Vmin Oneshots [A03 Collection] ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

because your hands (and lips) still know their way around

because your hands (and lips) still know their way around

by : ggukbrain

Summary:

it's been five years since they've broken up. jimin still hasn't recovered and is desperate for one more night with the only boy he had ever loved, the only boy who loved him back, the only boy who touched and caressed him like he was the most fragile object in the world. the only boy who broke his heart.

Notes:

TRIGGER WARNING: depression and suicide. if i'm being honest i always feel like the fic romanticizes suicide?? please please let me know if it does!!!

Five years.

Five long, agonizing years of heartbreak.

Jimin is still alive, but just barely.

A nameless boy moans into his mouth as he thrusts into Jimin rhythmically, but all he can do is cry. His throat burns with lachrymose, choking him in the most merciless way possible, unlike a pair of warm hands that only ghost over him now.

He sobs, in slow hiccups and tortured cries, tears trickling down his face like acid searing every bit of skin it comes across. Splitting his skin the way he split his heart.

The nameless boy pants as he releases into Jimin, curses, and pulls out. Beads of sweat trailed down his neck and back, unlike the droplets of angst that fell from the latter's eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were in this much pain, dude," he mumbles, hurriedly putting his clothes on after noticing the poignant sobs. "Uh, do you want Aspirin or something? I'm not exactly in a hurry to leave—"

"Go," Jimin whispers, cracking a helpless smile. "I'm okay, it's not—it's not you. I was thinking about something."

The boy nods and leaves, closing the door behind him.

He feels disgusting in his sheen of sweat, glistening tears, and someone else's come.

Jimin collapses back onto his bed, sniffling quietly as he stares up at the ceiling, picturing his face staring down at him with the most gentle smile he had ever seen. Eyes warmer than a hot cup of tea, with amber flecks like sticky, sweet curlicues of honey. The kind of chestnut emo fringe that fell over his eyes in the quirkiest way possible, the kind that made beanies worth wearing.

Except the boy he once knew and loved was no longer his; no longer his to hug, no longer his to kiss, no longer his to touch.

He had traded his smile for the cruelest smirk that any man or woman would slave over. His eyes were concealed by cold grey contacts, with streaks of silver that resembled a winter's ruthless blizzard. His hair now fell in icy blonde waves, parted to make way for his emotionless gaze.

Sometimes Jimin thought that maybe the breakup wasn't the worst part, but that the change was hardest.

Days slug by without any meaning or purpose. Nothing important, nothing to live for. But Jimin still carries on with shackles on his feet, with his heart weighed down by an anchor.

Instagram

[parkjk]: kim.taehyung posted a photo.

He sighs, the exhale uneven and trembling. The boy tosses his phone into his drawer then heads into his bathroom.

He peels off his shirt (he questions why he even had a shirt on when he was being fucked) and carelessly tosses it onto the milky tiled floor, its soft cotton fabric damp with sweat at his feet. While sitting down in the white porcelain tub, he reaches to turn the water on, stretching his back muscles.