#bound curse

"Bound Curse"

Title: "Bound Curse" : Stray Kids fanfiction

Pairing: Seungmin x Reader Female

Genre: Dark Fantasy | Horror Romance | Folklore Fantasy | Monster AU

Warnings: graphic violence, gore, imprisonment and captivity, possessive love.

Summary: The pit was meant to hold a mistake, but it remembered you long after the village forgot what it had buried, and memory is a dangerous thing to give a curse.

The first body was found in the river.

The skin was intact, pale and swollen, caught on stones like driftwood. At first glance, it looked like drowning. That was what the elders said. That was what they wanted people to believe.

Then someone rolled the corpse over.

The chest cavity had been opened from the sternum down. Not torn. Not hacked. The ribs had been separated with care, cartilage cut clean. The heart was missing. The lungs were gone. The stomach had been removed whole, without rupture, as if someone had reached inside and lifted the organs free.

There were no bite marks.

There were handprints inside the body.

Seungmin arrived three days later.

He looked ordinary enough—mud on his boots, hair tied back, eyes dark from travel. He asked for food and shelter. He spoke politely. He stayed close to the fire at night and listened more than he talked.

The disappearances continued.

Always at night. Always without struggle. People left their homes and never returned. When they were found, their bodies were opened with the same meticulous precision. Flesh peeled back. Organs missing. Bones left stacked beside them, arranged neatly, reverently.

Fear turned to panic. Panic turned to accusation.

Someone said Seungmin had been seen walking toward the river at night.

Someone else said they heard him humming.

They dragged him from the house he was staying in before dawn.

He didn’t fight.

They broke his arms first.

The sound carried through the village, sharp and wet. They dislocated his shoulders, snapped the bones at the elbow, twisted his wrists until tendons gave way. He screamed then, a raw, human sound that made some of them hesitate.

So they kept going.

They cut him open to look inside.

Knives parted skin along his abdomen. Blood spilled freely, steaming in the cold air. Fingers probed his body, digging, searching for something unnatural. When they didn’t find it, they grew angry.

They removed his organs while he was still breathing.

The liver came first. Then one lung. Then the other. They cut his heart free last, hands slick, faces pale with disbelief as his body continued to twitch, chest still rising in shallow, useless motions.

He did not die.

They buried what remained.

They threw his body into a pit carved into stone and packed earth over him, shoveling until the sound of movement stopped. They poured salt into the grave. They drove iron rods down through the soil, pinning him in place.

They built the village over the pit.

Years passed.

The village survived.

The pit did not stay quiet.

Something grew in the dark.

Seungmin’s body learned new rules. Flesh thickened where it had been cut away. Bone spread and reinforced itself. Cavities sealed without organs inside them, hollow spaces filling with heat and pressure instead of blood. His nerves did not die; they multiplied, knitting pain into something constant and useful.

Hunger became structure.

Sound carried through the soil. Footsteps. Voices. Heartbeats above him, dozens of them, night after night. He listened until he could tell who was walking by the weight of their steps, who was afraid, who was careless.

Your family was tasked with maintenance.

Once a month, the pit was opened just enough to lower offerings. Raw meat. Buckets of blood. Sometimes entire animals, still warm.

You were the one who went down.

You didn’t look at him at first. You focused on the ropes, the stone walls, the way the air pressed heavy against your lungs. You told yourself there was nothing left of the man they had buried.

Then he spoke.

“You bring more than they used to,” he said.

His voice came from everywhere, vibrating through the stone. When you finally looked, you saw him pressed against the iron rods, body reshaped around them. His torso was wrong—ribcage expanded, flesh stretched thin and slick. There was no stomach. No chest cavity as a human should have one. His mouth was too wide now, jaw unhinging when he smiled.

“You feed me better.”

The bindings weakened over time.

Iron corroded. Stone cracked. The pit widened by fractions of inches as Seungmin pushed against it, grinding bone and flesh alike until something gave way.

The night he escaped, he tore himself apart to do it.

Iron ripped through muscle as he forced himself free. Skin peeled off in strips. Bone snapped and punched through flesh. He crawled upward leaving pieces of himself behind, regenerating as he went, body reshaping faster than it broke.

He surfaced beneath your house.

The floor collapsed inward. You fell with it.

He caught you.

Up close, the smell was unbearable—blood, rot, iron, something sweet and wrong. His body was still rebuilding itself, organs forming where none had existed, cavities filling with dense, pulsing tissue.

“They buried me alive,” he said, calm, almost gentle. “They taught me what people are made of.”

He let you go.

Then he went into the village.

The screaming lasted until morning.

Seungmin fed without restraint. He ripped people open and ate them where they fell. He bit into necks and tore arteries free with his teeth. He split ribcages apart with his hands and drank from the cavity. He stacked bodies along the paths leading away from the pit, organs missing, bones cracked, faces frozen mid-scream.

The earth absorbed the blood greedily.

When it was over, he returned to you.

His body was whole now. Smooth where it had once been ruined. His eyes were bright, focused.

“They made me this way,” he said. “You kept me alive.”

He took your wrist and pressed it against his chest. You felt movement inside him, dense and slow, something that did not resemble a heart.

“You belong where I belong.”

The pit yawned open behind him, deep and waiting.

This time, it would not close.

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