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bouncing up and down on it all day and night til we both pass out then repeat

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The (remade of last) Burning Nightmare || MIIIIIITO

Pairing: Mito/Christian yu x Fem!Reader ๨ŕ§
Genre: Horror, thriller, dark romance, angst, and fluff. ๨ŕ§
Warnings: This story contains murdering, drugging, smut, stockholm syndrome, self harm, attempted suicide, and psychological terror. All of this is fiction and not depicted from DPR IANs real life. ๨ŕ§
Word count: 1.1k ๨ŕ§
Tags: @archivistvaultio ๨ŕ§
âË âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľŕ¨ŕ§ ¡ ¡ ⥠¡ ¡ ŕ¨ďż˝ďż˝âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ Ëâ
The numbness was a quiet thief.
It crept through your veins like cold water, dulling every sensation until you barely recognized yourself. The world outside the cracked windowsâthe sun that rose and fell, the leaves that rustled in the windâfelt distant, like a dream you could no longer reach. Your skin was a dull canvas, an empty landscape where pain and joy had both long since faded.
You moved through the house like a shadow, your footsteps soft against the worn wooden floors, your voice barely a whisper when you spoke.
At night, when Mito was asleep, you would sit alone in the bathroom, staring at the pale reflection in the cracked mirror.
The mirror didnât lieâyour eyes were hollow, lips cracked, and your hands trembled slightly.
One evening, driven by a desperate need to feel something real, you pressed your nails into the pale skin of your forearm. Just hard enough to break the surface, just enough for the sharp sting to prick your senses awake. The thin line of blood that welled beneath the skin was an anchor in the swirling fog inside your head.
You traced the line again and again, the red bloom growing, the ache finally flooding through.
It was cruel comfort.
You hid the wounds beneath long sleeves and avoided Mitoâs gaze, but he saw.
He always saw.
Mito never said a word. He never asked you to stop.
There was a weight in his eyesâa guilt that seemed to settle deeper than his blind left eye.
He felt responsible. How could he not? He was the cage you were trapped in. The nightmare that had stolen you from the world.
One afternoon, as you sat curled in the corner of the living room, the cool light filtering through the curtains, Mito sat beside you silently. His fingers hovered near yours, but he didnât reach out.
Your breath was shallow, your thoughts dark and tangled.
âIâm tired,â you whispered, voice cracking.
âThen sleep.â Mitoâs voice was soft, almost a purr.
âNot like that," You breathed.
"I'm tired of this. All of it. I want out."
Mito leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear.
âMe too.â
You gave a bitter laugh.
âThen what is this?â You gestured between you two, the whole place that felt like was burning you alive.
âIt's what's made for us to survive." he said simply.
--
Days stretched into a blur.
You barely spoke. When you did, your words were clipped, distant.
At night, the darkness in your mind grew heavy.
One evening, when the house was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning, you crept out of the bedroom while Mito slept. Your steps were slow and deliberate as you crossed the hallway to the atticâthe one room Mito never entered.
You knew it held old forgotten things, but it also had a sturdy rafter hanging from the ceiling.
Your heart pounded wildly, but the numbness had turned to something sharperâdesperation.
Your fingers trembled as you tied the coarse rope into a noose.
Tears blurred your vision as you stepped onto the chair beneath it.
The silence swallowed your sobs.
You looked at the small slit of light coming through the attic window and whispered, âIâm sorry.â
And thenâ
Footsteps. The chair scraping against the floor.
A voice. Low. Steady. Not angry, not afraid.
âDonât.â
The noose loosened.
The chair moved.
Strong arms wrapped around you from behind.
Mito.
His blind eye glistened with unshed tears.
âI wonât let you go.â
You trembled in his hold, the rope slack between trembling hands.
âWhy?â you whispered, voice breaking.
âBecause I need you. Because youâre not alone.â
Mitoâs arms held you like you were made of glass, delicate and trembling.
The noose hung loosely behind you, swaying slightly in the stale attic air.
Your breath came in ragged sobs, body shaking against his chest. You wanted to push him away, to disappear into the numbness again, but you couldnât. Not this time.
âWhy?â you repeated, voice barely audible.
He tightened his grip just enough to steady you, but not to hurt.
