were to cup your cheeks with his hands, heat would radiate from them. He swallows thickly, wishing there was another bottle of soju at hand. Not that drinking would be the best response right now, but so he would have something to do besides gape at you. “Something you feel in your body and soul…” You trail off as the excruciatingly beautiful first lilt of Lose Control from Teddy Swims croons from the surround system.

This is definitely not the kind of slow song Namjoon had in mind. How do you even dance to something like this? “I don’t…I don’t think I understand.”

“All those inhibitions you have, the ones that are right…here,” you say, gently and teasingly poking him where his brows are pinched. “Let. Them. Go.”

Your body begins to move again. This time, slower than before but with just as much sway; maybe more. It’s like your hips are made of liquid, the way they flow and undulate like the tide. And perhaps that means he is the moon, with the way he seems to be dragging you in.

He doesn’t mean to pull you flush against him. Or maybe he does. With a mind of their own, his hands find the curve of your waist, and suddenly, he can feel it. That telltale feeling he’s been getting hints of for the last two weeks. The sudden weight lifting from his shoulders, the slackening of his spine, the softening of his armor…the slip of his mask.

“Like this?” Namjoon asks, his voice low, full of husk and something else he doesn’t recognize in himself. The sly curve of your mouth is answer enough. This is taboo territory—a line being blurred. The way you’re moving, you’re like a goddess, enrapturing her followers. Lowered lashes, lips slightly parted, hair lightly mussed in a halo around your face. You’re hypnotic, and he’s caught in your thrall.

Namjoon rolls his hips with yours, matching the side-to-side sway. Gently at first, then with more persistence when you don’t pull away. He should stop; he knows he should. But something is intoxicating about the motion in the moment that has him completely tethered to you.

Your eyes fluttered closed, and just as you did earlier, Namjoon can tell you’re letting the music carry you. The soulful melody grips Namjoon like a puppeteer, hidden strings tugging his body so it follows yours.

You make a mess of me. The lyric echoes in Namjoon's mind, pulling a curve to his own lips. A mess Namjoon doesn’t mind, not with the way you feel pressed against him. With the delicate trace of your hands up his arms and then down his chest.  Goosebumps sheet across his heated skin, making him infinitely more grateful not to be wearing a choking tie.

It’s clear you don’t mean to brush your fingertips across his nipples. But there is no mistaking the feel of the rounded tip of your fingers. Even through his shirt, the scratch of your nails pulls a soft groan from deep within his chest. Whether the sound registers for you or not, Namjoon can’t tell.

However, the fact that you do it again feels deliberate, and if he wasn’t entirely taken by you, he might have missed the way your top teeth dent into the lush curve of your bottom lip. The sight nearly takes his breath away because it’s clear now. You know what you’re doing, no doubt. And he’s more than willing to let it happen.

And if the pressure of your hips grinding against his increases? Who is Namjoon to deny you? His hands grip your waist a little tighter, and there is a moment where Namjoon knows he’s getting hard and should put some space between his body and yours before you feel it. But, Problem is I want your body like a fiend, like a bad habit, and he’s lost all sense of what he should do.

It’s the slow ascent of your hands on his chest that brings some coherent clarity back to Namjoon. Only, it’s not with the intent to stop you, but to indulge just a little further. The tickling of your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck is further encouragement. If you wanted this to stop, you’d stop it. Namjoon knows that; and if he wanted to stop, well…he wouldn’t be leaning in to—

The soft press of your lips comes a second before Namjoon can act upon the urge himself. It’s so sudden that Namjoon freezes, all thoughts of dancing completely melting away like fog in the first rays of warm morning light.

The warm, wet confines of your mouth welcome Namjoon’s tongue when he tentatively presses it past the seam of your lips. You taste like the grape soju. If Namjoon wasn’t feeling buzzed before, his head is now good and well stuffed with wool.

Bzz bzz—an incoming call. Namjoon’s phone vibrates in his pants pocket, where it’s pinned between his thigh and yours. Let it ring to voicemail.

Your fingers rake through the longer strands of his hair towards the crown of his head, effectively locking him in place. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to—which he absolutely does not. The kiss is anything but delicate. Your teeth scrape over Namjoon’s bottom lip, tugging for a second before your tongue in turn plunges in to slide along his. 

Bzz bzz. Whoever it is can call back if it’s important.

You make the softest mewl as Namjoon deepens the kiss further, all inhibitions fleeing before the tidal wave of pleasure surging down his spine. The hem of your top rides up as you work your fingers against Namjoon’s scalp, letting his thumbs graze the barest sliver of the skin at your waist.

Bzz bzz. Fuck.

“Maybe you should,” you whisper against his lips, “check that.”

Somewhere between the press of your lips and the slide of Namjoon’s tongue, the song ended. Silence breathes a bit more clarity into the air, the quiet only broken by the incessant buzzing of Namjoon’s phone and the mingled pant of the breath Namjoon is sharing with you.

“Right…could be…Father,” Namjoon mutters between soft gasps of air.

The taste of grape soju lingers on Namjoon’s tongue as he slides a hand from your hip to his trouser pocket. Your fingers slip from his hair, moving to rest on Namjoon’s shoulders, and your cheek presses to his chest, your head turned to the side.

The fact that you’re not stepping away assures Namjoon that once he checks his phone, as long as there are no emergencies that need his attention, you’re ready to pick right back up where things left off. Namjoon suppresses the urge to kiss the top of your head, intent on taking care of his buzzing phone as quickly as possible. The screen lights up, and everything stops for a few precious seconds...then the moment shatters.

It stings, the way you snatch yourself away from him. Like a bucket of ice over his head, the name flashing on the screen brings everything wholly back into stark focus. It hurts even more when Namjoon’s eyes rise to meet yours, and all he can see is a swirling storm in their depths. Confusion, hurt, maybe a bit of anger…but most of all, shame.

“I, uh—” you start, but stop and shake your head, and Namjoon wishes you’d keep talking, wishes you’d say whatever it is that’s going through your mind. He wants to hear it—no, needs to hear it.

Silencing the call on his phone, Namjoon tries, “Look…”

“No.” You hold up a hand, silencing whatever excuse Namjoon was about to try to come up with. Because that’s precisely what it would have been. Whatever happened between the two of you just now—no matter how nice it was—was a mistake, and there is nothing Namjoon can do to take it back or make it better.

“If you’d just let me—”

“Namjoon.” The way you say his name is so…detached, cold—professional. “Let’s just forget about it. Okay? We both drank a bit too much and got carried away with the music. It’s fine. A meaningless kiss between friends. It won't happen again.” You offer him a smile then, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Only Namjoon knows neither of you drank that much. But it’s not like he can say that now. Not when things are falling apart so rapidly and Namjoon can’t seem to get a grip on any one single thought. “Can we just talk—”

Bzz bzz

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

And just like that, the phone finally silent in his hand, Namjoon watches you gather your things and walk out of his office. Part of Namjoon wants to run after you, but what would he say? What could he do that would make it better? There’s nothing to talk about. You said a million things with just those five words.

It’s not until the buzzing starts again in his hand that Namjoon snaps out of the fugue your words left him in. As his mask slips firmly back into place, he can’t help but think that maybe you’re right. With a resolute sigh, he turns from the door and answers the phone.

“Charlotte, hi. Sorry about that, I was just…finishing up some work.”

👔👔👔

FUCK. Fuck. Fuck.

You didn’t sleep a wink last night. All you could think about was what a joke you made of yourself last night. Never in all your years did you ever imagine throwing yourself at your boss like that. Soju aside, you were sober enough to know better.

Hardly anyone is in the office right now, and the hallways are mostly quiet at this hour in the morning. However, you know for a fact that the person you desperately need to talk to is here.

If you were in a better state of mind, you would most definitely have knocked and waited until you were told to enter. As it is, you know the code to Yoongi’s studio door, and you desperately have something to say.

“Morning, Sun—er, what thundercloud stole your shine?”

“I fucking kissed him!”

The words are out before you’ve even let the door to Genius Lab shut behind you and you can register the soft words clearly not belonging to Yoongi before your outburst. The door smacks into your shoulder, jarring you further as you stare at the two people before you.

You expected to see Yoongi’s slightly disheveled head of thick black hair above the back of his chair, but what you didn’t expect was the artfully styled head of golden blond that is peeking out from above the second chair, paired with large brown eyes wide with surprise.

“Oh,” Jimin gasps softly, his eyes owlish as he covers his surprise with a quiet cough.

“You should have knocked,” grumbles Yoongi as he turns to you.

“Shit,” you gush, slapping a hand over your mouth. “Hi…Jimin. I, um, I wasn’t expecting—I’ll just…Umm, can we all forget what I said, please?”

