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minghaoss-archive · 5 years

Text

neptune•doyoung(m)

"The sun's gone dim, and

The moon's turned black;

For I loved him, and

He didn't love back."

warnings : smut, angst.

part 1

note : listen to the song for reference. i hope you like the arctic monkeys x :)

There's something extremely terrible about waiting. Waiting for his calls, waiting for his texts, waiting for his touch, his kisses, waiting for him-is terrible.

You stir your cold coffee around for the umpteenth time, lick away the chocolatey bitter residue from the corner of your mouth. See you've been glancing at the clock again and again and again.

Doyoung's profession wasn't as demanding as he made it out to be, surprisingly, it was just that he was obsessed with perfecting his job. With no obligation, he was, by dictionary definition, a workaholic. His love for work wasn't something that particularly bothered you, not until it started to take up too much space in your relationship.

Days roll by, and all you do is wait. Wait for him to come home so you can have your husband to yourself. Everyday you tell yourself it’s okay because he loves you. It’s okay because you’re his wife, he’ll always come back to you. Even if he isn’t with you all day. Everyday you forgive-but not today. Because today, today you’ve been married for an entire year.

Marriage. There’s an acrid aftertaste of the word on your tongue. You roll the platinum ring around your finger, is it really worth it? He hadn’t left you any texts or calls. No greetings, just a note on the fridge that said he’d be home by 8.

The clock reads past midnight.

You laugh sardonically, feeling stupid at the little brewing expectation he’d left in you, feeling stupid in the lingerie you’d put on, feeling stupid as you took it off and resorted to his pale blue oversized shirt, feeling stupid when Ten, his friend gave you an anniversary parcel, when he sent his regards but your husband didn’t. Feeling stupid when you heated up the pasta you’d made for the pair of you, to eat all by yourself. Feeling stupid stupid stupid. You feel stupid.

Now the cherry on top of the stale cake that was your crumbling marriage, a photo of Doyoung with a businesswoman floating around in his firm’s Facebook page. You knew it was childish but you couldn’t help but feel threatened by her youthful smile, her confident aura but mostly-the way your husband’s arm snaked around her waist. You couldn’t help picture it, his hands on her body, his lips on her skin-instead of yours.

Snap.

You cut the heart shaped baked meal in an ugly half and eat in silence, anger and envy threatening to spill out on the kitchen counter.

Pausing to chew down the chunk of food, you have your heart caught in your throat when you hear the keypad being pressed in.

He takes his heavy shoes off and sighs at the way his body feels at the overworking it’s been through. His feet shuffle against the wooden floor, his lips curling into a smile when he sees you feasting at the kitchen.

“Hey, baby.” You don’t look at him, he hugs you from behind, kissing the crook of your shoulder. You nudge him back, pushing him slightly so you could get up. He has picked up a little on your mood as his eyes pursue their destination as you move to put the dishes in the sink.

“You’re early.” Doyoung sighs, running a hand through his black hair, following you around the kitchen as you clean up.

“I had a lot of-”

“Work. Yeah, I know. The whole world knows.” You can feel days of pent up anger boiling over. Scrubbing away the skin of the porcelain plate, you press your lips into a thin line.

“Baby. I’m really tired, just...come to bed with me. I’m sorry I was late.” You laugh bitterly, feeling tears blurring your vision. You let the dish disappear in the sink and lean your head against the cool material of the counter.

“I can’t do this.” Doyoung is alarmed by your confession, shock written all over his face. “I’m tired of waiting for you. I’m just so fucking tired.”

"Can't do what?" He asks, huffing, forehead masked by a layer of his fingers. When you remain silent and stare at him with a tightened lips and a look in your eyes which says something he doesn't want to know, Doyoung stops looking at all.

“Can you not do this everytime I come home, jesus, please, just one night, can’t we just not fight? Clearly not.” His brows are furrowed into an angry glare.

“Do you even love me? What were you doing with her if you were so busy?” Doyoung scoffs at your accusation, infuriated that you’d even ask a question as offensive.

“What kind of a question is that? Of course, I do.” He nears you with a hand on his hip. “I wasn’t doing anything, we had a meeting with their company,” his voice is raised, louder than before as he looks at your unconvinced face. “So I came home late, baby, I said I’m sorry, I can’t control work. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, why are you acting like this?”

“It’s nothing out of the ordinary? Doyoung, it was our anniversary today!” His face softens at this, anger melting away at the wake of realization. Tears finally roll down your cheeks, you try to recall what it was like seeing him smiling at you, holding you, but there’s nothing. Not a speck. You haven’t spent time with him for long and you can’t bear it.

You turn your face away from his gripping gaze.

He walks to you to take you in his arms, to kiss you, touch you, make love to you, apologise to you, like he did so many times before. Guilt holds him down as you push him away from your body with the length of your arms. “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m sorry, baby, I’ll make it up to you, please. Please, let me make it up to you.”

He cages you in a hug, despite your restrictions . You seem to melt into his touch, the psychedelic after blow of his cologne wafting into your nostrils paralyzes you.

His lips press against your forehead, hands wrapping around your waist. Once you’ve let him cradle you, he pulls apart to look at your face. His thumb brushes against your cheekbone. You don’t look at him. “I’ll take you out tomorrow. I promise. I’ll take time off of work. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His apology sounds sincere as he presses his forehead to yours.

“Look at me please.” You sigh, recovering from your crying fit. “Please, baby, tell me it’s okay. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t forgive me. I dont know what I’ll do if ..if..I..don’t have you.” Your chest swells with pride, body loosening as your temper channels itself to a different route.

