Tether
Pairings: Doshik x Fem!reader
Summary: You don't know the man you love.
Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Unhealthy relationship dynamics, Manipulation, Mentions of Cheating, Murder, Misogyny, Femicide, Violence against women, Abuse, Threats, Vivid descriptions of murder, Gender Roles, Smut +18 (mdni), Sexualizing Murder, Degradation Kink, Violence Kink, Knife Play, Blood Play, Thigh riding, Dom!Doshik, Sub!Reader, Forced Orgasm, Dub/Con, Non/Con, Handsfree orgasm, Feral Sex, Dirty Talk, Unethical Smut
A/N: I'm not responsible for what you read.
This isn't you jumping to conclusions.
You're way too smart for that... way too smart to let yourself get played like this.
And yet here you were, quite literally suspecting that you've been played.
The human brain operates on trends- a series of eerily similar events in order to make a conclusive deduction.
Air leaves your trembling lips heavy and hot as you lay the dress down on the bed...
It's yellow... far too yellow to be anything you'd have bought for yourself. The stitching is poor and the floral pattern looks like it's been scraped down from your grandmother's wall. It's short and prissy and definitely not yours... and yet you find it here, in your space, a space you share. Amongst his things.
You slowly back away from the dress. With your plans of cleaning the apartment forgotten, you begin to pace around the dress, as if deducing whether its dirt stains and wrinkles could somehow gain life and lunge at you. The more you stare at it, the more you wonder if you've seen it before. The pattern. The length.
You're not sure whether you've slipped into a bit of hysteria but it feels like you've unconsciously looked at this dress before. Not once but time and time again…
“Fuck…” your throat closes as you chew on your thumbnail, a habit they've tried to beat out of you since childhood. Its back and stronger than ever because you're fucking angry.
You're not angry at the dress, you're just angry at everything it represents. This is the final nail in the coffin so to speak. The final thing to kill your relationship...
And what a glorious relationship it's been.
Doshik was a good boyfriend and even greater lover. He appreciated parts of your body you didn't know were possible. He didn't just appreciate it.
He came to it.
He held you tightly, fingers sinking into your pillowy stomach while he came inside you, multiple times on multiple occasions. The post orgasm glow would leave you wondering whether the man sleeping beside you was even real. Whether you really had this attractive man at your beck and call…
Despite this, a part of you had always known he'd be too good to be true and it began when he started taking longer hours at work.
"Sorry babe, something came up at the plant.” You remember that Monday night he hadn't shown up for dinner. His voice was apologetic. Soft. “It's all hands on deck for a few more hours,"
Your excitement deflated. Your heart sank as you sat in your wooden chair, in front of your cold supper, feeling all wooden and cold yourself.
"That's okay..."
"Dont do that," you could hear his smirk through the line, "don’t sulk.."
"Im not sulking."
"Yeah, you are-" his voice is lower, his lips closer to the mic, "I said I'm sorry, Princess-"
"And I said it's okay." You stare aimlessly ahead at the food. Not even knowing if he's dropped the call during this stretch of silence.
"I'll make it up to you tonight..."
"I'm sure you will." You knew he would. Every time Doshik arrived home from a particularly grueling shift, he ascended on your body. He ravished you. His hands would be everywhere all at once, shoving himself inside you with little regards for your protests or your weak little whimpers. He's all yours every time he comes back...
That's why his cheating doesn't make any sense.
"This is crazy," you mutter to yourself, staring down at the dress while your hands curl up into fists, "Im trying to make excuses for a cheating fucking asshole."
Why were you entertaining other possible conclusions when the most damning evidence is right in front of you?
You wonder if you should cry.
If you should curl up in a corner and mourn the loss of the love from a man you practically worshipped.
You nearly concede to the pity. Nearly.
The sound of the front door's keypad has you snapping out of your reverie.
"Honey! I'm home!" He loved saying that little cliché line ever since you moved into his little Seoul apartment. You loved it too. You thought it made him quirky, cute and a little dorky. You loved him.
That's why this hurts so badly...
"Babe?" You hear him take off his large work boots at the door before the heavy sound of his footfalls patter across the floor.
You're still staring at the dress.
Even when he enters.
"Babe, you didn't hear m-"
All is quiet.
5 long months and this is how he treated you… 5 months of cleaning his apartment, of defending him to your overly suspicious friends who just felt ‘uneasy’ around him. 5 months of cold dinners spent on a wooden stool staring aimlessly ahead. Now he's here, in the bedroom along with you, and you're both staring at the yellow dress and you're both silent.
Instead of enquiring about the elephant in the room, you move your attention to a smaller, but still undeniable elephant.