You turn, fully intent on finding a random utility closet to wallow in for the next hour before you inevitably have to face Namjoon in preparation for the daily morning CEO meeting.

But a hand on your arm draws you up short. Your eyes drift to the long, thick-knuckled digits firm around your forearm, trailing up the hoodie sleeve to meet Yoongi’s waiting gaze.

“Not going to happen,” Yoongi states before giving your arm a light tug. “Kissed who?”

By all accounts, you should continue to protest, but the dire need to heave this weight off your chest is far too pressing. So, you let Yoongi pull you into another vacant chair at his desk.

The door finally snicks shut behind you, and suddenly the air seems thinner. A quick look around the room makes you pause. “Where’s JIDA?” The question is normal enough, considering she’s been here every day for the last few weeks at least. But, if you’re being honest, you know it’s a desperate attempt to give yourself a moment.

And so does Yoongi, apparently. His lips form a thin line as he releases your arm and gives you a deadpan stare, clearly not interested in indulging your question. “That’s not why you came here, Sunshine.”

“Well, no, but…I just assumed I’d find the two of you here—”

“I’m here,” Yoongi cuts you off, his tone uncharacteristically sharp. Immediately, his shoulders rise a fraction, and he offers you a contrite quirk of his mouth before sighing. “Sorry, been…working,” he mumbles. He gestures towards Jimin. It’s clear they’re working on a song, and here you are interrupting, which furthers the question of where JIDA is and why she isn’t involved. “Would you like Jimin to leave?"

“It’s okay…I’m the one who came bursting through your door without asking if you were busy or had a moment. I should be the one apologizing.” And before you can start to do just that, Yoongi raises a brow and gives you an expectant look. “Right…” Your heart thunders in your chest, and you have to clear your throat before you can find your voice, which leads to you blurting out, “A kiss!” instead of something more coherent.

“Who did you kiss?”

“Oh, for fucks sake. I kissed Namjoon, Yoongi!”

A clatter comes from the desk, Jimin having dropped a USB drive. “Sorry,” he whispers, snatching up the device before swiveling the chair around, clearly intent on leaving. He mutters sheepishly, “I’ll see myself out.”

“Actually,” Yoongi says, holding up a hand to Jimin, but keeps his eyes on you. “If you’re comfortable with it, I think Jimin should stay and listen.”

You give Yoongi a skeptical look. Nothing against the Proof lyricist, but the last thing you want is for your fellow coworkers to think you’re some sort of unprofessional uppity that’s floozing around with her boss.

“The cat’s already out of the bag, I suppose,” you murmur. But…still, this is forbidden territory, and you have no idea how to navigate this at all. “Yoongi, I—”

“He’s a good listener, and honestly, this sounds like you might need an outside perspective as well. I’m too close to this, I think. Jimin will promise not to tell anyone. Right, Jimin?”

“Right. Only if you’re comfortable with me hearing it, Sunshine. No pressure, okay?” Jimin agrees as he turns his chair back around and leans an elbow on the table to see you better around Yoongi.

There is clearly something going on with Yoongi. He’s being cagey and stand-offish about JIDA, and now it half feels like he’s pawning off your situation onto Jimin. Maybe you should feel spurned, but you’d probably explode if you even tried to decipher what’s going on in his head right now. Best to put a pin in that and circle back to it when you’re feeling less like a ticking time bomb.

You give a stiff nod, still not entirely convinced of spilling your heart out in front of both of them. Yoongi gestures for you to go on, and you oblige, starting from the moment you met the delivery driver for the Thai.

Some ten minutes later, you’ve given as much detail as you can to a point—the kiss…kisses? Was there more than one? You’re not sure of the logistics of kissing, honestly. And the more you think about it, the more the uncomfortable feeling that you’ve done something wrong grows in your tummy. “It was nice,” you softly admit, feeling heat flushing in your cheeks and unable to meet either of their gazes. “Until it wasn’t.” The soft, brown linen of your pants slips comfortingly against your fingers as you rub your knees, a nervous habit. Looking down at your fingers, your eyes trail further and you internally cringe at the disheveled creases you failed to iron out of them.

In your haste to get to the Proof building this morning, you gave less than ample thought to your wardrobe. Not that you’re dressed messily, but there are some wrinkles around the ankles of your pants, and the white V-neck shirt you’re wearing would pair just as well with a pair of jeans as it does with your slacks.

The simple brown flats on your feet are a far cry from the usual pumps you sport. You feel frumpy…a feeling not helped by the fact that as soon as you opened your Instagram app this morning on your commute, you saw a gorgeous new ad featuring Charlotte DuPont in all her striking glory.

“He kissed you back, though, right?” Jimin asks in a gentle tone.

That’s the icing on top of this shit cupcake, isn’t it? He did kiss you back. At least, you think he did. At this point, you’re not sure what’s real and what your overactive brain has come up with to justify your actions.

“I think so.”

Yoongi purses his lips, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You think?”

“Well, okay…I’m pretty sure he did.” Are you saying too much? The sudden thought of Namjoon being disappointed in you for sharing his business like this threatens to drag you down.

Perhaps the panic is evident on your face because Jimin coos softly, immediately pushing up from his chair and coming to your side. There is a small moment of hesitation, Jimin’s gaze raking over Yoongi, like he’s waiting to gauge the strength of his own reaction, before he maneuvers your chair so he can kneel in front of you and delicately takes your hands in his.

“Take a deep breath. Good. Now, another one. That’s great, a few more.” Jimin softly coaches you through several deep breaths until you can feel the drowning ocean recede and the air doesn’t seem so thin anymore.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks after a beat of silence. You watch as his fingers flex on the arms of his chair, like there is something he’s itching to do but can’t bring himself to do it. A war wages in his eyes for a brief moment as you meet his gaze, but it’s gone so quickly you think perhaps you were mistaken.

“I think so, yeah.” You flick your eyes to Jimin because if you stare any longer at Yoongi, you might break and ask him what’s going on with him instead of continuing to focus on yourself. A sour mix of emotions, something that wouldn’t help in the slightest, considering the current state of your headspace. “Thank you, Jimin. I’m not sure what came over me.”

Jimin gives your hands a gentle squeeze before releasing them and returning to his seat. “It’s clear you’re overwhelmed by the prospect of facing Namjoon after what happened last night. But, I’m curious…you kissed him, he kissed you back. Are you worried about the workplace relationship or…?”

That’s honestly not even something you considered. Sure, you’ve thought about how everyone else in the office might react, but you hadn’t yet considered how it might impact your actual working relationship with Namjoon. FUCK.

“What else happened? What aren’t you telling us?” Damn Yoongi and his impeccable perception. The tension has eased out of his hands, but there are still clouds in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, push down the panic before it can rise once more, and fill in the part you intentionally had left until last. “We were kissing and, well, he got a phone call…from his new…er, latest female interest?” You’re not even sure what to call Charlotte. His girlfriend? A woman he’s seeing? He asked you to pencil her into his schedule…so clearly she’s something to him.

“Goddamit, that idiot,” Yoongi curses under his breath, but it’s loud enough for you to hear. He shakes his head, mumbling, “I knew he was making a mistake saying yes to her.”

“What did you say?”

Yoongi jerks his head up, eyes briefly meeting yours before they move to a space over your shoulder. “Do you like Namjoon?”

You know that’s not what Yoongi said, but don’t press the matter. “He’s my boss,” you mumble. “I can’t…”

Jimin hums softly. “You can. And no one would judge or think differently of you for it, either. That’s not how we work here at Proof. You know that, Sunshine. Hell, you and Namjoon could announce you’re engaged tomorrow and no one would bat an eyelash, we’d just ask ‘When’s the wedding?’.”

“Okay, sure. Maybe I do like him…but clearly, that’s a one-way street. He doesn’t like me. Kiss or no kiss, he has a…a—a Charlotte.” The word girlfriend was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to use it once again. Her name is already like ash in your mouth, a bitter taste that lingers as a reminder of your transgression in kissing Namjoon. “Oh god, I’m a terrible girl’s girl. Kissing another woman’s…” The revelation that you’re a bona fide Jezebel suddenly hits hard. Never in all your life would you have ever imagined yourself kissing another person's person.

“Ah, no. Stop that right there. That’s not what happened, and you know it. Plus, there’s no chance in hell that you’re taking all the blame yourself. If anything, I’d say this is more on Namjoon. I imagine it would be prudent to believe that you’re not privy to all the nuances between him and Charlotte. It could be that they’re not exclusive,” Yoongi explains, being pragmatic to a fault. “They’ve only been on a few dates, from what I know, and that doesn’t necessarily constitute a relationship. A lot of people casually date until they’re ready to settle down and commit to one.”

