mikrocosmonaut

[mikrocosmonaut]

dessert wine pt. 1 ♡│ pjm

pairing: jimin x reader

[ part of the ‘Galentine’s Day’ miniseries ]

summary: Setting up for Galentine’s Day at Jimin’s house was going great until he raided his parents’ alcohol cabinet. Drunk on ice cream and dessert wine, it becomes harder and harder for you to ignore the new, intrusive thoughts you’ve been having about your best friend. And to make matters worse - the party hasn’t even started yet!

word count: 4-5k

warnings: very light smut, bad language, slight voyeurism if u squint, y/n and jimin are oblivious dumbasses, part 2 will contain actual smut so beware~

genre: mutual pining, f2l, jealousy, lots of fluff, eventual smut

a/n: hey lovelies, sorry for the slight delay due to internet problems. sorry in advance for any errors, this is the first piece of writing I’ve done in months so I’m probably rusty as hell lol. hope you enjoy and keep an eye out for part 2 of Jimin’s story. I’ll be posting the other members’ parts throughout the month so stay tuned for updates :) happy reading~

It’s February 14th. Life is great. And you have the cutest best friend in the whole world who has kindly invited the whole group to a ‘small gathering’ to celebrate the occasion.

Jimin told you to turn up at his house a few hours early to help him set up. His mom and dad are currently on a cruise somewhere in the Mediterranean -romantic, right?- so your gang has the run of their modern, spacious barn-conversion for the entire night. You’ve been to Jimin’s house several times before, often staying over to avoid your shitty roommate back at the dorms.  

Jimin has no shitty roommate of his own, because Jimin commutes to university. He says there’d be no point paying for the overpriced student dorms when he only lives about forty minutes train-journey away. And also, because his mom does his laundry for him.

By now, you’re no stranger to the grandeur of Jimin’s house -or ‘The Chateau’, as you like to teasingly call it. There’s a kind of fancy atmosphere about the place: the minimalistic décor, the huge dining table and even the trophy cabinet in the hall. Yet for all the luxury he lives in, your friend remains annoyingly humble and down to earth.

When you rock up at Jimin’s that afternoon, he opens the front door to find you a little pissed off and a whole lot soaked. It’s raining heavily, and you stand on his porch like a lost, soggy puppy, big eyes pleading for sympathy and arms huddled around your denim-jacket-clad torso.

Your friend simply raises his eyebrows, stepping aside to let you past. You can’t help but sigh in relief as the warm, vanilla-scented air of Jimin’s house greets your shivering form. The house feels like your second home.

“Really?” Jimin says out of nowhere after a few seconds of silence. He’s trying to sound scolding, but you can see a smile pulling at the corners of his plump lips, “A denim jacket? In February?!”

You grumpily flinch away from his reproach, “Jeez, sorry, Mom.” Shooting him a mournful glare, you begin to peel off the offending denim article, dripping water everywhere, “Okay- first of all, it’s not my fault! I couldn’t find my actual waterproof coat anywhere, I think my klepto roommate must have stolen it or something.”

You finish removing the drenched jacket and fling it towards Jimin’s face. Impeccable reflexes as ever, he catches it seamlessly before it hits him, though his eyebrows climb higher up when he catches sight of your baggy t shirt. You grunt as you kick off your shoes, then continue your rant,

“Secondly…It was like, really sunny earlier, dude! I was tricked! It looked warm out, okay?”

Jimin lets out an exasperated sigh and drapes your jacket over the coat rack to dry off, “Y/n. I repeat: it’s February!” He rolls his eyes at you and walks towards the stairs.

After a second you follow, thudding up the staircase after him, “Whatever! Oh – and what’s your issue with my t-shirt, by the way? You looked at it just then was like I’d killed your dog or something.”

You reach the top of the stairs, by now struggling to keep up with Jimin’s long strides. Curse his beautiful, graceful gazelle legs.

