#t;san | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hh0320 · 1 month ago

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. ♡ ۫ . ୧ ⠁ room shots.

🪐 synopsis. you’re certain, if he moves away from that window, if he trespasses the invisible wall between you and gets what he came here for—there won’t be anything that either of you can do to stop him. he’ll ruin you. you’ll let him.

🪐 warnings. use of pet names, melancholy, alcohol abuse, rough play, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex.

🪐 word count. 3.6k

Three weeks.

The heart was still raw, tender. The flesh decaying, the sheets warm, the wine glasses untouched, as they were, as he left them on your window, the red deep, surface rippling every day with the evening train.

Sometimes, late at night, surrounded by unshakable silence, and only ever in the dark, you’d touch between your thighs and swear you could still feel his mouth hot on your aching cunt, his hair tickling the sensitive skin around it, his forehead feverish, resting against your pubic bone, his favorite spot to lay. It used to mortify you, that he would do this. You’d get all shy and red-faced, hiding your face in your hands, trying with a humiliating desperation to close your legs and push him away.

San would chuckle at your fickle attempts and pin you down on the mattress—the bed in the corner you cannot fall asleep on anymore—trailing open mouthed kisses from your navel all the way to the tips of your feet, whispering filthy things, things he did to you over and over again, despite your weak protests and even weaker threats.

‘I love this,’ he’d murmur with eyes closed, head returning to the place he knew most intently. ‘You give it to me so easily, it can’t be anything but mine. Here is where I can be closest to you. Show me you understand, sweetheart, because there’s no other way I can explain it.’

You did not understand. As he rings the doorbell to your apartment over and over like a madman, you cannot understand. Twenty-one days. He left after an argument over nothing of importance, and you haven’t seen him since. There were things that he’d said, words that you logically knew but could not comprehend, not when they came out of his mouth, and even now you refused to acknowledge. For all intents and purposes, this had been a break-up.

The break-up. One and only. San was an atomic bomb, a nuclear weapon that had wiped everything from your map, all familiarity, all dream of waking up after and somehow surviving his disappearance. You’d been a blank canvas when he met you, complete in his presence, completely empty in his absence. He’d taken all sun, all meaning, all joy and purpose with him, and left a harrowing death behind as white as snow, cascading over your entire life, sinking you down under.

Do you open the door? Do you let someone like that back in, after the wound had barely stopped resembling the shape of a being that could irrevocably hurt you; after the bleeding had finally managed to stop, and the tears had dried?

Let me mourn in peace, you plead in your mind. Go, and never come back, as your gaze remains locked on the doorknob, his shadow visible under the chipped door. You’ve been meaning to repaint. He’d offered to help you, to get all the parts you couldn’t reach, to ease the burden of mundane tasks that seemed to overwhelm you the most. Now, he stands on the other side, like a stranger. Self proclaimed.

You never agreed to this.

“How long are you going to pretend you’re not in there?”

Your heart does somersaults, your system kickstarting, voice operated. The flowers on your nightstand startle awake, unbending their back, proud and freshly cut once again. The lamp above your head stops flickering, your sink stops leaking. Your house was holding its breath, waiting for its unofficial owner.

Strange you don’t feel the same relief. Grief has wrapped vines around you and is squeezing with every haggard inhale. San is not using his key. He has one, you know because you gave it to him. He’s waiting for your consent. He’s being kind. Considerate.

You hate him a little, you think. You have no kindness for him, no compassion. He hurt you. A different sort of hurt than the one you allowed him. A hurt that went against everything you thought he was.

“Sweetheart,” he tried again. The pet name stabbed at you, pointed, a well-honed dagger. “Let me see you. ‘S all I want. Allow me. Please.”

“Why?” It comes out without you meaning to speak. The bitterness is choking you, thick and heavy in your chest. “Why should I?”

A long pause. The shadow shifts. You hear him sigh deeply, a sad sound that cuts your anger in two. Is there a possibility he’s hurting as much as you? Could there be an explanation for this mess he put you both through?

“I have no answer for that,” he replies, his voice faint. “You’re holding the reins, baby. It’s your choice.”

For a long time, you don’t move. You think, surely he’ll leave.

Now.

But he doesn’t. He stays put, and waits patiently. He has hope. He thinks you naive and foolish. Taken for granted. (He doesn’t.)