“Yoongi’s right,” Jimin agrees. “If Namjoon and Charlotte are actually dating exclusively, how were you supposed to know? But also, if that were the case, then Namjoon should have put a stop to the kiss instead of kissing you back.”

What they’re saying makes sense. Of course it does. However, you’re still unsure about what to do moving forward. “What should I do now?” “What do you want to do?” Yoongi asks lightly.

And that’s the golden question, isn’t it? You have no idea what you want. Much less what you want to do. If you could go back to last night, would you change what happened? Would you take it all back or do something differently? You’re not so sure that you would…consequences be damned. It’s the not knowing that is the ultimate issue.

“I wish I knew…”

Jimin shares a look with Yoongi before he gives you a gentle smile and says, “It might be hard, but I think you should act normally for now. Go about your day as you would any other. Get a sense of how Namjoon is taking it, and then match his energy. If he brings it up, then…I would encourage you to be honest if you’re comfortable with that.”

Yoongi slowly nods his agreement. Those clouds are still in his eyes, but they don’t seem as tumultuous now. Did this conversation with you also help with whatever he's going through? You’re about to ask him if he has something he wants to talk about, but your watch buzzes, alerting you to the time.

“Fuck,” you exhale in a soft rush. “I’ve got to go. I think I’m—well, we’ll see. Thanks, guys. Again, sorry for interrupting. I’ll be—” you hook your thumb over your shoulder towards the door as you stand up “—if you need me.” With that last statement, you give Yoongi a look that you hope he interprets the way you mean it.

👔👔👔

Namjoon

Namjoon knows he made a mess of things the night before. He hasn’t stopped kicking himself for not going after you. But what would he have said? What could he have done to make it better?

There’s nothing to talk about.

All Namjoon wants to do is talk about it. There is a burning fear that you will show up this morning and put in your resignation. Or worse, not show up at all and simply cease to exist in Namjoon’s life. The idea that he may have entirely ruined the already delicate friendship between you and him is driving him mad.

It may only be a few weeks since you first agreed to help him, and granted you’ve only managed to get through the first handful of action items on your list, but it’s made a world of difference to Namjoon. Already, he feels more like he can be himself around other people. Just the other day, he found himself joking and laughing with some of the producers during a listening session for Jungkook and the new songwriter, JIDA.

Everyone is taking his new look in stride, with not a single raised brow or awed question. He’s earning far more smiles as he walks the halls of Proof, and who would have thought not wearing a choking tie every day would feel so liberating?

There was a slight temptation this morning to don one of the black suits he recently shoved to the back of his closet. He entertained it briefly, fingering the thick fabric of a stark sleeve, before sighing and grabbing a seafoam green and pink hexagonal patterned suit paired with a chartreuse yellow button-up. It’s an ostentatious combination. But as Namjoon stares out from his office over the awakening city skyline, he catches a glimpse of himself reflected in the window and knows it was the right choice.

With the gala swiftly approaching, Namjoon feels an eternal gratitude for the well-oiled machine that is Proof. Thankfully, Seokjin is primarily handling the legal business with JIDA. That’s one less fire for Namjoon to try to manage. Jungkook has become more self-sufficient, curating an indomitable team that Namjoon knows will have the album release pop off without a hitch. It’s been years since Namjoon felt like he wasn’t up against some proverbial ticking clock responsibility.

That small sliver of alleviated pressure may be why his Father has been adamant about Namjoon focusing on settling down. He’s not the eldest son, but there has always been an interesting dichotomy within the Kim family. Seokjin and Taehyung never fought for dominance within their brotherly relationship. Not that Namjoon did either, but for some reason…it felt like a duty he needed to fulfill. And with that comes the inevitable expectation that he needs to fit into the mould of what a ‘CEO should be’; which includes finding a suitable life partner.

Which is why Namjoon spent nearly an hour talking to Charlotte last night after you left. The simple machinations of having a conversation helped to break him out of the fog that had settled in his brain. Clarity continued to ebb in, and eventually he found himself solely focused on Charlotte, laughing at her jokes, and finally…asking her to be his plus one to the gala. To which she excitedly agreed.

The CEO meeting this morning was simple. Very concise and to the point. There is nothing on his schedule for at least the next hour. This brings Namjoon around to why he’s turning from his vigil at the windows. The sooner he has this conversation with you, the better.

“Good morning, sir.” Usually, you call him Namjoon. The professional pleasantry only mildly grinds. But perhaps it’s one step in the right direction already.

“May I see you in my office? It shouldn’t take long.”

Namjoon doesn’t miss the hard press of your lips nor the way your hands tighten into fists before you push up from your chair and face him. “Of course,” you say, giving him a slightly stilted, albeit genial, smile.

The brief interactions he’s had with you so far this morning haven’t given Namjoon much time to actually take you in. Now that you’re standing in the middle of his office, he can see the darker circles around your eyes. There are wrinkles around the ankles of your pants, which strikes Namjoon as odd. He’s not sure he’s ever so much as seen a hair out of place on you.

A pang in his chest has him stepping forward, only to bring himself up short. Namjoon’s fingers twitch at his sides. The silence in his office grows awkward…stiff, uncomfortable.

Unable to take it any longer, Namjoon laughs nervously before saying, “I know you said there’s nothing to talk about and that we should just forget it, but I think we should talk about last night.”

“You’re probably right. So that we’re on the same page.”

Your walls aren’t just up. They’d fortified with steel and covered in pikes. Namjoon knows this revelation shouldn’t wound him, but he can’t help the well of emotion that suddenly clogs his throat.

Clearing away the thickness, Namjoon nods. “Firstly, I want you to know how much I appreciate you and what you’ve done for me, not just in the last few weeks, but in the years that you’ve been here. I couldn’t ask for a better person to have at my side.”

“They’ve been some pretty good years,” you say, a small smile curving up one side of your mouth.

“Some of the best,” Namjoon agrees. “And I don’t want to lose that. What happened last night…it was—was, well, I don’t regret it…okay?”

The look on your face is unreadable. Your hands are clasped together in front of you, your stance giving absolutely nothing away to what’s going on in your head. Namjoon watches as the tip of your tongue peeks out, wetting over the curve of your bottom lip. “But?”

“Hm?”

“I sense there is a but coming…”

Taking a slow breath, because you’re right, Namjoon continues, “But…I don’t want to ruin what we have. I can’t lose you. I don’t want things to be weird, or for either of us to feel like we can’t still be friends just because we made out. I don’t see it as a mistake, just a moment between friends who got caught up. Action item number four: ‘take chances, make mistakes’. I actually really like that.”

“You can thank Ms. Frizzle for that one.”

Namjoon’s brows dip down in confusion. He’s not sure what you mean. “Miss who?”

“Frizzle. You know, from The Magic School Bus? She says in every episode to take chances, make mistakes, get messy.”

“Isn’t that an American children's TV show?” he asks.

“Surprised you know that,” you tease. “Considering action item number eight, Pop culture isn’t something to be scared of; sometimes it’s okay to read something other than Business Insider. Half expected you to think it was a quote from Nietzsche.”

You’ve teased Namjoon a few times over the years about his lack of understanding even the most viral or basic pop culture references. If it’s outside of the walls of Proof, it’s very likely he isn’t aware of or knowledgable of it. This seems to be a further testament to why you added it to the list of things he could improve upon.

He can’t help but laugh. And with that, all the tension that had built up withers away. It’s replaced by a soft warmth, right in the center of his chest. You seem to have relaxed, too; your hands are by your sides, and your weight is shifted onto your left foot, a soft curl on your lips. He could almost pretend things were normal.

There is a part of Namjoon, the same part that houses his very inappropriate crush on you, that is yelling at him to stop right here. To not say anything more about last night. This is comfortable, keeping the proverbial door between the two of you slightly ajar. Just because Namjoon can’t be with you the way he wants to, doesn’t mean he has to shove you wholly into the friend/workzone—

No, fucking hell, that’s precisely what needs to happen. There can be no open doors. He can’t afford for there to be any grey area in this matter, not when he seemingly can so easily slip into your arms as last night proves.

Damn your ability to make him feel like he’s something more than the expectations set upon him. Perhaps if he were someone else…in another life, with another job. He doesn’t regret seeking your help because you have done exactly what he’s asked. He just wishes it hadn’t opened a box he’s having such a hard time closing now.

But it’s not fair to you for him to keep it open. You’re far too precious to Namjoon for him to continue to risk screwing things up. It’s also not fair to Charlotte or anyone else whom Namjoon might find himself entertaining in the future. Now that’s a safe subject to let his mind dwell on; Charlotte. The thought of her is what helped Namjoon get a semblance of a decent night of sleep.