Jimin looks back at you, face still unimpressed, “I don’t have a dog.” His tone is flat, intentionally missing the point and he disappears from view through the doorway into his bedroom. His voice echoes out onto the landing, “Nah, the t-shirt itself is fine. I just thought you’d have a more festive outfit for tonight, is all.”

“Huh?” You frown, “But it’s just a Galentine’s Day gathering at yours, you said! We’re not going out, just hanging here, so what’s the-”

You immediately trail off as you enter Jimin’s room and are greeted by the sight of a dozen or so balloons in various shades of red scattered around every available surface. Jimin has already flopped onto his bed in the middle of it all, arm raised and shielding both eyes wearily. His hoodie has come up a bit, exposing his stomach and you try not to let your gaze linger on the sliver of soft, peach skin. Weird. It’s really been too long since you last got laid if you’re being horny for Jimin. Just the thought makes your face screw up like you’ve tasted something sour.

Tearing your eyes from his sprawled form, you only then begin to notice multiple carrier bags stuffed full of tacky decorations amongst the balloons. You even catch a peek of what look like the most garish fake roses you’ve ever seen.

You take a second to process this scene. All the red and pink is making your head swim. You breathe out a quiet, ‘what the fuck’, shaking your head in bewilderment. Maybe Jimin has finally lost it. Carefully, you pick a path through the assembled obstacle course of crap on the floor and plop down beside Jimin, pushing balloons aside as you do so.

“Yo, Jimin,” You nudge his leg with your elbow, “You planning on starting up the world’s most nauseating home décor shop or something?”

Your best friend rolls over to face you, mouth settling into his signature mochi pout, “Noooo. It’s for Gal’entine’s Day. I wanted to make an effort with decorations, y’know. Seeing as we’re all losers who’d otherwise be spending the day alone.”

You snort and reach out to ruffle the boy’s warm, gray hair, “Aw, Jiminie, you’re too much! That’s so cute, but you don’t need to do all that for a gathering, especially when it’s just the guys! I guarantee over half of them will be tipsy before they even arrive.”

On past Galentine’s Days you’ve usually all just gone out for pizza or bowling: something casual with plenty of drinking involved. And while Jimin had always gone out of his way to make the whole event as cheesy and cute as possible (one year he even gave handmade cards to each of you), this was a whole new level of extra you’d not been prepared for.

The tips of Jimin’s ears are turning pink and he buries his face into the duvet in embarrassment, “Don’t tease me! I just didn’t want people to feel lonely today.”

For a minute, you’re struggling to make out the muffled words but when you do, they hit you with a jolt. Personally, never gone in for Valentine’s Day and all the lovey-dovey bullshit that it stands for. Even on Valentine’s Days where you weren’t single, you barely made an effort. You’d maybe order a pizza and have sex, but that was it.

It was only when you met Jimin and he started hosting these ‘Galentine’s’ events that you started to take notice of and even begin to look forward the date. Because Jimin’s version was all about celebrating the gals -or boys, as most of your friends have turned out to be- and how much you all meant to each other. So, you suppose you never considered the possibility that Jimin was lonely, when he had his whole Galentine’s thing. Heck, now that you think about it, maybe that’s the whole reason he started doing it in the first place?

You stare as Jimin’s ears flush even more, wondering if you are a terrible friend for never even considering this realm of possibility before. Maybe. But Jimin’s never seemed to mind, at least.

It’s no real secret that you’re oblivious enough to your own feelings most of the time: you’ve had your fair share of hook-ups and casual things during your time at college, but you’ve never gotten caught up in anything serious. Never had the time to even think properly about relationships, let alone wonder about the state of your friends’ own romantic lives.

Now that you think about it, Jimin has never really clicked romantically with anyone, that you can think of. He doesn’t generally like talking about that kind of stuff, he finds it hard to discuss deeper topics without getting embarrassed.

Unless he’s drunk. Then he’ll cling onto anyone he can find and fully dive into his whole romantic psyche without shame.

Jimin rolls over to glare at you, the colour of his cheeks now matching his ears, whether that’s from embarrassment or being smushed against the quilt is unclear. You shake off your confused thoughts of romance and loneliness and Park Jimin’s love life and nudge him again whilst you try and think of something to say.

