JIMIN ONESHOTS IMAGINES

Pulling Each Other's Hair

— 28 —

When he caught you and his brother pulling each other's hair.

—

"I'll be there in a few minutes," I said over the phone as I rushed to get ready. Jimin, my husband, asked me to drop by his office. After last night, when he literally wore me out, I'm surprised he has the audacity to call me in today.

That man has stamina like a machine. My legs are barely holding up, and he's out here acting like nothing happened.

I opened my closet, trying to figure out what to wear. Stupid Park Jimin. I swear, he's a menace. We started off as enemies, and somehow I ended up marrying him. I don't even remember the full story, just that he annoyed me, blamed me for things back in college, and still managed to win me over. Life's funny like that.

At Jimin's Office Building —

Thankfully, no traffic today. I nearly lost my mind on the way here.

"JIMIN, I'M HERE!" I yelled as I walked into the building, forgetting for a second that this was a corporate office and not my house.

I heard whispers immediately.

"Oh dear, who's that yelling Director Park's name like she owns the place?"

"Is she just a friend or...?"

They clearly didn't recognize me.

"Hello, aunties," I said with a sugary smile. "Could you guide me toward Director Park's office?"

One of them gave me a death glare. "We're in our 20s. Don't call us aunties—"

"Mrs. Park! Over here!" someone called out, interrupting the moment. I turned to see a tall man in a suit approaching.

Mrs. Park? Who the hell—

Oh. Right.

His bodyguard, apparently.

"This way, Mrs. Park," he said, motioning for me to follow.

"Just call me Y/N," I said, slightly embarrassed. I don't mind being called Mrs. Park, but not when everyone's staring.

"She's Director Park's wife?" one of the employees whispered, clearly stunned. They must be new.

As we walked through the halls, I accidentally bumped into someone. "Sorry," I said casually. "Master Jihyun!" The bodyguards suddenly bowed.

Master? What is this, a historical drama?

"Who's this?" the so-called Master Jihyun asked, pointing at me. "This is Director Park's wife, sir," One of the guards answered. "Oh? What a pleasant surprise," he said, smirking. I frowned.

"And you are?" I asked as his smirk faded for a moment. "Never mind. Forget it," he said, brushing past me.

But then, he stepped on my foot.

"OW! You bastard!" I snapped, yanking him back by the hair. "WHO THE HELL PULLS HAIR LIKE THAT?!" He shouted, grabbing my hair in return. "YOU STEPPED ON MY FOOT FIRST!"

"DIRECTOR PARK!" The guards yelled in panic. We froze. I turned to see Jimin, looking very unimpressed.

"Y/N? Jihyun?" He asked calmly. "Guards, stand down. Y/N, let go of his hair. Jihyun, you too." We both complied, reluctantly.

"And who the hell is this?" I asked, glaring at the guy. "Y/N," Jimin sighed. "This is my younger brother, Jihyun. The one I've told you about."

"Wait—that's your brother? The one you described like an angel? He looks more like a devil."

"Watch your mouth, lady," Jihyun barked. "It's true. And what's with the 'Master Jihyun' thing? What is he, a prince?"

"Why did you marry someone so hot-tempered, hyung?" Jihyun muttered. "Want me to kick you in the balls?" I snapped. "Enough," Jimin groaned, grabbing my hand. "Jihyun, just go home. Y/N, come with me."

As we walked off, I whispered to Jimin, "I can't believe that guy is your brother. He looks like he wants to murder me. What's with the 'master' title anyway?"

"I can still hear you, you know," Jihyun called after me.

I flashed him a middle finger without looking back.

Inside Jimin's Office —

"I can still feel his hand on my hair," I muttered, rubbing my scalp as Jimin closed the door behind us.

"I can't believe that was your first impression of my brother," he said with a chuckle. "Yeah, not exactly charming." Then, Jimin suddenly turned serious. "Y/N, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," I said, hopping up onto his desk. "How many people did you date before me?" I blinked. "Why are we talking about this now?"

"Just curious. I never asked before." I started counting on my fingers. "Well, there was... one... two... three—"

"Hey," he interrupted, narrowing his eyes, "Stop counting unless you want those fingers broken." I smirked. "But you told me to count."

"And now I'm telling you to stop," he said, deadpan. God, I love this man.

—