For Ema (sebootyo)! (It's not much of fluff but please forgive me)

Park Jimin hated his life. He hated his troupe. He hated you.

Oh yes, you. You with the full red lips. You with the flaxen silk for hair. You with the long shapely legs and the apple-curved bottom.

You who could entrance the room just by doing a split. Jimin could do a split. What was so great about a split? Everyone in the troupe could do it, yet only you got the praise for it.

Jimin hated how everyone fawned over you.

“Oh, ____ is so great! Her twirls are majestic!”

“Have you seen her dance? She looks like a swan!”

“She’s only how old? She’s so professional for her age!”

___ this, ___ that. My god, it was like a broken radio playing the same damn thing over and over and over and over again!

These were the thoughts running through his head as he stormed into the studio.

The day had been great. First, he woke up late for solo practice, which meant less time in the studio for himself. Second, he’d spilt boiling coffee onto his shirt, which hurt like a . Third, he’d missed the bus, and fourth, it immediately started raining when the bus drove merrily away, Jimin chasing after it like a crazed dog.

Jimin shook his head rapidly, droplets of water escaping his unruly head of hair like immigrants from a wartorn zone.

Somehow, some way, he’d made it to the studio, only 2 hours late, which meant he had exactly… 30 minutes to practise before the next booker came in.

He pushed the door open.

The lights were already on, music already playing.

Jimin felt his temper rise, but he stuffed it down.

Did he mention another thing he hated about you?

You were always. So. ing. Punctual.

There you were, stretching away merrily with your goddamn trap music on full blast. It was like you didn’t even know that the slot before you was booked already!

His eyes travelled over your body as you stretched downwards, pausing at your rear.

Wait, he hated this girl.

With a grunt, he tore his eyes away.

Jimin grumbled silently in his head, fuming away like an active volcano. He put his own iPod down onto the ground before starting his own stretches.

Her music is so loud! Jimin complained in his head.

He bent downwards in a stretch and adjusted the volume of his own music a little higher. Satisfied, he began to do some freestyle, swinging back and forth in time with his music.

And then you made your music louder.

Jimin seethed under his breath, and bent down to turn his music louder before returning to the freestyle.

Yas … Jimin is in the zone.

His body moved in tune with the music, letting the beats flow over his body like water. He moved fluidly, letting the music seep into his pores when-

HER MUSIC IS SO GODDAMN LOUD!!!!!!!!!

Jimin shut his own off with a grunt.

He was absolutely done with this.

“Turn it down, can ya?” he snapped in dialect, dragging you out of your own groove.

“Um, I came here first,” you sneered, shutting your own music off. “What’s your problem?”

“I booked this slot!” he said angrily. “Yours is at 11.30!”

“Well, the studio wasn’t in use when I came in,” you rolled your eyes. “Obviously, someone forgot about the booking rules.”

And the both of you had not realised that you were now nose to nose, eye to eye, breathing in each other’s scents. He’d cornered you against the glass mirrored wall, hands placed next to your head on each side.

You vaguely noted that he smelled like cinnamon.

“What rules?” he whispered menacingly right into your ear.

The wisps of breath travelling from his mouth brushed past your ear, causing a shiver to run down your back.  

You could only focus on those onyx eyes glaring back into yours, emotion flitting in them like harried moths. You were so close you could almost hear his heartbeat.

“If you are late for your slot…” you leaned in, lips brushing against his ear. “The next person can come in early.”

That about undid everything.

With a crash, two pairs of lips melded as one. You could barely feel the cold kiss of the mirror on your back as his hands encircled your abdomen, holding you to him protectively.

His lips were hot as fire and his hands sent sparks down your back. He prodded your lips with his tongue, begging for entrance. You conceded politely as your tongues battled for dominance.

You won easily, of course. He moaned cutely, begging for more and more as he ran his hands up and down your back, searching for more as your hands clutched his tank top in desperate need.

Finally the need for oxygen forced the two of you apart.

“We could… we could just share practice slots from now on,” Jimin mumbled docilely, the fire from his temper already cooled into a warm puddle of milk.

You pecked his cheek and laughed. 

Jimin was such a lamb.

It's... not... fluff... but... I tried OTL It was surprisingly easy to write this one tho it's a bit OOC!!! I'm not v used to writing Jimin so pls forgive me and luv me :( If I have the time I'll write another one that's more fluffy! @Ema, I hope you enjoyed!

-Peanut