𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 | 𝚙𝚓𝚖 ✔ UNDER CONSTRUCTION ⚠️

P

"perfect"

All Along the Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix

3 months ago

"Jimin, don't look at me like that!"

Jimin laughs at my embarrassed expression as I get up from my seat at the restaurant table, hastily wiping at the spilled ketchup on my light blue dress. "Why? You know I can't help it."

"Ass," I roll my eyes at him as I sit back down in my seat. I still hopelessly scrub at the red stain on the rather expensive fabric, but he's the one who bought the dress in the first place, so it's really his loss.

He clicks his tongue. "And what about my ass?" he snickers, earning a swat on the shoulder from me. "Hey! That hurts!"

"What are you going to do, Park Jimin?" I fold my arms.

"You'll see," he licks his lips and giggles before not-so-discreetly stealing a fry from my plate.

"Hey!"

He smirks for a second before wiping his hands on the white table cloth. The boy then gets out of our booth, pulls his signature black leather jacket over his equally black vneck, then walks to the door.

"Jimmi, hold on!" I yell with slight annoyance, grabbing my purse and running after him. I seem to underestimate our distance, though, as I find myself crashing right into the male. "O-oops--"

"It's okay," Jimin chuckles as he helps me steady myself. "Are you ready to go?"

I nod, following him out of the restaurant and to the parking lot. We giggle as we walk together, his tiny hand in my own delicate one. He hops on his motorcycle first, and I get on after, wrapping my arms firmly around his thin waist. Soon, the beautiful hum of the bike is heard as Jimin revs it up.

Then, we take off, sweet San Francisco air flowing through my permed hair. We don't bother wearing helmets, since the cops usually don't give a fuck what people do on motorcycles anyway. I bury my face in the crook of Jimin's neck for comfort, breathing in his smell—it's like whiskey and strawberries... He then tilts his head up and inhales deeply, letting out a long, happy sigh afterward.

It isn't long before we pull up to his apartment. Jimin parks his bike in the back and hops off, shoving his keys in his acid-washed jeans while I walk beside him, grabbing his arm and putting it around my waist. He laughs at me for a moment before pulling me closer.

We walk up the stairs to the 3rd floor of the large building where Jimin lives. Jimin unlocks the door, pushing it open and walking into it with a sudden pep in his step. Oh dear.

"What's up with you?" Jimin's roommate, Hoseok, wipes his nose as he looks at Jimin's dazed expression.

"I think they might've drugged his fries--Jimin!" I exclaim as the boy pulls me to his room. He closes the door behind him, and does a little twirl.

"You're--extravagant," he puts his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me close. It causes goosebumps to erupt, starting from my neck and travelling downward while I look up into the his deep eyes and take him in--his scent, his voice, his touch--before standing up on my tippy toes to kiss him on the lips.

"Mm..." He takes advantage of my added height and lifts me up, spinning me in a circle before setting me down on the bed with an airy chuckle.

"I mean, I could continue showering you with kisses," he jumps on the bed afterward, "or...we could do what real lovers do."

"I'll take the latter," I smile at him, positioning myself over him to leave a
slow, but loving kiss on his lips.

Most nights with Jimin were like this--slow, sweet and beautiful, just like he was. The only times where we weren't wrapped up in each other were when we fought.