Though Namjoon realizes now that focusing on Charlotte really only helps when he’s actively doing it. As soon as you’re pulled into his orbit, even simply brushing the outer ring of his bubble, he loses all sense of propriety. So, for the time being, it’s probably best to keep you at arm's length, at least until Namjoon feels more secure in his ability to control himself.

“Nietzsche, huh?” If only he could continue with that line of thinking. But, he can’t help but wonder…is the awkward part of this conversation over? Is this your way of leading him away from the discomfort of facing what the two of you did last night? Only one way to find out. “Are we on the same page? About…last night, I mean?”

For the first time since you walked into his office this morning, Namjoon gets a glimpse at what’s going on in your head. Your gaze takes on a gentle cast; friendly…safe. “Yeah, I think we’re on the same page.” Is that a flash of sadness in your eyes?

“Okay. Great.” Is it, though? “Thanks.”

You gesture to the closed door that leads to your desk. “I probably should get back to it. I told Peach I would give her a call to check on the menu and the seating chart one last time before she confirms chair and plate numbers.”

“Oh, of course, yeah, yeah. I have…” Namjoon’s not even sure what he has next on his schedule.

“Video conference with Mr. Park at ten,” you offer. Because, of course, you know his schedule better than he does.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Namjoon thought that having this conversation with you would put things to rights. But fuck if he’s more unsure now than ever. You said you’re on the same page…but what if Namjoon wants to turn the page? Start the next chapter? Hell, change the fucking book?

“For the sake of transparency, and whatever it’s worth,” you say, looking back at him through the open door as you’re leaving. “I don’t regret it, either. It was actually kind of…nice.”

Well. Fuck.

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◅ Back to Master List ©️ 2025-09-17 ColorMePurplex2

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Loosen Up | Add Some Color

↳ Namjoon x f.Reader ⤜ CEO AU, CEO/Personal Assistant, angst, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 8,101 ⚠️Inappropriate thoughts, mild flirting, language

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Namjoon

The woman sitting across from Namjoon—Lacy Smith, though he thinks she looks more like a Kardashian with her bulging lips and purchased curves—gives him a polite smile from behind her glass of wine before taking a delicate sip. An uncomfortable heat prickles at the base of Namjoon’s skull, and he, not for the first time tonight, wishes that he knew what to say to dispel the awkward tension lingering in the air.

Dating is hard. Harder still when Namjoon can’t seem to relax and enjoy the moment. Lacy is the daughter of a businessman whom Namjoon met with a few months ago, one who insisted that he just had to meet his beautiful, single daughter.

So, here Namjoon sits, food barely touched on his plate, and an ache beginning to throb behind his eyes. The metal frames of his glasses are beginning to pinch his nose, and he would like nothing more than to be at home relaxing with a book…or working through the hundreds of unread emails he didn’t get to while at the office today.

“You mentioned you were in the States last month for work. What is it again that you do?”

Finally, something he can actually talk about with some semblance of grace.

Namjoon takes a breath, allowing the action to give him another moment to calm his nerves before automatically flowing into his well-rehearsed, practiced spiel about his job as the leading CEO of Proof Entertainment.

👔👔👔

“Good morning,” you say to Seokjin as you pass by his office on your way to your desk. He’s busy, typing away at his computer, so he only gives you a cursory glance and a slight nod.

A cheerful voice catches your attention from across the hall. “Good morning, Sunshine!”

“Taehyung, hi. Good morning.”

The youngest Kim brother, and the most lax of the three CEOs of Proof, offers you a handsome smile. There is this charming, fox-like quality that lurks behind his eyes, like he has a secret and is having a hard time keeping it to himself.

You purse your lips, your trek down the hall stopping outside of Taehyung’s office. His smile slowly grows, and a second later, he jumps up from his desk and skirts around the large oak ‘L’.

Sunlight cascades through the windows of Taehyung’s office, giving him a glowing halo effect as he approaches the open doorway. Catching the top of the frame with his hands, he leans playfully into the hall. “Want to take a guess on what mood Namjoon is in this morning?”

“Fuck,” you whisper under your breath.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Just thought you’d want a heads up. Yoongi is in with him now, which means I’m fairly certain he started his morning off with a tumbler of whiskey. Which is the perfect appetizer for our eight o’clock meeting, don’t you think?” Taehyung chuckles before catching himself, pressing his lips tightly together. “Good luck.”

It wouldn’t be the first time in the last several months that Namjoon started his day off with whiskey instead of his usual morning coffee. There has been a noticeable increase in his stress levels, the cause being something he’s, so far, been very adamant about keeping from you, toting that it’s ‘personal’.

Four years as his personal assistant gets you a front-row seat to a lot, just not whatever is going on with him recently, apparently. At least, that’s what you think until you step through the open double doors that lead to your office space, which is connected directly to Namjoon’s, and you’re met with an immediate summons.

“You’re here! Finally. Come in.” You pause beside your desk, your eyes shifting to the left and through the open door to Namjoon’s office. You quirk an eyebrow, your eyes meeting his disgruntled stare. “Please,” he adds with an out-of-character exasperated sigh. You bet if you peeked back down the hallway, there would be a cheeky grin on Taehyung’s face.

Shrugging your bag off your shoulder, you set it beside your desk and absently smooth your hands over the swell of your hips, fingers gliding over the smooth material of your wide-legged charcoal grey trousers. The matching blazer hits you just above the hip, your blue-green blouse complemented by the tiny turquoise inlaid buckles on your shoes, which were a gift from Namjoon when you hit your one-year mark with Proof.

“What’s going on?” you ask, walking into his office. “Oh, hi, Yoongi,” you add as if you didn’t already know he would be in there.

“Morning, Sunshine,” Yoongi mutters, saluting you with his tumbler of whiskey before downing the remainder in the glass.

“Lovely choice of breakfast.” The comment has perhaps a bit more sass in it than you intend, but there’s no taking it back now. “What’s going on?” you ask again, directing your attention away from Yoongi and towards your boss.

Namjoon looks…well, he looks like he needs a refill. He’s pacing by the large floor-to-ceiling windows that look out on the Seoul skyline. The sun is vibrant this morning, a sign that spring is finally taking hold. Despite the crease between Namjoon’s brows and the empty whiskey glass clasped by the tips of his fingers by his side, he looks surprisingly put together.

Well, that’s actually not so surprising. From the first day you met Namjoon, during your final interview, you’ve never once seen him so much as loosen his tie or crack a mild-mannered joke. He’s as strait-laced as they come and as rigid and colorless as a giant rock—purely immovable, sadly monochromatic…ultimately, boring.

“Would you date me?”

The question gives you whiplash. You look to Yoongi, desperate to see if he’s as confused as you are, but instead, you’re met with a blank stare. Yoongi has always been fairly unreadable, but now you might as well be staring at a statue for all the emotion he’s conveying. Looks like you’re on your own in this.

“Excuse me?”

“Not like…I don’t mean would you date me…just—” Namjoon lets out another one of those uncharacteristic sighs, “—am I dateable…at all?”

“Namjoon, what is this about? I thought things were going well with—”

“I lied.” Your boss stops his pacing, turning to look at you fully. There are dark circles under his eyes, ones you hadn’t noticed because of his erratic back and forth. He looks absolutely exhausted now that you see him head-on. “In fact, I’ve been lying to you for months. I’ve been on no less than twenty-two dates with sixteen different women, and not a single one has gone in my favor. Sure, a few agreed to second dates, but never beyond that. Clearly, I’m…defective,” he states with a somber finality.

Truth be told, you had grown suspicious of Namjoon’s weekly night activities. As the person who does his scheduling, you’re intimately aware of his every move, including the date nights he has had scheduled for every Thursday over the last six months.

He led you to believe all of the dates were with the same woman, an Italian model whom he was extremely tight-lipped about. You didn’t pry, because you’re well aware of how close to the chest guys like Namjoon have to keep their personal lives. One wrong move and the media would eat him alive and move on to the next unfortunate soul with his bone fragments still in their teeth.

The silence that follows is only somewhat awkward, but is made more so with the heat of Yoongi’s stare on the back of your head. You feel put on the spot, as if this is some kind of test where you’re being forced to toe the line between professionalism and empathetic pleasing.

Is Namjoon seeking some sort of pragmatic wisdom, or perhaps he just needs to hear that you find him attractive and would, in fact, consider dating him? “Um, Namjoon, I’m not sure I’m the right person to be asking this.”

“No, you’re exactly who I should be asking. You’re the only woman in my life who I feel at least somewhat knows me without a lifelong preconceived perspective already in place. Tell me what I’m doing wrong, where do I start?”