âBecause,â he said, voice low and raw, âeven when you donât want me here, Iâm not going anywhere.â
You buried your face into his shoulder, tasting the faint scent of rain and something bittersweetâhis quiet regret.
âI donât want to be here,â you whispered, fingers curling into his shirt. âI donât want this life. I hate being broken.â
âNo,â he breathed into your hair. âYouâre not broken. Youâve given all you had. Youâve been fighting for so long, and Iâm sorry I was the cage. But weâll find the way out.â
You pulled back just enough to meet his gazeâthe one unblinded eye, shining with something that wasnât madness. Something like⌠hope.
âHow?â you asked, voice breaking.
Mitoâs hand cupped your cheek gently.
âTogether.â
--
Days passed in a blur of slow healing.
You stayed close to him, leaning into the warmth of his presence, even when your mind screamed to run, to disappear.
You began to share your fearsâwhispered confessions in the dark hours when only the moon was awake.
âI donât know who I am anymore,â you admitted one night, eyes glistening.
âThen weâll find out together,â Mito promised.
He never pushed, never forced.
He just listened.
And that was enough.
--
One afternoon, sunlight spilled through the tall windows, catching dust motes that danced lazily in the air.
Mito sat cross-legged on the floor, sketching in his worn notebook.
You watched him quietly from the doorway, your fingers nervously playing with the hem of your shirt.
Without looking up, he said softly, âYouâve stopped hiding the marks.â
Your breath caught.
âIâm scared it'll tear me more if i don't.â
He closed the notebook, meeting your eyes.
âI'll piece you back together, bit by bit if i have to. Even if i was the one who caused it.â
The weight of his words settled deep inside you.
For the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe.
--
Weeks later, the day came when Mito took you by the hand.
âCome,â he said softly.
You stepped outside together.
The sunlight was blinding, a warm, golden embrace that felt foreign and wonderful.
The breeze carried the scent of pine and fresh earth.
You took a shaky breath.
âItâs real,â you whispered.
He smiled, squeezing your hand.
âItâs our new beginning.â
--
Under the wide, open sky, you felt something stirring insideâa fragile seed of hope, watered by kindness and quiet love.
Mito looked at you with a tenderness that made your heart ache and soar all at once.
âWelcome back,â he said.
And you smiled.
Because hopefully, this time you--
No.
You guys are free.
Together.
No longer suffering a Burning Nightmare.
#eerie#christian yu x female reader#dpr ian x female reader#dpr ian x reader#christian yu x reader#dpr ian x you#christian yu x you#christian yu#dpr ian fluff#dpr ian#angst#stockholm syndrome#anxiety#christian yu fluff#fear#fluff#k hip hop#heartbreak#horror#kpop#love#cute#bittersweet
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Hello, your Xreaders drown me and I LOVE it. Say, may I request would you make another version of The Burning Nightmare? It was so good and I want to bite Mito for it. <3.
I LOVE UR APPRECIATION FOR MY WORK THANK U!! And of course I take any suggestions, but tell me how you would like this version so I can get an ideaâ¤ď¸
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compilation of dpr live saying iite cool ij his songs
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Spoon & Fork || Christian Yu

Pairing: Dom!Christian yu x Sub!Fem!Reader๨ŕ§
Genre: Smut, tiny bit of food play, degrading and praising kink. ๨ŕ§
Inspo: Unreleased song named "Spoon & Fork" by DPR IAN, played in a Instagram live in 2021.
Warning: This story does not have aftercare unfortunately, so you'll just have to imagine it im so sorry. đ ๨ŕ§
Word count: 2.1k ๨ŕ§
âË âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľŕ¨ŕ§ ¡ ¡ ⥠¡ ¡ ŕ¨ŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ Ëâ
The clock had just passed midnight.
The world outside your apartment window was hushed, except for the faint buzz of city life bleeding in through the cracked glass. Inside, the kitchen was dimâonly the soft golden underglow of the stove light painted the space in warm shadows.
You sat on the countertop in your party dress, legs swinging slightly, a half-full wine glass dangling loosely in your fingers. Your lips were tinted a soft red from the merlot, and your eyes, heavy with alcohol and something deeper, stayed locked on him.
Christian stood opposite of you, leaning against the fridge. One hand shoved into his pocket. The other held the wine bottle loosely, his thumb tracing over the label without looking. His eyes hadnât left you for a while.