You reach for the knob out of spite. Greet him with all your broken heart, and find his soul bared in front of your eyes, pulsing miserably, half extinguished.

The usual glint in his gaze is muted, his face gaunt, pale. His hands are stuffed in the dark pockets of his coat, an impenetrable object that has never before revealed any weakness to you. It springs tears in your eyes where you thought there were none left to cry. San, the sweet man that had been whispering your name against your temple like the most ardent prayer every night, the man you never needed a label with because he was above all, above everything—

He towered over you like a place that was forbidden to enter. His raven hair had grown, the smudge of sleeplessness painted under his eyes like a repentance. Was he punishing himself for what he did? Did you want him to?

He looked so sad. His expression unreadable, but you could see his eyes roaming over you with a raw urgency, like he wanted to make sure you were unharmed, like there was nothing else he cared about in the whole world. You don’t know how much time passes before someone stirs.

It’s you. You’re the first one to break, moving aside for him to pass, for him to enter once again, and if it happens twice, at least you know it was your fault this time. You love him. You tried to forget him, but it’s too early to move on. He knows this. You hate that too. You hate it the most.

He looks around like he doesn’t belong, and then he stops. His eyes fall on the wine bottle, on the glasses. You watch him watch them. You left them there on purpose. You left them there because you couldn’t bear to touch them, and if he ever came back—you said this to yourself many times—you would make him wash them. You would pass him the towel to dry their rims, and you’d let him open your cupboards and store them where they go.

You’d leave it unsaid. You know me this well. You know me this well, and yet you dared to leave me anyway.

“You saw me, then,” you say, willing your hands to stop shaking, willing your voice to sound impassive. Who were you kidding. Your cheeks were wet. His jaw was clenched, locked at the sight. “Is that all?”

His hands come out of his coat. You notice how tightly shut they are, stuck to his sides as if gravity itself was pulling them down with extreme force. His boots were shiny leather, slightly worn out with use, the black of his pants pressed neatly to his long legs. He looked so put together, like nothing could ever possibly affect him. (You’re wrong.)

“Are you eating well?” Then something impossible happens. Something that, in the beginning, sounded like a harmless cough to you, turned into a wretched sob he shoved behind one of his fists, a dry, guttural sound that shook you to the core and scared you back. San rubs at his face once, exasperated, lonely, so impossibly lonely, his eyes coming away bloodshot.

“My fucking God, I can’t stand the sight of you so far away from me.”

There’s nothing you can say. Everything’s lodged in your throat, tearing at the flesh but ultimately unable to come up. You’re too shocked to speak, too stunned to react. You can only stare. You can only see him come apart at the seams.

He’s drunk, you realize in an absent sort of way. He’s fucking drunk. He came to you like this, a kicked dog, searching for his owner. But you were the one kicked. You were the one without an owner. Why, then, did it not feel like it anymore?

What has he done?

“Why are you here, San?”

“There’s nowhere else, sweetheart. Nowhere else I can go. Nowhere I belong.”

Lies, you vehemently refuse. You left that night. You had somewhere to go that night. He looks at you like you’re the only source of light. It fans a flame inside you that burns brighter and brighter. You’re afraid it’ll consume you before you’re done with him.

“Did you get your answer?” Behind your eyelids, a party, two people dancing, the distance between them carved with a knife, set in stone. Then, San, ruining everything. Going for blood. “Did you find out what you couldn’t get out of me?”

The man in front of you flinches, as if you hit him across the face. You want to, your palms are itching, but the thought of causing him pain is unfathomable. He was always the one drawing it out of you. Pleasure and pain. Pain and something worse. The recognition on his face is enough to erase all else.

This is how you two communicated best. You gave your body over to him. He did all, he did everything else. Trust absolute.

“Don’t do that,” he shakes his head categorically, and shrugs his coat off in an attempt to cool off, moving by the window, pain self inflicted. It’s not anger what he’s feeling, rather . . . a craving. An insatiable hunger. A longing desire. As gruesome and just as cruel as anything that could have his fists flying. “I never doubted you. It was me. I was furious with myself.”

A twist of the knife. Time wasted, time taken away from you because of a mistake. You cannot forgive that. It makes you feel better that you now know—so can’t he.

“So, that’s it then? All this for some heroic sense of self sacrifice? You broke my heart because you broke yours?”

