#obsession romance

"Painted Until Immortal"

Title: "Painted Until Immortal": Stray Kids fanfiction

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader Female

Genre: Dark Romance | Historical Fiction (1890s) | Painter AU | Non-Idol AU | Horror

Warnings: Murder (implied - not graphic), obsession, manipulation, death themes, possessive behavior, psychological horror, dark romantic elements.

Summary: A reclusive, celebrated painter known for portraits that steal the breath of all who see them invites you into his studio—and into a fixation that borders on worship. As rumors of vanished muses close in, love becomes a dangerous temptation, and beauty proves to be the deadliest art of all.

The city learned to whisper his name. His paintings never had titles.

They didn't need them.

People remembered them the way they remembered sins—by feeling alone. Faces pale as moonmilk, mouths parted like unfinished prayers, eyes alive with something that did not belong to the living. His work hung in private salons, behind velvet curtains, shown only to those wealthy enough—or reckless enough—to ask.

And every woman he painted disappeared.

No bodies. No scandals loud enough to stick. Just absence, delicate and total.

By the time you met him, the city had begun to whisper the word curse.

You were working at the apothecary near the river when he first noticed you. He came often, always in the late hours, always smelling faintly of oil paint and iron. He never looked directly at you at first—only at your reflection in the glass cabinets, the curve of your shadow along the wall.

“You don’t belong here,” he said one evening, voice low, almost tender.

You stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

He smiled then, slow and dangerous. “In a place that sells remedies. You look like the illness.”

You should have told him to leave.

Instead, something in his gaze rooted you to the floor.

He began to come every day after that. Never touching. Never crossing a line that could be named. Just watching, memorizing. When he finally asked you to sit for him, it was not framed as a request.

“I have searched for you,” Hyunjin said, fingers brushing the counter where your hand had been moments before. “You just didn’t know to hide.”

You laughed nervously. “I’m not a model.”

His eyes darkened. “Neither were the others.”

The studio was above the city, where sound went to die. Tall windows. Locked doors. Canvases turned to face the walls, as if ashamed of themselves. The air was heavy—sweet rot and varnish, something coppery beneath it all.

“You may leave whenever you wish,” he said, guiding you toward the chair. His hand never lingered long enough to be improper. “As long as you understand this—once I begin, you will not be the same.”

You sat.

The way he painted you was intimate beyond decency. He did not ask you to undress. He did not need to. His eyes peeled you open all the same, tracing every thought you had ever swallowed, every longing you’d never spoken aloud.

“Don’t soften yourself,” he murmured when you tried to look away. “I want the sharp parts.”

Hours passed. Days. You returned despite the dread curling in your stomach, despite the rumors that grew louder each time you walked home alone. You began to dream of his hands, stained black and red, cradling your face like something precious and breakable.

One night, unable to bear it, you asked him the question everyone else was too afraid to voice.

“Where are they?” you whispered.

His brush stilled.

“Every artist leaves something behind,” Hyunjin said calmly. “I simply refuse to let my work decay.”

You stood, heart hammering. “You killed them.”

He turned to you then, fully. No lies left in his face. Only devotion.

“They were perfect,” he said softly. “For one moment. And I preserved that moment forever.”

You should have screamed. Run. Report him.

Instead, your voice shook as you asked, “And me?”

He crossed the room in three steps, stopping so close you felt his breath against your temple. “You are different,” he said. “You see me.”

His fingers cupped your jaw, reverent, trembling. “I don’t want to lose you to time.”

Tears burned your eyes. “That isn’t love.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s faith.”

He kissed you like a farewell, slow and aching, as if committing you to memory. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“I will finish the painting,” he whispered. “And then you may choose.”

The portrait was unveiled in secret, shown only once. Those who saw it swore the woman’s eyes followed them, that her mouth held a secret they would die to hear. It was his masterpiece. His last.

You left the city before dawn.

Hyunjin was never seen again.

Some say he destroyed the studio. Others claim he finally painted himself.

But sometimes, in quiet galleries and candlelit rooms, people swear a new canvas appears—untitled, unbearably beautiful.

And the woman in it?

She looks alive.

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"Stone Hunger"

Title: "Stone Hunger" : Stray Kids fanfiction

Pairing: Changbin x Reader Female

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

Warnings: human sacrifice, feeding / blood consumption, possessive love.

Summary: The mountain demanded blood as it always had, but when you were laid upon its altar, the ancient thing beneath the stone chose to keep you instead.

The altar existed before the village had a name.

Before the first stone house was raised. Before the road was carved through the mountain pass. Before anyone thought to stay.

Travelers used to avoid the place entirely—a jagged stretch of mountain where the earth shifted underfoot and avalanches swallowed entire caravans without warning. Those who passed through spoke of tremors that came without cause, of hearing something move beneath the stone when the ground should have been still.

Then the settlers came.

They were desperate people, fleeing famine and war, willing to risk cursed land for survival. They found the altar half-buried in the mountainside: a massive slab of black stone veined with something darker, slick to the touch even in the cold. There were markings carved into it—old, eroded symbols no one could read, spiraling inward like teeth.

Some wanted to destroy it.

The mountain answered that idea with a collapse that killed twelve people.