He didnât need to speak. You felt him staring. You knew that look. Like you were the only thing in the room. Maybe the only thing in the world.
There was silence, but it was the warm kind. The kind where two people donât need to talk because the air between them already knows whatâs about to happen.
You broke it first, with a quiet sip and a teasing smirk. âYouâre staring, Christian.â
His lips curved just slightly. âYou taste like something expensive tonight.â
You cocked your head, lifting a brow. âFrom the wine or from earlier?â
That crooked smile of his deepened. âBoth.â
He set the bottle down gently on the counter beside you and stepped forward. His eyes were darker nowânot from the lighting, but from the desire that curled in them like smoke. His fingers slid across your knee, up your thigh, slow and warm, and he leaned in.
You didnât stop him. You tilted your chin, letting him close the distance. And when he kissed you, it was deepâsyrupy and heady, like red wine melting into your bloodstream.
His tongue traced along your bottom lip, and you opened to him, letting the kiss deepen. You felt the taste of him. The message. The quiet craving beneath his silence.
You got his message from the taste.
When he pulled away, his breath lingered against your lips. He still had that half-drunken haze in his eyes, but there was clarity tooâlike he was reading every thought racing through your mind.
"I know what you're thinking," he murmured, placing his hands on your thighs, thumbs brushing bare skin through the slit of your dress. "But I was just dropping you off here, baby."
You gave him a pout, one he couldnât ignore. You reached out and started toying with the loose knot of his tie, tugging gently, your eyes wide and sweet with playful seduction.
âCanât you stay a little?â Your voice was soft, nearly a whisper, dripping in temptation.
He stared at you like he was already ruined. âHoly shitâŚâ he muttered, breathless. âYou donât fight fair.â
You leaned in, close enough for your nose to brush his. âI donât want fair. I want you.â
Christian exhaled a shaky breath as you slowly wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your wine glass clinked lightly against the counter when you set it down, your fingers now grabbing the silver spoon beside the half-eaten dessert youâd shared earlier.
Without a word, you brought the spoon to his lipsâand offered it. He locked eyes with you, then took it into his mouth.
The way he wrapped his lips around the silver, the way his tongue played with the taste, made you shiver.
He pulled away and leaned in. âI love what youâre eatingâŚâ
You grinned slowly, pulse fluttering. âSo letâs get the spoon andââ
âFuck?â he finished for you with a soft laugh, low and dangerous.
He took the spoon from your hand, dipped it into the wine bottle, and dragged it along your bottom lip, smearing it lazily like a painter. He licked it off, slowly, savoring you. You moaned softly.
You reached for his tie again and began unwrapping him like a gift, your fingers brushing over the warm skin of his chest as you undid each button of his shirt.
He leaned into your touch, palms sliding up your thighs, gripping softly. His breath had gone shallow. You felt the way your presence undid him, piece by piece.
Once his shirt was off, he reached behind you, found the zipper of your dress, and eased it down with deliberate slowness. You felt the fabric peel off your shoulders like a whisper. The kitchen air brushed your skinâcool against your flesh.
Your bra came off next, unclipped effortlessly by his rapid fingers.
You kissed him againâmessy, hungryâyour arms locking around his neck, pulling him into you like you needed him to breathe.
When you finally pulled back, your lips were red, swollen, tingling. He looked like he wanted to dive right back in.
"Calm down baby, we still have the rest of the night," you teased, brushing your thumb across his wet bottom lip.
He smiled, breathless. âI canât help how much I want you, darlingâŚâ
His kisses trailed from your jaw to your throat, down to your collarbone. He hovered just above your breasts, looking up at you like he was asking for permission before his mouth descended.
When he took your nipple between his lips, sucking softly, you sighed. His hand massaged your other breast, fingers drawing lazy, perfect circles around your sensitive nipple. You arched into him, head tilting back as your breath hitched.
You reached down instinctively, your fingers slipping past your panties to circle your clitâslow, desperate.
He noticed immediately. Caught your wrist.
"Patience, right dear?" he whispered with a devilish grin, eyes heavy-lidded with lust.