He signaled with his eyes you were trudging dangerous waters. His straight brows falling heavy, expression becoming one of stoic rage, a careful edge to it that you had to walk through. You’ve understood it many times, have breathed deep breaths and taken your time with it. It means ‘don’t test me’. It means ‘me and you are the same, and I am telling you to stop.’

“How can I take care of you when I get like that?” He crossed the Red Sea to reach you, but he still wouldn’t touch you. From up close, making the effort to crane your neck brought all the memories back and the tears hot and running. San watched them fall with utmost difficulty, his hand raising to your cheek, a phantom haunting. “Do you even know, sweetheart, what you fucking do to me? I could lose my mind over you. It would be so easy . . .”

The bitterness that spills out of you in the form of a crazed, manic laugh does nothing to stop your heart from contracting all over again. “Then do it. Do it. Show me!” Your hands come up to bang against his castle wall of a chest, against stone and more stone. “Show me. You wanted to leave so bad, but what about me? What about me?” Uncontrollable, the avalanche of emotion. It tumbles out of you violently, it rages against everything that he is. “It was nothing to leave me behind. Nothing. That’s what you did. That’s all you did.”

San shakes his head, absolving everything. He binds your wrists under one big hand, and pulls you on him, his mouth crushing against yours ruinously, and as always, like every single time he does that, everything bleeds away like rain on glass.

It hasn’t been twenty-one days, instead mere hours, and he didn’t leave you as much as he went to get a change of clothes and came back right after, like promised. Time is impossible around him, it forgets to exist. He silences your mind, and induces memory loss. His strong legs carry you back to your bed, and when he lays you down, your bones sigh in relieved rest.

He never breaks away from you, not once, and you think it’s so he never has to hear those words come out your mouth ever again. As he pulls your hands over your head, you open your eyes to see he’s moving downwards, over your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there, taking what has been left to pale over, no longer a painting of purple hues, but instead the blank canvas once again.

“I’ll say this to you only once,” he whispers fervently behind your ear, his knee parting your legs with ease, your hands reaching between you to unbuckle his belt, unzip his trousers, claw at his shirt. No time wasted. A river sweeping along everything in its path.

“Only once, because I cannot fucking bear it any longer,” fingers digging into your scalp as yours wrap around his cock, a hissed breath, a rocky exhale, then his tongue parting your lips, washing over you, washing away, taking for his own. “He’s in love with you. My best fucking friend, in love with my girl and I had to choose. I had to choose, because I love you both,” his erection pressed against your entrance as you angle your wrist, the tip rubbing on your clit as his hips begin to move, to familiarize themselves again—

“Because me being here hurts him, and me not being here hurts us.”

You hide your face in the crook of his neck, too lost in the feeling of him to realize the extent of his agony. What he’s really trying to tell you. Wooyoung has always been important to San. It’s been the two of them since before you came into the picture, since the beginning of existence it’s felt like, at times.

But as San shoves two fingers in your mouth and forces you to coat them with your saliva, as he curses at the sight and orders you to open wide and spits inside, as he shifts on his knees and pulls your panties to the side, as he delves deep and curls those same digits in your cunt—you forget what he means. You don’t think of the loss, or the sacrifice.

He’s here, his weight intoxicating, his breathing heavy, his hard cock arched upwards, touching his stomach. He wants to fuck you. He wants you. He never truly left.

“Please . . .” You moan brokenly, body writhing under what he only can provoke. “I missed you, please . . .”

His hair falls over his forehead, over his eyes, finally the last pretend making way for the man he is in your bed, for how he is when he’s with you. The warmth radiating through him is enough to solar an entire ecosystem, but his eyes, his mocha eyes—

They stare at you with something akin to marvel. Something that could go to war for nothing. I could tear myself apart for you, they say. I would betray my country. I would turn away from my friend.

It’s a sobering fact.

“Please what?” He asks, fucking his fingers into you, other hand rubbing over his lengthy cock sloppily, rocking with you to an invisible rhythm only your bodies understand. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You don’t even have to say it, your gaze is pleading enough.

When San enters you, you burst into tears and hold him close, tight against your breast, terrified for what will come next. Afraid for the moment this is over with.

“Why did you leave?” You sob at the top of his head, and he wraps his arms around your entire body, lifting you off the mattress to bring you on his lap, the position deeper than anything ever, the connection inexplainable.