After that, no one suggested touching the altar again.

They built the village around it instead.

At first, the tremors were rare. Crops grew better in the mountain’s shadow. The river never dried. The stone beneath the soil was warm, even in winter. The elders called it a blessing. They left offerings at the altar—grain, livestock, wine.

Then the mountain grew restless.

The first time the Devourer woke fully, the earth split open beneath a farmhouse and swallowed it whole. The second time, half the village was crushed when the ground heaved without warning. Only after the third did they understand.

The mountain did not want gifts.

It wanted blood.

The offering was not decided lightly. It never was.

You were chosen because the ground favored you.

You had always noticed it, even as a child—how stones shifted beneath your feet, never tripping you, how you survived the rockslide that killed your mother, how you could feel the tremors before they came, a low ache in your bones like a warning.

The elders whispered that the mountain recognized you.

That terrified them.

They prepared you at dawn. Ash on your hands. Oil at your throat. No bindings—he preferred the offering alive when it reached the altar. They dressed you simply, hair unbound, skin bare where it mattered.

No one cried as they led you up the path.

They had learned that grief only angered the stone.

The closer you came, the warmer the ground grew beneath your feet. The altar waited, black and slick, humming faintly like a heartbeat pressed into the mountain’s chest.

They laid you upon it and stepped back.

Then they fled.

The silence afterward was immense.

For a long time, nothing happened. You lay still, heart pounding, the stone warm against your spine. You almost wondered if they had been wrong—if the stories had grown exaggerated over generations.

Then the mountain moved.

It began deep below you, a slow grinding sensation that traveled upward through the rock, vibrating into your bones. Dust fell from the cliffside. Cracks spidered across the stone around the altar.

A sound followed—low, thunderous, alive.

The altar split.

Stone peeled away as something enormous forced itself upward, tearing free of the mountain like a tooth pulled from flesh. A body emerged—massive, built of muscle and cracked granite, veins glowing faintly beneath stone skin as if magma flowed just under the surface.

Horns curled back from his head, jagged and ancient. His mouth was full of teeth meant for grinding bone, his jaw powerful and heavy.

When his eyes opened, they burned gold.

The Devourer Beneath the Stone had woken.

He looked at the altar. At the blood offerings carved into its surface over centuries. Then his gaze fell on you.

The mountain stilled.

He stepped closer, each movement accompanied by the sound of rock grinding against rock. Heat radiated from him, intense and suffocating.

“Again,” he rumbled, voice echoing through the mountain itself. “They feed me again.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream. His gaze pinned you in place, heavy with hunger and something older—recognition.

He sniffed the air, nostrils flaring.

“You,” he said. “You have always walked gently.”

His massive hand closed around your ankle. Not crushing. Testing. Feeling the heat of you.

“You are not afraid of the stone,” he continued, puzzled. “The others always were.”

“I—I didn’t have a choice,” you whispered.

His grip tightened slightly.

“Neither did I,” he replied.

He leaned down, lowering his face to your side. His breath washed over your skin, hot and mineral-rich. When his mouth opened, it was not rushed, not savage.

It was reverent.

His teeth sank into your flesh.

Pain exploded through you, white and blinding, as blood spilled hot against the cold stone. He groaned deeply, a sound that shook the mountain, one hand bracing against the altar as he fed.

He drank like the earth drinks rain—deep, patient, controlled. When your strength faltered, he stopped.

Pulled back.

Your wound burned, then sealed with molten heat, skin knitting together as if the mountain itself refused to let you break.

He stared.

“You endure,” he murmured.

The mountain rumbled, pleased.

Stone cracked and shifted as his body began to change—size reducing, shape altering, granite receding to reveal something closer to human beneath. When he stood again, he was still wrong, still heavy with power, but smaller. Closer.

Able to kneel before you.

“You are not meat,” he decided slowly. “You are a vein.”

He touched your side where the bite had been, fingers leaving warmth behind. “I will draw from you when the mountain aches. I will stop before I take too much.”

Your voice shook. “The village…?”

“They live,” he said simply. “Because you stay.”

He lifted you easily, cradling you against his chest. The altar sank back into the mountain as stone closed around you, sealing you inside its depths.

Darkness swallowed the world.

“You will learn the rhythm,” he murmured, carrying you deeper. “Stone. Hunger. Rest.”

Above, the tremors ceased.

The village survived.

And deep within the mountain’s heart, the Devourer fed not on destruction—but on something that could endure him.

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"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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💜 DEVOTION AND DANGER 💜

Shadows of the Night: MC Romance (Rattler Romance Book 2)

The joy of new beginnings is cut short when Betty and Reed return home from their honeymoon to a mysterious package and a PI hot on their heels. When Betty, with the help of the Rattlers Motorcycle Club, discovers who sent the PI, her world is rocked.

The chaos threatens their stability and new family. Betty will do anything to protect her new life and love, including risk reconnecting with old ghosts at the expense of her sanity. And Reed will do anything to protect Betty.

This is book two in the Rattler Romance series but can be enjoyed independently.

Publisher’s Note: This contemporary romance contains elements of mystery, suspense, sensual scenes and power exchange. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.

https://www.amazon.com//dp/B086LC3429