He shies away from your elbow, still sulking, “Why’d you think I asked you to come help me set up today in the first place? Obviously, that means preparing for tonight.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, I dunno, maybe because ‘preparing for the tonight’ to us usually means doing facemasks and trading gossip before the others get here?”

Jimin narrows his eyes, “Not today.”

For a minute, neither of you say anything. Jimin is looking oddly conflicted, like he’s debating whether to speak or not. Finally, he blurts out, “-but did you bring some? Face masks, I mean. Just if you have any on you. My skin would thank you for it.”

He taps his cheek. His fucking flawless, smooth cheek, that is so clear it practically glows. The sheer audacity of the lies has you cackling.

A moment later and Jimin’s laughing too: airy, indulgent giggles whilst you reach for your day-bag that you’d dumped beside the bed.

You produce two thin packets triumphantly, like some kind of skincare magician, grinning at your friend, “Park Jimin-ssi, my precious facemasks are wasted on your already perfect skin. But fine. Let’s put up the decorations first, though. Then we can properly have a pamper date until the boys arrive.”

Jimin’s face lights up and he gives you a strange half-hug as he tries to avoid bursting any of the balloons. “You’re the best, Y/n!”

You sigh sympathetically and pat his head, “I know, doll. 

By the time you’ve finished putting up all the decorations, you feel as though you’ve run a marathon. What a workout. You could sleep for about ten years. Your arm muscles especially ache, but you still manage to expertly affix Jimin’s sheet-mask for him after putting on your own.

In return for the pain suffered on your behalf though, you’ve demanded compensation in the form of ice cream. Like the obedient mochi he is, a sheet-masked, bouncy Jimin returns from the kitchen after a few minutes bearing two generous bowls of ice cream and a bottle of something wedged under his arm.

You’d been sprawled on the cream couch in the living room flipping through one of his mom’s many interior décor magazines, but you crane your neck nosily as he hands you your bowl, “What’s that?” You nod to the bottle after unsuccessfully trying to read the label upside down.

Jimin takes a seat and holds out the bottle to you. You turn it over once in your hands, feeling the liquid inside splash around. You frown, “’Dessert wine’?! The fuck is that?”

Jimin shrugs, “Found it in my parents’ drinks cabinet. I thought we could try it with our ice cream. Seems pretty self-explanatory, right?”

“Woah, Jimin-ssi is really going for it with his pre-game today!” You tease, though you decide to humour him, twisting off the cork with a small ‘pop’. You take a cautious sniff, “Fuck!” Your eyes are watering at the sudden sweet scent and for some reason you almost feel like you have to sneeze.

Jimin watches while digging into his ice cream, “Does it smell strong?”

You pull a face and eye the dark-coloured bottle with caution, “I don’t even know. Just smells really, really sweet. Oh well, guess there’s only one way to find out if it’s any good.”

With the go-ahead from you, Jimin hops up and walks to a tall, glass-fronted cabinet on the far side of the room. He opens the door and retrieves two small-ish wine glasses before heading back to stand in front of you. You pour the wine while he holds the glasses. The wine splashes out of the bottle in a warm, tempting crimson. You really hope you don’t accidentally spill any on the expensive cream couch.

Jimin returns to his spot beside you and holds up his glass, “Cheers! To having the best Galentine’s Day yet.”

You bring your glass to meet his with a pleasant clink and the two of you simultaneously knock the stuff back. If the smell of the wine had your eyes watering, the taste almost makes you splutter. Instead, though, you swallow it down quickly, thinking once again of the sofa.

Jimin’s face is screwed up beneath his sheet mask, “You weren’t kidding about it being sweet,” he says in a strained voice and you can’t help but laugh.

“Maybe if we alternate between eating ice cream and taking sips it won’t be so bad?” You can’t help but shudder in spite of your suggestion, “Even though it tastes pretty nasty. We shouldn’t waste it, though,”

Jimin hums in agreement, and sure enough, you both eventually find a more bearable system of dessert/dessert wine intake.