“I-I don’t think there is anywhere to necessarily start. It seems like you just haven’t found the right person for you. There are some dating apps I’ve read about—”

“No, no. I’ve tried the apps, I’ve tried the gurus, matchmakers, and even allowed my parents to influence my choices. I won’t be able to find the right person for me if I’m not the right person to begin with. All I’m asking is that you help me loosen up…help me stop being so, so…boring.”

Feeling mildly helpless, you spread your hands in front of you, your shoulders hunching up a fraction. “Are you sure you want to cross this line, Namjoon?”

“Please. I’m at a loss, you’ve got to help me.”

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Yoongi murmurs. The sounds of him standing up and leaving itch at your back, and you have to suppress the desire to turn and call him a coward. This is exactly the kind of conversation he should be having with Namjoon, not you.

“Why me?” You don’t necessarily mean to assume a defensive stance, but crossing your arms over your chest feels natural as you try to navigate this conversation further. Maybe you can be both professional and empathetic.

Namjoon shrugs, his broad shoulders pulling the seams of his suit jacket tight with the movement. “You…are a woman. And I need help with women. I know it’s not exactly professional of me to ask something like this of you, but you have to know I see you as more than just my assistant. You’re my friend, and so…I’m coming to you not as your boss, but as a friend.” It’s not that the words catch you off guard, it’s more so the vulnerability in which Namjoon says them that has an odd—albeit not unpleasant—feeling fluttering in your belly. “Every woman I’ve seen has told me the same thing, just with different words. Apparently, I’m an uptight, rigid square that needs to relax. I don’t know how to do that…no idea where to even begin. I’m not sure how much longer I can endure this. I feel like I’m spiraling and there is no end in sight.”

It can’t hurt, right? He did say he’s asking as a friend and not as your boss. Besides, it’s not like he’s actually asking you to date him…just make him more dateable. That’s easy…simple. Right?

“Just to be clear, you’ve been unsuccessfully trying to date over the last six months and are now seeking my help in order to become more dateable in the hopes that you can find someone long-term?”

Namjoon discards his empty whiskey glass onto the corner of his desk. “For the sake of my sanity, and because there is no way to finess my way through this conversation…yes. I’m asking you to help me loosen up and be more approachable and less awkward around women. I trust you…Will you help me, please?”

“Help you as a friend?” you clarify.

He nods. “As a friend.”

“Then let’s talk more during friend hours. You have a meeting with Seokjin and Taehyung to finalize the itinerary for the Spring Gala,” you pause, glancing at the clock on the wall to your left, “that started two minutes ago.”

You leave Namjoon to his meeting. Despite the three Kim brothers all having offices within twenty feet of each other, they choose to do video conferences for their daily morning meetings as it allows them more freedom to multitask or attend to any immediate issues that might arise during the discussion.

Of all the things you thought you’d be doing as Namjoon’s assistant, this definitely wasn’t one of them. How exactly are you supposed to approach his request? He seems so sure that you can help him find all the answers. You, however, are less than confident.

“You okay?”

The question catches you off guard, startling you. Yoongi is sitting at your desk, elbows resting on his knees and head cocked to the side as he stares up at you. His shaggy black hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it, a few pieces sticking up in the back and mussed around his forehead.

“What?”

“You seem frazzled,” Yoongi explains, gesturing loosely at your face. “You have a look that says ‘I’m in over my head and don’t know what to do’.”

You look back over your shoulder, just to ensure the door to Namjoon’s office is truly closed. “I want to help Namjoon. I just don’t know if he’s ready to hear what I might have to say.”

“Well, let me hear it.” Yoongi shrugs, easing back in your chair and assuming a nonchalant manner. “Let me hear what you’re thinking, and I’ll see what I can do to help you help him.”

“I—well, I’m not sure yet.” And that’s the truth. Though, perhaps… “You’ve been friends with him longer than I have. What advice would you give him?”

The sardonic smile Yoongi offers you is less than hopeful. “What makes you think I know any better than he does? You know both of us, tap into your inner well of femininity, and tell me what I’m doing wrong. Come on, pretend I’m Namjoon and let me have it, where do I begin?”

Yoongi has been a part of Proof for longer than you, so he was here when you were first hired. Over the years, you’ve grown to enjoy the company of the quiet and broody, albeit very-sweet-when-he-wants-to-be, music producer. He’s typically not one to beat around the bush or mince words, but he’s acting awfully cagey about this right now—and you can’t help but think it might have something to do with a certain situation he found himself in with the new songwriter recently.

Your brows pinch down, suspicion leeching like tension into the space between your shoulders. “Why does this feel like you’re actually asking for yourself?” You pitch your voice low, whispering the last part, “Is it about the video? If there is something going on with JIDA that you—”

“No,” he grouses, interrupting your questioning. The look on his face can only be described as afronted, as if he’s wounded by your assumption. “Of course not. I—I...This has nothing to do with…her…or the video for that matter. Don’t use me as an excuse to avoid my question.”

“Right. Well, you know that if there was something going on, I’d help…yeah?” You wait for Yoongi to show any sign of acceptance, just a small drop of his chin. You close the distance between where you’re standing and your desk, drawing yourself into Yoongi’s personal bubble to perch on the edge of your desk. This feels like a conversation you should be having in close quarters and not across the expanse of your office—especially when the subject of said conversation is just one room away. “As for Namjoon…well, I think he’s far too rigid. It’s like he’s constipated by work and nursing a chronic stomach ulcer.”

After a pregnant pause where you can tell Yoongi is struggling not to laugh, he says, “Sounds about right, and I agree. Namjoon worries too much about what other people expect—want—of him. He’s always been driven by a sense of obligation, even when it was in the opposite direction of his own true desires…all because he’s been told that’s what he has to do, that he’s on some pre-destined path of duty.”

“Yes, exactly. But that’s just Namjoon, right? I’m sure he can find someone who will accept him for who he is.” “I don’t think that’s the point.” “Right…Namjoon wants to change, so it’s different…I just—” you sigh, shaking your head and the rest of that thought away. “Anyway, since you’re closer to him than I am, I have to ask…is Namjoon actually the problem, or is it the women he’s picking?”

That makes Yoongi frown. “I will admit, some of the women he’s been out with have been less than stellar options, making them definitely a problem, but not the problem. No, unfortunately, I’m fairly certain Namjoon is the problematic common denominator. I mean, you’ve met him…does he come off as ideal husband material to you?”

That is not a fair question. Not at all. Because, sure, Namjoon was a bit of a stick in the mud when you first met him. But, now he’s…well, he’s less stick and more flexible pipe cleaner. Thinking of it like that, you realize that isn’t much better.

Shrugging, you say half-heartedly, “I think Namjoon is perfectly fine. However, I get what you’re saying. And I’m still going to help him because it’s what he’s asked me to do. Just know that not everyone needs to change, sometimes people just need to open up a little for everyone to see what’s beneath their masks.”

Yoongi holds up his hands; the look on his face softens, and his smile seems more genuine and heartfelt than you’re sure you’ve ever seen it. “Firstly, I think we’re saying the same thing, just with different words. After all, sometimes the hardest advice to take is our own.” He pushes back the chair and stands up, skirting around your knees until he’s on the other side of your desk. “He needs someone to help him take off the mask to expose what’s beneath, just as you said…just as you’re trying to insinuate I need help doing.”

“Yoongi, I—”

“Don’t sweat it, Sunshine. I do wear masks…but mine are different. I’m not hiding behind something for the sake of duty like Namjoon. Sometimes masks can double as shields.” He shrugs, giving you another soft smile that appears awfully hopeless and makes your heart squeeze for your friend. “Anyway, thanks for the chat, I've got some work to do. I’ll catch you later, okay?”

You watch Yoongi walk out of your office and feel, perhaps, less conflicted than before, but still no less in over your head. Shoving the negative attitude down—because who has time for that?—you click into your first of dozens of unread emails for the morning and then open a blank notes doc on the side.

The email is from Jungkook with a list of potential dates and information he’d like to review with Namjoon concerning the upcoming timeline for his new album. You go on autopilot, scheduling meetings and filling Namjoon’s calendar as you typically would.

But it’s during those in-between moments, when you catch a break from the cascade of work, that you find yourself compiling a list in the doc.

Add some color

Lose the tie

When was the last time you danced?

With each new line, your unease leeches away and is replaced with excitement—you find yourself actually looking forward to this venture with your boss.

As the day draws to a close, the sun sinking below the city skyline, your list is complete with dozens of bullets, and Namjoon has just hung up from his last meeting of the day. Grabbing the freshly hot list from your printer, you clutch it against your belly as the door connecting your office to Namjoon’s opens and he beckons you to come in.