“You hurt me. So much.” You whisper, your fingers pulling him closer by his collar, your lips ghost over his, “I want to hurt you just as much.” Your admission piqués his interest, his brow shoots up as if catching your implication. It’s a weird thing, how the atmosphere shifts around an animalistic want when he’s so close to you.

You want him to fuck your brains out, so that the thought of him with her is erased, so you place your cool palm against his clothed abs, feeling him hug you tighter.

“I know, I know, baby.. let me make it up to you.” He says, ebony colored pupils bleeding into his black irises as he carefully watches you touch him. Your fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt, as they trail down and rest at his hips. “What are you doing?” Comes his authorative tone, it makes you want to press your thighs together, a familiar heat begins pooling in your underwear.

Doyoung was always the one in control, be it in at his work desk or when he was touching his wife. He hates losing it, he hates how his body burns at the manner you’re touching him. He hates how it makes him lose his fucking mind.

He hisses when you palm him through his pants, mouth falling open at the way your stare never leaves his. His hand takes a hold of yours, as he looks directly into your eyes. “You’re such a bad little girl, you know?” His fingers find themselves wrapping around your throat, he tips your head back.

He kisses the exposed expanse of your neck, his teeth clambering down on a sensitive spot. A moan slips from your throat. “You’d have me right here, wouldn’t you?” He leads you, his long legs maneuver the pair of you to your shared bedroom.

He sits back on the white sheets, drunk in desire, there he stares at you, with your back pressed against the closed door in just his tee shirt, the thought of you in only your underwear under that shirt makes him feel like a madman, you’re his, everything you are is his. Maybe it’s because he was so close to losing you just a few moments before that he feels like he might be robbed of his sanity if he doesn’t touch all of you right now.

He wants you. He tells himself, like a mantra, over and over again.

His eyes darken whilst he continues loosening his tie.

He does you a favor, in spreading out his legs as he lounges on the sheets with his palms supporting him. He has a prominent bulge in his pants that makes you want to savour him. “I’ll give you whatever you want, darling, I’m all yours.”

Yours, that’s right, Doyoung was yours. No one else’s. He could be no one else's. “What do you want, hm? Tell me. Don’t be shy.”

You bite your lip in embarrassment, your cheeks stinging as you think of voicing what you desire. “I want you in my mouth.” His face is pulled into a smile as he taps the space between his legs with his foot. “Sit.” You do as he says, your hands on his thighs, fingers grazing the silky material of his pants.

You help him undress, his hips lifting up so you can peel it off of his body. His articles drop away from his body, his cock now flushed an angry red in your palm.

You begin with kitten licks before taking the entirety of his hardness in your mouth, he sighs at gesture. His hand shifting from the bed so he can push your hair back from your face. Your eyes never leave his face. “You’re so good, baby, such a good girl for me.”

You bob your head around him, rubbing him off with your hands in the process. His hips jerk forward and hit the back of your mouth, he groans at the way your teeth chafe at his cock.

Your throat feels sore from the way you’re sucking off, you circle your mouth and drag him out. You spit on his cock, letting the liquid lubricate him enough for fucking your nasty little mouth. “Fuck.” He says at the lewd sight. You close your eyes whilst twitches inside.

He hums, his cum shooting at the roof of your mouth, “Come here.” he drags you by your hair, your thighs on either side of his lap. He kisses you, his tongue licking your mouth clean. “Fuck me.” He says, pressing your thighs.

You comply, letting his pretty fingers drag your panties down as his palms travel up your shirt and grab a hold of your breasts. His voice comes out in moans, mouth falling open as you sit down on him. Your hips roll together, sweat kissing your skin, you feel complete. You stomach starts to burn from the slapping of skin, the coil had a toe curling effect on you.

When the pace of his thrusts come to a halt, you whimper in a confused manner. He lifts you up so he’s pulled out, and then pushes you back down on his length, your stomach bulges at the action, the sight so weirdly satisfying, to see him fill you right up. He thrusts into you slowly, little by little you crumble at his hands, like you did so many many times- you cum around him in just a few ragged thrusts.

When he pulls out and you clean up, he tells you he loves you. “Round two?” You slap his shoulder, getting into bed. “Not today, you don’t deserve it.”

It seems that your night goes away in undisturbed peace, with relief that your husband can finally spend time with you. You sleep with a rapidly beating heart, in his arms. Being his and him being yours.

You are awake to the sight of Doyoung’s bare back, the sunshine kisses his back in silver, you frown at the way he goes tapping on his phone, recognition washing over you at a familiar face from the icon, her very youthful smile resurrecting itself from last night.

Her : You forgot your docs last night at the office.

A feeling of relief washes over you. You didn’t know what to expect but your insecurities, envy, towards her fueled this shred of doubt. You hug him tighter, glad that he’s not slipping from in between your fingers.

“Come back to bed..” You kiss his shoulder, “Please.” You coo lovingly but Doyoung shrugs you off. “I can’t.” He sighs, his hands drag his pants up. “Why?”

“I gotta go work.” He leans in to kiss your forehead, but you flinch away. You realize even after last night, nothing has changed. He was still going to leave you, and you were still going to wait. The fact that he fed you with the bullshit, that he’d take a few days off, that he’d make it up, that he was sorry, even after all that- he’s still leaving you behind.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He says, noticing the weird change in your demeanor.

“I want a divorce.”

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