BLACKTAN w/ imagination

Distraction

He should really be at his desk.

He isn't just writing any old email—this is to Darry Bright, head of all most important agency-music-production. Yoongi normally has no occasion to say anything whatsoever to the man, but Namjoon is really pushing for more funding, something about updated equipment, and apparently having Korea's most known producer for his case will help.

So Yoongi finds himself staring blankly at his laptop, wondering how the hell he's supposed to start writing this email, and Jennie is not helping at all.

"Can you move your head?" he says when he tries for the fifth time and fails to form a proper word on the screen, because his rings keeps getting caught in her hair.

She inches her head perhaps two centimeters forward—and further under his chin. "Is that better?"

She's smiling—he can feel the twitch of her lips against his collarbone. "No," he snaps, but his voice comes out less gruffly than he intended as she curls more tightly around his left arm. It's starting to go numb, but he can't bring himself to move it.

"Mmm," she sighs happily, wrapping her arms around his waist and closing her eyes in contentment. Her eyelashes tickle his neck and he coughs, the movement of his throat further pressing into her hair.

He puts his hands on the keyboard just as she shifts against his arm, jolting his hand and turning his rings into a messy snarl. "Fuck," he mutters, and tries to move his arms for a different angle, but Jennie's head—arms—body—whatever—is in the way. "Can you just move?"

She peers up at him from where she lies on his bed, firmly latched onto his side. "I'll just leave then?"

Her presence is comforting, so nice and warm that he doesn't even think before responding. "No, never mind."

She smirks and snuggles more closely against him and he resigns himself to getting nothing done that night. Again.