“Ready for our first lesson?” he asks, clearly filled with as much trepidation as you are excitement.

👔👔👔

Namjoon

This was a mistake.

When Namjoon’s first assistant, Chunhwa, wanted to retire, he dreaded the prospect of having to hire someone to replace the grey-haired, kind woman. But he didn’t have much of a choice. Or, rather, he supposes that he could have gone without a personal assistant, but it wasn’t within his best interest to do so—for the sake of his sanity, mostly. Already, he’s swamped with work; he can’t imagine navigating his schedule and all the other responsibilities that his assistant has as well.

And while it isn’t so much a mistake that he has sought help with his predicament, it’s who he asked that’s the problem. Namjoon is and will forever be grateful for the things you provide for him as his assistant; but he is also highly aware of how inappropriate it might be for you to be doing this. Especially with the way you’re sizing him up right now, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, like he’s a meal you’re about to wholeheartedly devour.

His father has hammered into him the importance of never hiring someone you find attractive, as it could lead to unwanted complications and potential conflicts of interest. It was at the insistence of Yoongi that he not listen to his father for once and hire whoever he felt was ‘right’ for the position, not just someone whom he’d never find himself appreciating the sight of.

And that’s the problem. Namjoon has been battling his secret schoolboy crush on you for nearly a year now. It’s what prompted him to begin this exhaustive dating dance in the hopes he would find someone else—someone far more acceptable and appropriate, someone that his parents would be proud of him for finding—to occupy his thoughts.

“Where—uh—where would you like to begin?”

A teasing smile curls your lips, causing the bottom one to pop from where it was caught between your teeth. “I made a list.”

“A list, what? Really?” Leave it to you to come prepared, as if you’re about to sit with him in a board meeting. Now is exactly the wrong time to think about how attractive he finds that trait in you.

You shrug, the action casual and somehow pulls Namjoon back down a notch on the ladder of anxiety he’s been climbing since broaching the subject with you this morning. “Yeah, a list. If I’m going to help you, we’re going to do this the right way. Or, at least, the most effective and organized way. Less room for error.”

Namjoon isn’t sure what kind of error there might be in this endeavor, but he doesn’t push the question further, instead allowing himself to lean into your confidence and the trust you deserve.

“Well, okay. Let’s see this list.”

It’s quite the list. There are at least two dozen bullet points down the page with small blurbs and notes beside each one. He should expect nothing less than for you to have made his request a full-on business-venture-level project. This is something that looks good enough to present at the next board meeting. If the meeting were about how to break out of one’s shell, that is.

“I—well, I know it’s a lot. But we can always just start with the basics. The first few items are what I would consider the most important,” you explain, pointing a well-manicured nail at the first set of bullet points.

“The most important, huh? Okay.” Namjoon reads the first point: Add some color. “What do you mean by this exactly? Do I need to dye my hair or something? I’m not sure that would—”

Your laughter cuts Namjoon off, the sound tender and full of amusement. “Oh, goodness, no. Well, I guess you could if you wanted to. But, no. I meant it more as…okay, look, how many suits like this do you have?” you ask, changing tact with effortless ease, your index finger moving from the list to the lapel of Namjoon’s suit jacket.

He looks down at your finger before letting his eyes trace the crisp lines of the Armani suit jacket. It’s a good jacket, tailored to fit, and the fabric is nice and breathable. In fact, it’s so nice that Namjoon had a dozen just like it made. Namjoon frowns. “It’s a good suit.”

“Good, yes. But, great? Also, maybe yes, but that’s not the point. You have no less than a dozen of the exact same suits. Sleek, black, perfectly tailored…but also boring as hell. Which, I’m sorry for saying that, but you asked for my help and I can’t very well offer it without at least a little bit of tough love.”

It’s true. That remark stung a bit. Namjoon isn’t certain he’s ever had someone actually call him boring—his own self-admission doesn’t count. And, sure, people have inferred it (case in point, the six months of failed dating)…but no one has ever done so in such a blatant way, never actually using the word boring. Hearing it now grates. Though he supposes that’s the point. He came to you because he knows he is, even if it hurts to hear it directly.

Heat seeps into Namjoon’s cheeks, a surprising wave of embarrassment coursing down his spine. How could he have been this clueless about something so utterly simple? Color…clearly, he needs color.

“Okay…color. Got it. I’ll email my tailor in the morning and request some alternative—”

“Actually,” you cut him off. “I hope you don’t mind, but I already took the initiative of setting up an appointment for you.”

“Oh? You spoke with Rocco already?”

It’s not often that Namjoon has the pleasure of seeing you nervous, but the half giggle you let out in response to his question has his eyebrows rising. “Well, I know how much you love Rocco’s work. And I’m sure he would do a wonderful job…it’s just, there is this little boutique that just opened up down the street. I walk by there nearly every day, and they have some really nice display pieces in their window. I thought maybe we could go there…together…right now.”

Namjoon glances out the floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall of his office. The city of Seoul lights up the night sky. It’s well past normal business hours. “Right now? Surely it’s not open at this hour.”

“Aha,” you say, holding a finger up in the air. “That is why I called ahead earlier. The shop owner agreed to stay late, allowing us to come in for a private fitting after hours whenever we would like.”

You never cease to amaze Namjoon. Clearly, you’ve thought of everything and have left little room for Namjoon to try and argue his way out of this. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely! Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll start with this, and we can check off numbers one and two.”

Namjoon glances back down at the list he’d nearly forgotten he was holding. Number two: Lose the tie.

Well, this should be interesting. Subconsciously, Namjoon brings his other hand up to touch the black half-windsor knot at his throat. He’s always found a tie to be the perfect complementing accessory to a good suit; at least, that’s what he was told by his father, who is the embodiment of a proper businessman if Namjoon’s ever known one. Only now does the tie suddenly feel less like an accessory and more like a noose.

The silk easily pulls loose, just half an inch, allowing Namjoon to take what feels like his first deep breath in years. Maybe this isn’t truly a mistake after all. You look at him with hope-filled eyes, awaiting his response.

“Sure,” he finally says. “Let’s go.”

👔👔👔

What you told Namjoon isn’t exactly a lie. The boutique is located right down the street, and the owner had agreed to stay open late for a private session. However, what you might have left out is the fact that the owner is a really good friend of yours who owes you a favor.

About six months ago, you helped her land the boutique spot, using not much more than the business finesse and etiquette that you’ve acquired since being hired at Proof. With as much time as you spend with Namjoon, being his proverbial shadow, and being privy to all his business ventures, you’ve learned a thing or two.

You text Eunji earlier on your lunch break, calling in the favor, which you unsurprisingly received little pushback on. Considering it was so last minute, you thought she might have asked if you could plan it a little further in advance, but she told you any time, any night; including tonight.

Namjoon waits while you grab your bag from your desk. He’s quiet. There’s an odd, introspective look on his face. One that you’re not as familiar with seeing him wear. It’s like he’s lost in his thoughts, yet isn’t sure what those thoughts are. You suppose that’s to be expected. This is uncharted territory for you both, after all.

The silence is amicable as you and Namjoon make the short walk to the shop. A small green CLOSED sign is hung up on the door, but no sooner have you stepped up to it that you see Eunji through the glass pane, jogging out from the back of the shop.

“Hi! Welcome, please come on in.” Eunji smiles and ushers you both inside.

“Namjoon, this is Eunji, the owner of the shop. Eunji, this is Namjoon, my boss,” you provide as an introduction.

“Yes, one of the famous faces of Proof,” Eunji says, her smile growing wider. “Pleasure to meet you, sir. Please, feel free to browse anything in the shop. If you need anything at all, I will be right over there.”

Namjoon nods politely, his own smile one you’ve seen him give many times over the years. It’s warm, but not too inviting, just deep enough to be professional without room for any misconceived notions. “Thank you, Eunji.”

You watch Eunji’s petite frame slide behind the checkout counter. She brings out a tablet and begins tapping away at it, leaving you and Namjoon to your own devices. You’re familiar with the boutique, having been here several times when Eunji was setting up for her opening.

“Shall we?” you ask, gesturing towards where the racks of men’s suits are displayed.

Namjoon gives you an amused smile, his eyes cutting down at you as he walks by your side. “The two of you are friends, aren’t you?”

You shrug, pressing your lips between your teeth to keep from smiling. “Maybe we are.”

“Uh huh.” Namjoon chuckles softly, confirming his amusement. “All things aside, thank you for doing this for me. Whatever…this—” he waves a hand loosely in the air “—is, exactly.”