Shit. Jimin’s portions of ice cream had been so generous that you’d already finished your glass of wine before you’d made it a third of the way through your serving. It’s weird, the more you drink, the nicer the wine tastes. So nice that you’re pouring yourself another glass without even blinking and topping up Jimin’s while you’re at it.

 And that’s basically how you ended up here, thirty minutes later, laid flat out on the floor like a starfish while Jimin laughs manically from the couch. Your empty bowls and glasses are stacked on the coffee table and Jimin drains the remaining dregs of the wine straight from the bottle. Although you had at least remembered to take off your sheet-masks on time, any further preparations for the night were forgotten.

 You brush the carpet under your palms appreciatively, “God, Jiminie, your floor is soooo comfy,”

 Jimin does this thing when he laughs where he flings himself in any given direction, deflating in a fit of spluttered giggles like if you undid the knot of a balloon. You love his laugh.

 “You’re welcome,” he garbles, already drunk as all hell. He raises his head to look at you, “Hey, watch you don’t make it all dirty with your gross ass t shirt,”

 Oof. You’d forgotten about the shirt.

 You glare up at Jimin and that only makes him laugh more, “Hey! It’s not-”

 You falter. Even in your state, after a quick visual confirmation, you have to admit that your tatty, now ice-cream-stained top is looking worse for wear.

 Jimin glances at the clock and gets to his feet, holding a hand out to you, “Come on, mucky pup. Only got about fifteen minutes until the guys begin to turn up and I still need to get dressed.” His nose wrinkles in disapproval, “And we need to do something about your outfit.”

 Upstairs, you sit with your back to Jimin on his desk chair, decidedly not even breathing in his direction while he flips through the hangers in his closet. You hug your legs to your chest and rest your chin on your knees. Your face feels hot. Curse that fucking wine. You’re gonna have to pace yourself with the rest of your drinks tonight.

 You hear the rustle of fabric followed by a muffled thump of what you assume is Jimin discarding his worn clothes onto the floor. You wonder whether he’s just changing his hoodie or putting on fresh pants too. Fuck. Why is your brain even going there? You need a distraction.

 You unlock your phone and open Spotify to look for a suitable playlist for the gathering; anything to try and squash thoughts about the ambiguous state of undress your best friend is currently in.

 You’re startled, however, by the sudden tap on your shoulder. You jump, locking your phone on reflex as if you’d been caught looking at porn and not a Spotify playlist and turn to look at Jimin over your shoulder.

 Your lungs feel like they’re being squeezed. A shirtless Jimin stands behind you, so close that you can smell his familiar vanilla scent, practically feel the heat radiating off his bare skin. Oh my God. You’ve seen him in various stages of undress plenty of times: he’s your best friend. And he’s not exactly shy. Hell, one time you and Taehyung had to strip him and put him in the bath after he puked all over himself at a party. You think that yourself and Taehyung are more embarrassed by the memory than Jimin himself.

 None of the other times you’ve seen Jimin without clothes have ever come close to invoking the fucking primal reaction your body is currently having. Your stomach actually flips. You struggle to pull air back into your lungs but oh God. Jimin is so soft and slender yet at the same time his muscles swell beneath his beautiful, peach skin that’s as clear as his face.

 And speaking of his face, when you eventually manage to meet his gaze, his dark eyes look just as dazed as you feel and -. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck. His delicate, plump lips are stained a deep cherry from the wine. You swallow.

 “Yo?”

 You reluctantly drag your brain back down to earth as Jimin waves his hand in front of your face. You finally focus and realise he’s been holding a jumper out to you this whole time.

You blink stupidly at the article of clothing, “Huh?”

Jimin huffs in exasperation and drops the jumper down onto your head, turning away to slip into the shirt he’d finally decided on, “You should try this on. I’ll lend it to you for the night. I feel like it could look cute with those jeans.” He chuckles and the low sound of it sends blood rushing to your face. You’re so thankful that he’s not looking at you anymore. “Better than what you’re currently wearing, anyway.”