"Found a knife under your bed..." You placed it on the bed beside the yellow dress. It's gleaming and menacing and yet... it's still not as menacing as that flimsy piece of fabric.
"Aren't you going to say anything?”
In your periphery, he's as still as a statue. Like a predator trained to hunt, he watches you carefully.
“What would you like me to say?” He asks, poised and so undeniably in control it has your patience snapping…
“Tell me you're not cheating on me!” When you do finally face him, when you look him dead in the eye he doesn't flinch. There's a scowl, deep and ugly stretched across your face and yet, all you see in his eyes are nothing.
“I'm not cheating on you.” He walks over the bed and lays down like he's had a long day, like he's finally home, like there isn't anything wrong.
“You’re a good fucking liar,” you watch as he reclines on your shared bed, feet carelessly kicking aside the dress and you nearly want to scream.
“I'm not lying.” He shrugs, resting his head underneath his palms. “Come lay down with me…”
“You're unbelievable-”
“Honestly the fact that you only suspect me of cheating feels way better than anything else.” He laughs softly, while looking off into the distance, as if he'd told a joke only he was privy too. He wanted to get you in on it… on the joke… on the girl who wore that dress…
He doesn't really remember her name but he does remember her blood.
It was out of control. Or maybe he was out of control that night he did it. He admits he plunged the knife into her side rather messily. He'd taken her dress off first ‘thank God- but with nowhere in that little alleyway to discard it, he brought it home with him…
Doshik never made mistakes. He was as meticulous as they come but that night his blood was running hot. He needed to sink his cock inside you while the image of the girl's cut up body still remained fresh in his mind…
He hadn't cum so hard before.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
His eyes flit back over to you. This time, they have more feeling in them, they don't look soulless, they look human. He swings his legs over until he's seated upright.
“Nothing just… come here…” thinking about the girl in the yellow dress made him hard. He needed you. His perfect girl.
“Who's dress is that?”
He clenched his teeth, not appreciating all your questions. Not appreciating the fact that you weren't listening. Bad things happened with girls who didn't listen. He wishes you'd known that..
“You're not gonna believe a word I say so why bother?”
“Try me.”
He swears under his breath before raking his fingers through his hands. “It's my sister's.”
“Rich..”
He claps his hands in frustration “See!”
“Why is it wet?”
Because it had been raining that night.
“She visited while you were at work. It rained and she left it under the bed. I let her wear your clothes instead.” The lie leaves his lips in a precise, almost admirable kind of performance. Even now, while he looks at you with hungry, lifeless eyes, he's able to talk himself out of some shit.
“You already had this lie cooked up, huh?” His eyes twitches the second those words leave your mouth. And for the first time ever, Doshik contemplates killing you…
He'd hate to do that. You'd proven to be a more than suitable girlfriend. The thought of doing you any kind of harm was almost unfathomable. He wouldn't dare… but the more you acted like a bitch, the more he was getting flashbacks to all the women in his life that thought they were better than him.
“Its not a fucking lie, cunt.” It spills out of him and he doesn't rush to apologize. No. He watches your reaction with the same darkened gaze. He watches your composure falter at the blatant degradation. He watches your fold your hands in discomfort. He watches your legs twitch. He got you.
“What was the dress doing under the bed?”
“My sister's a mess! I don't know, don't ask me!”
You look away as if trying to come up with more counter attacks. He takes the time then to slowly lift himself up to reach for the palm of your hand. You flinch momentarily but he doesn't let you go. Instead, he pulls you over towards him. You stagger ahead. Following his movements like he's your tether.
“And…” he places you in between his large open legs and you can feel your resolve cracking as his palms skate along your curves, “W-What about the knife?”
He leans forward, resting his forehead against your tummy. Your fingers find his hair like its second nature and he sighs, “What about the knife?”
“Why was it under our bed?” You ask.
He leans back, his arms still holding your hips as he looks up at you. “You want me to show you?”
In the distance, you hear the hum of the fridge and the sound of the true crime podcast you left on, still humming on the counter. Doshik leans over until he has the big, sharp knife in his hands. The memories immediately hit him. They hit him so hard he has to grip your waist tight. How he sunk the knife into her. How he came back and fucked you after.
He picks up the knife and rips into your camisole without a single thought. You don't even gasp. You stay completely still, watching him cut through the fabric like a mad man. The sound of flimsy material ripping reverberates and you don't realize you're shaking until he's done and you're standing in front of him in nothing but your black cotton panties, smelling like nervousness and bleach from when you were cleaning.
“I wanted to surprise you…”
Somehow, you find your voice, “S-Surprise me, how?”