“Well, this is exactly what it seems like. We’re playing dress up. Action item number five,” you say teasingly, quoting the list, “Give yourself permission to have fun.”

“Dress up, huh? Does that include you? There are some beautiful dresses in here.” Namjoon asks, and you can tell he immediately regrets it. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I meant—er, just…how about this one?” he quickly changes the subject, snatching an emerald green and beige tweed suit from a nearby rack.

You let the comment pass, fixing your eyes on the suit in Namjoon’s hand and hoping the heat in your cheeks passes quickly. “Only one way to find out. Take it, and these,” you tell him, adding a few more to his hand. “The dressing room is right back there. Go on.”

As Namjoon heads toward the dressing room, you glance back at the front of the shop and catch Eunji’s eye. She waggles her brows at you, mouthing something that looks an awful lot like ‘damn girl, get it’.

She’s terribly mistaken. Clearly, nothing is going on between you and Namjoon. Not in your wildest dreams—well, actually, maybe in your dreams, but certainly not in his. Absolutely not. Namjoon does not see you like that.

You shake your head, dispelling the thoughts, and force yourself to get back on track. You’re here for a reason. Namjoon specifically asked you for help with dating. More specifically, help with dating people who are not you.

“Umm, so,” Namjoon’s voice comes muted from beyond the thick, velvet purple curtain of the dressing room. “Are these pants supposed to be hard to put on?”

“What? No.” You move closer to the dressing room. “Are you having issues?”

There’s some shuffling followed by a soft thud, a frustrated growl from Namjoon, and a heavier, more alarming thud. You’re slipping around the curtain before you can think better of it.

“Are you okay?!” You pause, mid-step, and slap a hand over your gaping mouth. It does nothing to stop the laugh from bubbling up, though. “Oh!”

Namjoon is sprawled out on the floor, his feet tangled in the green and beige trousers. Buckles and straps dangle from the waistband, creating a webbing of rich brown leather and bronze across Namjoon’s knees. You can see where some of the crossing straps twine between his legs, clearly the cause of his frustration and fall.

“These pants are boobytrapped. They have all these fancy buckles and straps. I didn’t notice them at first because the blazer covered them on the hanger. And well,” he explains with a helpless sigh, “it didn’t seem like that big of a deal…until, yeah. Are you just going to stand there?”

You laugh, unable to contain it any longer, earning yourself a scowl from Namjoon. Waving a hand in the air, you close the distance across the small space to crouch beside him. “I know you’re a bit clumsy sometimes, but falling over while putting on pants is a new one.”

“Ah! That’s not even funny. These pants are…they’re complicated. I mean, just look!” he exclaims, gesturing to his thighs.

It’s hard not to look when someone actively tells you to. Add in the directive hand gestures and, well, of course you look. His thighs are thick, well-muscled from hours in the gym—hours you know he spends there because you pencil them into his schedule every week.

Slivers of red peek out from the tops of his thighs, the bottoms of his boxer-briefs fitting snugly against his skin. “Wow.” The word slips out as a whisper, but it might as well be a shout with as loud as it sounds in the silence of the dressing room. Heat blooms across your face and down your neck. Your lips move before you can swallow your words, the jest rolling off your tongue with no shame, “I didn’t take you for a red underwear kind of guy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Namjoon asks, gawping at you, while simultaneously trying to pull down the end of his dress shirt to cover his crotch and thighs.

Perhaps your brain needs a rewire because you seldom find yourself at a loss for words. But, try as you might, all that comes out is an awkward squawk of laughter. You choke back the noise, clearing your throat as you ignore Namjoon’s gaze and go to work pulling the trousers down his legs to begin untangling the belts. This might be the first time you’ve seen your boss in his underwear, but you’re still his assistant and can’t help going into automatic fixer-mode. Besides, he did ask if you were just going to stand there, which was an obvious cry for help…at least, you think.

Finally finding the gumption to speak again, you cast your eyes at him from beneath your lashes, not being coy but simply unable to meet his stare head-on. “For a guy who wears the same black suit every single day, I’m just surprised to see you have some color in your wardrobe…much less it being your underwear, that’s all.”

Namjoon snorts a laugh, immediately putting you even more at ease. The tension leeches away with every degree his smile grows. “Well, I’ll have you know I have them in navy as well.”

You feign surprise, your eyes going comically wide. “And you say you need my help! Seems you’re already two steps ahead of me.”

The two of you melt into soft laughter once again, a companionable silence falling in the dressing room as you finish helping Namjoon untangle his legs. It’s hard to say if he notices the occasional flick of your eyes to his thighs. The Armani suits might be tailored to fit him, but apparently they also hide his physique quite well, because damn…double-damn, I’m-in-deep-trouble-damn.

“Thanks,” Namjoon murmurs once he’s back on his feet with the offending trousers draped over his arm. “I think I’m going to pass on these. Unless you want to come over every morning and help me get dressed.”

You know he’s simply teasing, trying to keep the mood light. His humor usually has less tact and more blunder, but color you delightedly surprised tonight with how well he’s doing.

“Far above my pay grade, I’d think,” you jest in turn. “So, no to the brown and green. How about you give this one a try next?” You snag a light, stone-colored set and a vibrant dress shirt with blocks of complementary patterns, ranging from floral to geometric, and offer it to him.

Namjoon gives you a skeptical look but obliges. You can still feel his eyes on you as you slip back through the curtain and finally put a barrier back between the two of you.

You sag in relief, your back thudding softly against the wall beside the dressing room. How disappointed would Namjoon be if you backed out now after only having just gotten started? The tension in the dressing room was palpable. Is it possible Namjoon could tell how fast your heart was racing, or how utterly lacking in any coherent thought you were?

For fucks sake, it’s not like you’ve never seen a man in his underwear before. 

“Everything okay?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide as saucers and heart galloping in your chest.

“Eunji. You scared me,” you gasp, willing your soul back into your body as you step away from the wall and close the distance to where she’s peeking around one of the displays.

She gives you a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I heard a commotion earlier, but you disappeared into the dressing room before I could ask what was happening. By the time I got over here, it sounded like you had things well under control.” One slender brow arches, a playful tease dancing in her brown eyes.

It’s a childish action, sticking your tongue out at her, but it earns you the reaction you knew it would. Eunji’s peal of tinkling laughter suits her small frame. You share a warm smile with your friend before dropping your voice low and saying, “Thanks again for letting me do this.”

Eunji waves a dismissive hand in the air, her other hand absently straightening the midi dress hanging on the closest t-stand. “Just be sure to tag me in any marketing where he’s wearing my clothes, yeah?”

“I think we have a winner!” announces Namjoon before you can respond to Eunji. You both look back towards the dressing room in time to see Namjoon slide back the curtain and step out.

He looks absolutely adorable, like a kid who’s been given permission to play dress up in his father’s closet. A huge grin cuts across his face, showing off the dimples you’ve become so fond of over the years.

“Winner winner,” whispers Eunji appreciatively, the low words meant only for your ears.

You have to resist the urge to elbow her in the ribs, choosing to hand off the discarded suit in your hand instead. “Great!” you tell Namjoon, stepping away from Eunji but not before throwing her a pleading look over your shoulder, in the hopes she takes the hint. “But, more importantly, how does it make you feel?”

Namjoon stands outside the dressing room, admiring himself in the full-length mirrors hanging on the wall. He gives a slow turn, his head swiveling with the motion, trying to catch it from all angles.

“Honestly? It doesn’t feel like me. But, I think that’s the point,” he explains, the last part coming out half question, half statement. “It’s actually a very comfortable suit, with only the need for a few tailoring adjustments. I—uh—I think I like it. Truly. What do you think?”

“I think,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully as you give him a full once-over, “that I’ll contact Rocco first thing Monday morning for a tailoring session, but we can officially check off the first action item on the list.”

To say you went the whole weekend without once thinking about how your Friday night at Eunji’s boutique with Namjoon went would be a plain and simple lie. You actually had fun. Maybe too much fun.

All the work you’ve done over the years of suppressing your seemingly harmless little crush on your boss? Completely undone in one moment. It’s like being in a small, enclosed space with Namjoon left no room for practical thinking—no need to mention seeing him in his underwear. The hugging stretch of red cotton over swollen muscle is seared like a brand onto your hippocampus.

Clearing your throat, you try to refocus on the screen in front of you. The event coordinator for the spring gala has sent over the finalized plans, and you should be reviewing them right now, but you seem to be having trouble keeping your focus.

The phone call you made this morning to Rocco went just as you expected it might. He was not happy to hear that Namjoon had acquired some suits without his approval, but was no less insistent that he be the one to do the fitting, regardless.