You open your mouth, searching for some kind of cohesive response before managing a mumbled “thanks”.

You stand up, holding the sweater out in front of you. You recognise it as one of Jimin’s favourites. You always say how nice it looks on him.

His voice sounds from the other side of the room, “It was in my laundry hamper but I did a sniff-check and I think it’s okay. I only wore it for a couple hours the other day so it should be fine.”

You don’t even attempt a reply. Your head’s still swimming. Partly from the booze and partly from these new, weirdly horny thoughts you’re having about your closest friend. Whatever. The guys will be here soon. Better hurry and get dressed.

By now, Jimin has finished buttoning his shirt and stands in front of his mirror, smoothing down the fabric and checking his reflection. Still caught up in your inner conflicting emotions, you grab at the hem of your shirt. You’re about to pull it up over your head when your eyes meet his in the mirror.

You freeze, top halfway off. He waits. Neither of you look away. In the reflection, Jimin’s eyes are large and dark. Almost hungry. You feel your heart pounding against your ribs, hear the blood in your eardrums tear through the sudden silence of the room.

You’ve never cared about changing in front of him, not bothering to kick him out or anything. You’ve done this thousands of times. So, what the fuck is actually going on with you today? You mentally scold yourself. Today is no different from any day, you’re just overthinking it because it’s Valentine’s Day and it’s been so long since you’ve gotten any action. You are here with your platonic friend of several years, literally just changing your outfit. No big deal.

So that’s that. To prove the point to yourself, you grit your teeth and tug your shirt the rest of the way off in one quick motion before you chicken out and make things even weirder. You can’t, however, fight the blush off your face as Jimin very audibly takes a shaky breath, still transfixed as he watches your reflection.

Why isn’t he looking away?! Why aren’t you looking away?!

Goosebumps prickle over your bare collarbones as you let the discarded top fall to the floor. It’s not cold but you’re shivering. You absently thank the gods that you’re wearing a presentable bra today by chance and not one of your usual comfy-but-ugly nude coloured numbers.

The white bralette you’re currently wearing is still comfy (do you own anything that isn’t?) but it’s super cute, all lace and little ribbons on the straps. You know for a fact that it looks good on you, and that Jimin is lucky to even be blessed with this view but that doesn’t stop the wave of self-consciousness that washes over you. You fight the urge to run and hide yourself away from him forever.

You’re about to put on Jimin’s sweater when you are once again stopped in your tracks. Scratch that. You’re completely floored.

It’s the smallest action, and an unconscious one at that. But even so, Jimin’s subtle swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip, wetting it, has heat pooling between your legs. Your hands go completely slack and the sweater you were previously clutching falls to the floor.

“Y/n,” The husky edge to his voice and the sound of your own name somehow catch you off guard. You almost can’t believe it when you find yourself walking closer to him on autopilot, coming to a stop right behind him, all the while never looking away from his reflection. He follows your movements in the mirror, at one point allowing his gaze to not so subtly shift down from your face. His eyes linger on your chest.

You’re inches from him now. All it would take is a step forwards and you’d be pressing your breasts against his back. You could wrap your arms around him from behind, capture his earlobe between your lips. You shiver again. You’re both acting incredibly calm considering the fact that what you’re doing is essentially stomping all over your friendship.

You can feel it though: this whole time, a new, unfamiliar energy has been building between the two of you and by now it’s almost palpable. The air tastes like lightning.

“Jiminie,” You breathe.

And just like that, Jimin whips round and clasps your face in his delicate hands, fingers brushing your temples. He’s not tall, a fact you frequently like to tease him about, but right now you feel tiny as he looms over you, face finger lengths from your own.

His thumb moves to stroke your cheek, trailing down to your mouth and his gaze follows. Jimin’s own mouth parts slightly as he runs his thumb over your lips. You’re searching his expression but it’s unreadable. The lust in his gaze, however, is undeniable.

