Lethal Obsession 🥀

[it****]

Hope everyone’s okay! And also hope you enjoyed the last Dark Romance story I shared because.. I have another one :) Enjoy!
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(⚠️obsession/emotional distress/thriller)
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The underground smells of hot metal and wet coats — a warm, electric tang that hums under the station announcement. It’s late; the carriage light is too bright for the hour, fluorescent and unforgiving. Most people have gone; the train is a ghost with breath. You step on, hair still damp from the drizzle outside, clutching your bag like armor. You think you’ll be anonymous in the crowd. You think wrong.

I find you between the poles, nearer the door than you should be, because that’s where you always stand when you’re trying not to be noticed. I watch the way you press one shoulder to the cold metal, like a half-formed shield. My chest aches before I reach you. Nine months isn’t a number anymore — it’s the weight in my bones.

“Mia.” My voice is too close. You look up and your face blanks, denial like glass. “Huh?” I say, softer. “Listen to me.”

You take a small step back and the carriage lurches, the train’s momentum making the world tilt. Your breath flutters, tiny and human. “What are you doing?” you whisper. There’s *** in it; there’s also that brittle refusal that always comes first.

“I’ve been watching you,” I admit, because the lie of perfection would be worse than the truth.
Nine months. Outside the café, at the book stall, in the pauses of your messages. I lied to myself so many times: I’m her guardian angel. Because if I didn’t, the flame of this love would burn me alive. I threw up from the panic of what if you hate me? What if you love someone else? What if I lose you? That madness scares me more than anything.
You laugh nervously, a sharp sound that tries to make light of the shadow at your shoulder. “This is—this is insane.”

“Yeah?” I answer, and the simple word is a challenge and a plea. “I’m terrified of losing you and your love. You were made for me.” The carriage tilts again; hands grip poles, the world unsteady. I close the distance in two, three measured steps. I grab your wrist with my shaking hand, I feel my stomach churning, my head spinning…

You press your back to the cold pane by the door — the glass fogs with your breath — and I stop right in front of you. Shadowing over you. The crowd around us is hollowed out, just a ***tering of commuters who look away from the sudden private storm. “You can’t be here, let go of my hand” you say, and there’s more fright than anger.

“You have the power to wreck this man,” I tell you, my voice breaking like a match. “You already are. You’re already in my veins. DON’T BLAME ME, YOUR LOVE MADE ME CRAZY.” I say it loud because the station noise might swallow smaller confessions.

“Please,” I whisper then, and I put a hand—seizing—against the window beside your head so the only space left is filled by me. “Please, I’m absolutely begging you. Just accept that you’re my girl for life.”

You tremble. The train rolls through the dark, the lights stuttering across our faces. A child laughs two cars down, a mundane sound that slices through the tension like a blade. “I don’t know you,” you say, and the words are smaller than they should be.

“You do.” I get my forehead near yours, claiming a closeness that had been burned into my imagination for months. “You haunt me. It’s only fair I return the sentiment. And look at me, I’m so close I can smell you!” My breath ghosts the shell of your ear. “I want to latch onto your soul. I want to be a destroyed, desperate wreck; I’m begging you to never leave.”

Your eyes close for a second — denial, ***, then something else, a quick, dizzy curiosity. The carriage sways and your shoulder bumps against mine. I can feel your heartbeat. I could move away. I could let you go. I don’t. Instead, with all the care of a man trying not to break the only fragile thing in his hands, I slide a palm down to the small of your back and press you, slowly, gently, until you’re pinned against the cold of the door. With a bit of ***, asking the world to hold still.

“Please,” I say again, softer, the words barely louder than the wheels on the track. “Say it like you mean it. Say ‘yes my love’. I’m dying to hear it from you”

This time my voice is a desperation; it’s a doorway. You stare at me, wide-eyed and aching, and for a heartbeat I see the war inside you — the part that wants to flee and the part that, for reasons you may not admit yet even to yourself, is listening.

You breathe. In a voice that trembles like the last leaf of autumn, I close the last distance and my forehead touches yours; for a second the world narrows to the warmth of your skin and the rhythm of your breath. “You can’t fucking do this” you murmur, you voice shaking, I’m standing there, heavy, afraid of losing you, because I can’t imagine the arithmetic of life without you in it. “No? Why don’t you see? You can’t leave me, Mia. I’ll lose the last bit of my sanity.”

You lift a hand and try to push me away.

“Shh please Mia, look at me! I’ll wait patiently,” I say. “How may I love you? Tell me and I’ll be there. I will gladly break my heart for you.” My thumb traces the line of your jaw. “You’re a walking masterpiece. You have the power to wreck this man.”

Then — because every confession wants its consummation — I lower my face to yours. I hesitate, looking into your ***ful eyes, your breath shaking, your lips apart from each other, Our breaths mingle, the carriage’s hum like distant thunder. I kiss you slowly, finally, all at once reverent and fierce: the press of my lips soft and asking, the heat of it shared like a secret. It’s such a magical kiss, the kind that says everything we could not fit into words on the platform or in the stairwell.

When we break apart, the train is still moving and the city outside is a blur of neon and rain. Your eyes are open, searching me like someone trying to decide whether to trust a map that leads through a storm. I rest my forehead against yours and whisper, “I love you. Just a little too much.”

Your denial hasn’t vanished — it lingers, a fine thread. But for now you’ve chosen to stay pressed to me in a moving train at midnight, fingers curled in the fabric of my coat, looking at me with the eyes I begged for.

I don’t stop. I press in again, not so soft, pressing you harder against the door like I want to merge with you, consume you, your mind, your body, your soul — lips not asking, taking — deeper. the world narrows to the heat between our mouths and the wet of your hair against my cheek. My hand slides to the small of your back, fingers splayed, holding you steady as if you might float away, whispering “you’re not getting away”

Each kiss is a declaration: possession, worshipful, desperate. I breathe your name into the hollow between our mouths. “Mia,” I murble against you, then I steal another kiss, slower now, tasting the salt of rain on your skin. When I tilt your chin up with my thumb it’s gentle — demanding and reverent at once. You’re mine in that reckless moment, and you are so much more beautiful when you’re scared.

I pull back for the barest second and rest my forehead on yours, breath matching breath. “Say it,” I whisper, rough and soft at the same time — possessive and desperate. “Say ‘yes my love.’” Then I close in again, “Mia, you’re not allowed to leave, you’re not allowed to disappear, if you betray me, if you dare fuck with me..” I can’t finish my sentence, I grab your face, your jaw in my palm, kissing you like I’ve been starving for it for nine months and I don’t want to waste another second. you’re warm, trembling, real — and the shiver, the way you stay under my shadow, it wrecks me in the sweetest way.

The underground roars and the rest of the world keeps going; in our small, shaking orbit, something fragile and dangerous has been given permission to exist.

[Ch****]

Please stop using ChatGPT to do these. The forensic fingerprint is all over it and it isn't your creation it's cut & paste

[Ch****]

Actually "mia" I believe is grokAi

[ju****]

Make me a victim of your passion

[it****]

6 hours ago, ChrisFromchurch said:

Please stop using ChatGPT to do these. The forensic fingerprint is all over it and it isn't your creation it's cut & paste

I never said I wrote them myself, I gave them the scenario, lines, and did some adjustments. I’m going to keep using them actually 😘

[Deleted Member]

Voice

[Sh****]

Monday at 03:14 AM, ChrisFromchurch said:

Please stop using ChatGPT to do these. The forensic fingerprint is all over it and it isn't your creation it's cut & paste

Who gives a shit? No one. You are in no position to police this type of thing. It's wild to have this level of privilege...