Trying to find time in Namjoon’s schedule to fit in a last-minute session with Rocco was easier than you thought it might be. With the gala planning fully underway and most of the logistics already planned and in motion, it has freed up a marginal amount of time for the ever-churning leading cogs of Proof.

Though the schedule for everyone else seems to be compounding, no matter how much you try to finesse it. Jungkook’s busy preparing for his album, Yoongi and Jimin are in the process of establishing JIDA as an official Proof songwriter, and Hoseok has his hands full working on the choreography for Jungkook’s performance at the gala.

Needless to say, even though you are Namjoon’s assistant, you have your hands in more cookie jars than out at this point. You don’t mind it; you love your job and enjoy the challenges it presents. The only time you relinquish responsibilities is if you’re sick and, well, even then, you’re happy to work from home.

Just as your thoughts seem to start drifting away from the task at hand again, an imminent reminder exits the elevator down the hall. Peach is as sweet as her namesake. She graces the admin hall just like she does every Monday morning. You like the event coordinator; she’s reliable and a breath of fresh air, especially after being surrounded by the Kim brothers on a daily basis. Having grown up with the Kims, you’re certain Peach is a saint if you’ve ever met one.

Your eyes stray from the computer screen each time she reappears in the hall, having passed off her like-clockwork-on-Monday morning coffees to Seokjin and Taehyung.

“Good morning, Sunshine!” Peach chirps happily, offering you one of her classic, radiant smiles. “You look a bit frazzled. Everything okay?”

“Nothing a nice cup of tea can’t remedy.” You sigh happily, gratefully accepting the large paper cup from Brewed for the Seoul with your latest obsession: hot black tea with coconut and almond bark cream. Already, the warm, sugary notes of the coconut and almond bark permeate from the opening in the lid. A small sip and the world somehow feels more right. “That hits the spot. Thank you, Peach, you’re the best.”

“Is that the menu?” Peach asks, nodding at your computer screen. “I don’t mean to be nosy, just saw the BSA logo.”

“Yep,” you say, pursing your lips as you swivel back to the screen where the cute peach tree logo sits at the top of the page you have up. “I told Namjoon I would have it ready for the CEOs by the end of the day.”

Peach gives you another one of those charming smiles. “I fear the Kim brothers would be lost without you, Sunshine,” she offers with a laugh. Being complimented always feels nice, but it’s even more so coming from someone like Peach, considering her background with the Kims. She makes you feel like you’re part of the family, too. Not that no one else does that. Your friendship with Yoongi is a testament to that already, but it still feels special nonetheless. “Should I leave this with you or…?” Peach trails off, hoisting up Namjoon’s usual iced Americano as her eyes drift to his closed office door.

“He’s reviewing the final proposal Jin had the legal team work up for JIDA,” you offer as a means of explanation to Namjoon’s closed door. You glance at the clock in the bottom corner of your screen. “He’ll probably be another twenty minutes at least. You can leave it here and I’ll make sure he gets it before the ice melts.”

Peach laughs softly, setting the drink off onto your desk. “Thanks. I’ll catch you later, okay? Got more caffeine to deliver!” she beams, giving the drink carrier in her other hand a gentle bounce.

👔👔👔

Namjoon

“I mean, really, fratello, are you sure this is what you want?” Rocco asks in his thick Italian accent. Namjoon bought five new suits last Friday night and brought them into the office this morning per your request.

True to your word, you called in Rocco for a private tailoring session. Like the superhuman you are, somewhere between Namjoon’s lunch and an afternoon meeting, you managed to squeeze an hour in for the tailor.

“Do you not like them?” Namjoon asks, gesturing to the cream and stone-colored suit on his person and the others hanging over the back of his office chair.

Rocco grunts in response. “I am woeful to admit…they are nice. But, they just are not you, no?”

Namjoon shrugs, earning a baleful glance from Rocco as the motion tugs a pinned needle loose from his shoulder. Rocco’s slight frame folds easily as he bends to retrieve the pin, blond hair staying artfully tossed thanks to the copious amounts of pomade Namjoon is certain he uses. “Sometimes we just need to change things up a bit, don’t you think?”

“It’s that bubbly assistant of yours, isn’t it? As soon as she called me this morning, I knew she had put you up to no good…”

Rocco rambles on, but Namjoon knows his snippy words are completely harmless. In the half a dozen years that Namjoon has known Rocco, he’s come to learn his quirks and mannerisms—a highly opinionated man, quick with words and even quicker with his Singer; unfailingly talented, worth every second spent listening to the innocuous tittering.

While Rocco works, Namjoon lets his mind wander. Not much else to do when you’re trussed up with pins. He learned that the hard way after earning several needle pricks while trying to respond to emails once upon a time.

The empty Brewed for the Seoul coffee cup you brought in earlier is still sitting on his desk. He had just finished reviewing the proposal for JIDA when you brought it in. Namjoon knows the coffee was from Peach, but something in him couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that you were the one to deliver it to him.

You’re wearing a sleek dress today. Red. He can’t stop himself from thinking back to Friday night and the red he wore—the red you saw. Is this your way of trying to remind him? A private joke, maybe. Namjoon closes his eyes, trying to recall the exact shade of red your dress is and how the fabric cuts in a way that accents the curve of your hips and the swell of your—

Bzz bzz

The buzzing of Namjoon’s phone breaks him from his internal musings, his eyes snapping open, mouth suddenly dry because what the fuck was he thinking about?!

Bzz bzz

The sound comes again. A phone call. He can see the photo of his father lit up on the screen where the device sits on his desk. “Um, sorry, Rocco, I need to get that.”

“Namjoon! How are you doing, son?”

“Fine. What’s going on? I’m in the middle of a fitting with Rocco right now.”

“Oh, tell him I have a few of those new Brioni suits that need tending.” Before Namjoon can relay the message, his father barrels on, “I think I’ve found a winner. She’s perfect, Namjoon. Niece to a respectable friend of mine. Owns her own billion-dollar cosmetics company. Tell me you’ll meet with her this week.”

Namjoon swallows the lump that has suddenly formed in his throat. Another one? So soon? “Of course, Father. I’d be honored.”

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2025-09-05 ColorMePurplex2

[colormepurplex2]

Loosen Up | KNJ

▻ Loosen Up ↳ CEO!Namjoon x PersonalAssistant!f.Reader ⤜ CEO AU ⤜ Boss/Assistant | angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 32,978 ⤜ Summary: Namjoon is uptight, strait-laced, and far too serious. He knows it, his business partners and family know it, and, as his personal assistant, you know it better than any of them. So, what do you do when he asks—no, begs—for you to help him loosen up a little? ⚠️Inappropriate thoughts, mild flirting, language, kissing, semi over-the-clothes grinding, drinking, mild food play, kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, v. sex, creampie Each chapter will have specific warnings listed.

Chapter 1: Add Some Color

Chapter 2: Shut Up And Dance

Chapter 3: Masks Off

Story is complete.

A/N: This is written as part of the Believe to Succeed collaboration!

A/N: Thank you to @lo1k-diamonds @pars-ley @downbad4yoongi @spicykoreantatertots @cherrysoulth @moonleeai @btskitten7 for keeping my sanity intact through the writing process with their superb beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️   2025-09  ColorMePurplex2

[jungkookiebus]

[2:35pm] You knew you fucked up as soon as the words slipped from your mouth during the conference call.

"This is a clusterfuck," you whispered to yourself while shuffling through papers on your desk.

Silence filled your office and then you heard the polite cough on the call. You winced before looking at your phone to realize you hadn't hit mute after you last spoke.

"Anything you wish to share, ____?" Namjoon's smooth voice said over the speaker.

"No, um, sir. I apologize."

"Moving on."

You were going to get punished for this. Unbeknownst to anyone in the office, Namjoon had been...correcting your performance for months.

It was later when you were laid across his lap, skirt bunched up around your waist, and ass cheeks as red as cherries that you found out just how mad he was.

He stopped when you lost count and pulled your tear stained face to him as he leaned over to look at you closely.

"Don't cry, baby, you asked for this when you fucked up today." He grinned mischievously at you. "This is tame compared to what I plan on doing next."

[smuttyfairy]

I don't know if someone answered, but for that anon looking for the ceo!namjoon and mechanic!yongguk poly relationship imagine, it's called "so you don't love her?" And it's from byleo

thank you!

[smuttyfairy]

To @completekpoptrash's question, its a CEO! Namjoon wolf au fic written by @tayegi called Something in the Way :)

thank you!

[smuttyfairy]

the taehyung being a uni teacher is @kthsdrug's crossing the line & that ceo namjoon who's a werewolf is Something in the Way by @tayegi

thank you!! <3