“Knife play,” he lifted the knife up so you could see it, “You always said you wanted to try it…”
“Doshik-”
“I'm not cheating on you…” he's seated on the bed and looking up at you with all the truth of a man who's holding a weapon in one hand and squeezing your hip in the other.
“But I'll be the bad guy if you want me to be... would like that?” He tilts his head before scanning his eyes down your body until they land on your panties, “Now take these off by yourself.”
The urge to obey him was strong. Like an automatic response, your body wants to carry out.
“Doshik,” you whisper with your eyes on the knife, "I'm not in the mood…”
“Take your fucking clothes off or I'll stab you.”
It was terrible.
The fear hit first and the arousal hit harder. In fact, you're not sure which came first. It all stirred and stormed inside you until your knees threatened to give out underneath you.
His face breaks out into that charming, lopsided grin…
“Play long.” He urges before pushing hands in-between your legs. As if your body was something he needn't ask to touch, "You're wet.”
“You're distracting me.”
“So what if I am?” He replies before leaning back.
“Take off your panties. Do it slow. I like to watch.”
He unbuttons his own jeans with his half lidded eyes still plastered on your cunt's imprint through your cotton underwear. By now you really are turned on and your fingers hook into the sides of your cotton panties and you push it down because your mind has descended into the depths of subspace…
“I really should fucking stab you for thinking im a disloyal asshole.” His belt clinks as his fingers rush to uncover his cock through his jeans. With the knife, he pats his thigh, “Sit here.” He says.
Even after all this time, even with a knife aimed at you, you hesitate.
“But… what if I’m too heav-”
You flinch, feeling the cold tip of the knife kiss the side of your torso, threatening to push deeper in… he looks at you, eyes dead, head tilted.
You lower yourself on his thigh..
“That's it…” he laughs exasperatedly, “I can feel you soaking my jeans…” he squeezes his cock and your heart beats even a little bit faster…
He aims the knife right at your tit.
Start to move.
“Doshik, I really don't feel-”
“I said fucking move-” And he cuts you. He actually cuts you. You're not sure when it happened, all you feel is the sharp stinging pain and the warmth of your blood running down your side. He wipes the bloodied tip of the blade along your tit before reaching up and licking it all up. Your hips move on their own and your hands find his hair as he brings your nipple into his mouth. You can feel the knife between your warm bodies. It's cold and menacing and it has your cunt squeezing as you grind down on his thigh.
“There we go…” Doshik's hand slides down your curves until it lands on your ass, urging you along. Between you both, his cock twitches. “You’re gonna make me cum handsfree,” he admits, before sucking at your nipple again.
That admission has you moving your hips frantically once more. Moans spill out of you and he presses the knife into your side again. It doesn't stop you, it just spurs you on. He could cut you- he could fucking kill you and you'd let it happen, only if it meant you get to come.
“That feels nice, doesn't it?” He asks in that smug way of his. Although, buried underneath the smugness is an undeniable hunger… he's lost. Thinking about the girl in the yellow dress, feeling your weight press down on him, “You wanna fucking use me to cum, huh? You fucking whore-”
“Oh my god-”
“Stupid, fucking worthless cunt, I should kill you,” his arms wrap around you, his own hips moving like his humping the space between you. He's completely delirious and you're not too far off. Your mouth hangs open as you hunt the feeling down. You let his vile words act as your tether. The only thing bringing you closer and closer.
“How can I trust-” the first shivers wrack through your body as you try to think straight, “H-How can I trust y-”
“Shut the fuck up-” he moans, “Shut the fuck up and cum with me,” he cranes his neck back, his black hair stuck to his slick forehead, “Shut the fuck up or-”
He breathes heavily, bringing you impossibly closer. Doshik always talks crazy during sex but these were new heights.
“Shut the fuck up… or I'll stab you in the cunt- fuck-” his eyes gloss over just as your own vision begins to wane.
“F-Fuck,” your pussy flutters against him and his cock twitches and tne pressure builds between you both like blood rushing under skin. He thinks about the blood. All that blood. And then cum. He thinks about cum.
“N-Next time I'll make you wear the dead bitch’s dress- FUCK-” his voice breaks as he forces you to grind down harder. Hard enough to have a broken scream pouring from your throat. His vile words, the images it brings to your head, it all prolongs this orgasm that basically feels like fucking death. It's enough to kill you. You're sure of it.
“Handsfree… you made me cum handsfree…”
That was the most intense, most mindblowing orgasm you ever had. So mind-blowing, you slip into sleep right there on his lap. While you doze off the last thing you hear is the hum of the fridge, his heavy breathing, and the host of your favourite true crime podcast telling the tale of the disappearance of an 23 year old girl in a bright yellow dress…