This feels like a joke. Your best friend, Park Jimin, is softly caressing your features and looking at you in such a way that is practically sinful, and you don’t mind it. Moreover, you are so turned on that you wonder if you have ever been this horny before in your entire life.

 Jimin’s sweater is forgotten on the floor. Your breathing is shallow and quick and your chest heaves, covered only by the lace bralette. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Jimin, his thumb leaving your mouth to cup your jaw while he unabashedly traces the contours of your chest with his eyes.

He goes to dip his head but stops himself, now eye-level with you. You’ve never seen Jimin so serious, without even the trace of a smile on his face. He looks at you with such a mix of emotions you can’t pick just one out.

Carefully, you slip an arm up and over his shoulder, burying your hand in his thick hair. Your movements are slow and gentle, as if any sudden action would break the spell you both seem to have fallen under.

You can feel his breathe on your lips, still sweet from the wine as he lets out a barely audible groan, “Fuck…Y/n, I-”

And then you’re really crossing the point of no return. Because you’re leaning in to taste your best friend’s beautiful, wine-stained lips.

 Before you can even feel them on your own, a loud chiming echoes throughout the house, scaring the crap out of you. The two of you spring apart, spell broken. And shit. You can’t even look at him.

He grabs his phone, lighting up the time: 7:10pm. Ten minutes past the time he gave for the others to turn up. The room is spinning once more. You’d lost track of the time completely. If the others had been on time none of this would have even happened.

Would that have been good or bad? You don’t know.

Jimin begins to stutter out something: an apology, an explanation maybe – you can’t tell – but he’s interrupted by the same obnoxious chime before, this time prolonged and insistent. Someone’s obviously holding the button down. Your money’s on Yoongi.

Jimin looks defeated, mouth still working to form words but no sound’s coming out. He casts one last, mournful look at you before he scampers out of the room without saying anything.

You’re still frozen.

What the fuck just happened?

You hear the sound of the front door opening downstairs followed by multiple scolding voices, unhappy at being made to wait out in the cold and Jimin’s good-natured apologies. As your friends begin to file on into the house, letting out boisterous whoops at all the decorations around the rooms, you force yourself to move.

You can already hear Namjoon asking where you are. You’d told him you were arriving early, and sooner or later you just know that one of them will come upstairs looking for you.

For the sake of whatever dignity you have left, you need to put some clothes on. You can’t let the others find you standing topless and flushed in the middle of Jimin’s bedroom.

You pick up the sweater and pull it on. It smells of soap and vanilla and warmth. Jimin’s smell.

You wrap your arms round yourself and are surprised to find that you’re blinking back tears. A dread settles deep within you. You’ve possibly just ruined probably the best thing you have in your life right now. Yours and Jimin’s friendship means the world to you. So how could you be so stupid?!

You sniff. There’s no time to think about that stuff now. You just need to get through tonight. Enjoy yourself. You can talk about it with Jimin tomorrow. It’s Galentine’s Day, after all.

You hear someone thudding up the stairs, followed closely by shouts of, “Y/n, where you at?”

You smile and turn towards the door, “Coming, Hobi!”

Before you leave, you take one last look in the mirror, definitely not thinking about the way Jimin’s eyes gleamed at you in his reflection mere moments ago. You quickly wipe away any remaining tears gathered on your eyelashes and you’re good to go.

It’s going to be some night. You blame the dessert wine.

© mikrocosmonaut 2020

[mikrocosmonaut]

[teaser] dessert wine pt. 1 ♡│ pjm

pairing: jimin x reader 

[ part of the ‘Galentine’s Day’ miniseries ]

summary: Setting up for Galentine’s Day at Jimin’s house was going great until he raided his parents’ alcohol cabinet. Drunk on ice cream and dessert wine, it becomes harder and harder for you to ignore the new, intrusive thoughts you’ve been having about your best friend. And to make matters worse - the party hasn’t even started yet!

word count: 4-5k

warnings: very light smut, bad language, slight voyeurism kink (?), part 2 will contain actual smut so beware~

genre: mutual pining, f2l, jealousy, fluff

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ │ release date: 04/02/2020 │