“I don’t know,” he kisses your collarbone, your earlobe, pacifies you, brushes your hair away from your face, pistoling into you with fervor, with longing, begging for forgiveness, for retribution. “I don’t know, baby . . . Hush now, hush . . . I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,” a pitiful lullaby, words you can’t hear.

He lets you bounce on him, lets you hold onto his face and hatefuck him, lets you make him feel like shit and takes it all in stride. You need this, he knows. You won’t let him anywhere near your heart if he doesn’t give you this.

And when you ask him to slap you, he does so tenderly, he does so because he loves you and you’re surrendering so beautifully, and no one’s ever given him this much power. He hopes you know he’ll never take advantage of it, but even as he thinks this, he’s aware you probably think he already has.

“I wanted him to,” you gasp as he bites on your shoulder, hands palming underneath your ass, lifting you high, dropping you savagely onto his rock hard erection. It hurts, but your cunt squeezes around him, soaking wet, aching for more. “He asked me. Would you let me? He asked. I almost said yes. I wanted to understand why.”

San growls with the effort it takes him to not lash out. Putting distance between you for a second, he pulls out and flips you on your stomach, the room spinning, the window open, as he presses your head against your pillow, and takes you from behind, hard and fast, your pussy clenching, sore already. How you like it.

He spanks you. Again, and again, and again, until he pulls tears out of your eyes. You think he will always be able to. You think you’ll be crying oceans of tears for him, forever and ever. With every rejection, no matter how small. You love him as much as you love your life. Little by little, suffering.

“Why would you say that?” He grunts, nails digging crescents at your hips. “You want to hurt me, is that it, darling? You want me miserable. Why would you fucking tell me?”

Slap.

“Admit it,” you cry out. Slap. “You can’t stand it because you can’t have it for yourself. Because you refuse to.”

His rough hand coming from behind to rub circles against your clit, brutally beating against your raw center, drawing your orgasm out of you prematurely. You whine and try to push off, to get away from his rampant storm, from his malicious ministrations.

The world tilts at its axis and you’re being pulled by your hair and forced to face him. His expression is that of a wild beast, tear stains dried on high cheekbones, red blotched and palming his cock, releasing on your stomach, a man mad with grief, unrestrained, obsessed.

San crawls down suddenly and hooks his arms under your thighs, pulling your crotch directly to his mouth, licking at your juices as if starved. You fight to break free but to no avail. He’s locked on you. Locked to what he missed. He’s come to take it all back.

And then?

“Tell me it turns you on to hear me talk about another man fucking me,” you lean into the fantasy, feeling his tongue lap between your lips, the smell of what you’ve done enveloping your senses. “Or is it specifically this man?”

“You’re out of line, sweetheart,” he spits on your glistening folds and sucks hard on the little bundle of nerves, making you see stars, making you wish you were dead. “Be careful now.”

“Or what?” You pant. “Admit it,” softer. Sadder.

When you come again, he finally rests his temple on the inside of your leg, a man ruined, exhausted, poring over his work of art. Your fingers rest in his hair, playing with the sweaty strands, your body shaking, your heart pounding.

“Nothing to you,” he rasps. “Doesn’t hold a goddamned candle.”

Your eyes involuntary fall closed, the pit of your stomach hollow. “You’re lying.”

“No,” San replies. “You want me to, but I haven’t. Not once.”

“Everyone lies.”

“Not me. Not to you.”

Nothing but your breathing returning to normal for a while, the wind from outside picking up, sky nearly black now.

His breath.

Your breath.

“I wouldn’t mind, you know,” you say very quietly, willing your voice to keep steady. “If you brought him. If you wanted to.”

A warning bite on your thigh. The ceiling is painted in shadows. His scent is overwhelming.

“Stop talking about it,” he cautions. “Please.”

His breath.

Your breath.

Then, “Don’t forgive me.” A long pause.

A car drives by. Goosebumps rise on your skin, unwelcome, and yet it’s warm where San’s seed is on you. You don’t want to get up. You don’t want to move an inch. If you ruin this he might leave.

Your fingers continue caressing. A lump rises in your throat.

“I love you,” you say.

“Don’t say that.”

“You know I do.”

“I don’t deserve it,” as he wraps tighter around your lower body, pressing his nose against your opening. You think he’s trying to suffocate himself in you. “I haven’t deserved you for a single moment,” he confesses. “Yet I keep coming back. I can’t stop myself. You’re every road I take.”

Your sharp inhale.

His soft kiss.

Your bodies, melding together, again and again.

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