You kissed him again, tongue teasing his lip. âI need you so badâŚâ
His hands gripped your hips tighter. âWant me to take you right here on the counter?â
You bit your lip. âFuck yesâŚâ
He growled softly, teeth grazing your neck. âYouâre such a slut,â he whispered, grinning as he pushed your panties aside and knelt between your legs.
You let out a trembling breath as his hands pressed your thighs open. His mouth found your inner thighs, kissing, teasing, until you were whimpering.
When his lips finally touched your clit, you gasped.
âDonât tease meâŚâ you breathed, tugging on his hair.
He looked up, eyes dark. âYes maâam.â
His tongue was heavenâslow, sure, methodical. He licked you with purpose, with hunger, with reverence. His fingers slid inside you next, curling at just the right spot, making your legs shake.
âFuckâChristianâŚâ
He didnât stop. He wouldnât.
Your orgasm built fast, pressure mountingâAnd then, suddenly, he pulled away.
You sat up fast, heart pounding. âWhat the fuck, Christian?â
But then your eyes fell to the bulge in his pants. He was rock hard. His cock strained against the fabric, practically twitching.
You reached for his belt.
He pushed your hands aside. âYouâre too slow,â he said roughly, yanking the zipper down himself. âI need to fuck you.â
Your breath hitched the moment he freed himself. His cock was flushed and aching, thick and slick with pre-cum that glistened at the tip. You stared for a momentâutterly mesmerizedâbefore you met his eyes again.
"You need me that bad?" you murmured, voice sultry, teasing as you spread your legs just a little wider on the counter.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, a small laugh escaping, but there was no amusement in his eyes. Just hunger.
âShut up,â he muttered, crashing forward. His teeth caught your neck as he bit downânot too hard, just enough to sting. Enough to claim. And all while lining himself up with your entrance.
You could feel the head of his cock teasing at your slick folds. He dragged it up and down, slow, letting the wetness coat him in a sticky glide. You squirmed beneath him, moaning.
âStop with your games and put it in me already, asshole,â you smacked his shoulder lightly, seriously. That grin of his returnedâcocky, unbothered, fucking perfect. And then, finally, he did it.
He pushed in.
Inch by inch, he filled you. You gasped, your pussy stretching around him, your thighs tightening against his hips. It was overwhelmingâthe heat of him, the weight, the delicious pressure. You clutched onto his biceps like you were drowning.
"You're so tight, my love," he groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His voice was low, frayed at the edges with restraint. You could feel his pulse racing.
He didnât move at first. He just stayed there, inside you, as your walls fluttered around him, adjusting.
You both panted into the stillnessâwine-sweet air thick with sex and longing. Your fingers ran up the nape of his neck, threading into his hair.
"Fuck... you feel like home," he whispered, voice cracked with sincerity.
Then he pulled back.
And thrust in.
Slowly.
Again.
And again.
Each movement built heat inside your belly, dragging friction over nerves that begged for more. You clung to him, lips brushing against his cheek, your moans coming in stuttered breaths.
"Faster..." you whispered into his ear, needy, trembling.
"Faster?" he echoed with a smirk.
Oh, you shouldnât have said that.
He drew backâand this time, slammed into you.
Your mouth dropped open in a moan that echoed off the kitchen walls. The wet sounds of your bodies filled the airâhis hips slapping against your thighs, your pussy squelching around him with every brutal, perfect thrust.
His rhythm was relentless. He pounded into you like he was trying to erase the space between your souls.
You clawed down his back, eyes rolling back as pleasure splintered through your body. You were so closeâso damn close.
âChristianâŚâ your voice cracked, hips bucking wildly beneath him. âIâm gonna cumââ
âNo the fuck you arenât,â he growled.
He slammed into you even harder, his pace punishing now. His hands grabbed your hips, pulling you into every thrust. Your body jerked with the force of him.
Every time he pulled out, you thought you might break from the emptinessâand every time he filled you again, you shattered.
âNot yet,â he hissed into your ear. âYou cum when I say.â
The dominance in his tone made your walls clench around him again, which only made him grunt deeper.
âFuck, baby⌠you like when I talk to you like that?â
You could only nod, crying out as his cock hit that perfect spot inside you again and again.
He reached between your bodies, finding your clit with two fingers. He rubbed small, fast circles in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. Your thighs trembled violently around his waist.
âI canât hold itââ you choked out, your body jerking uncontrollably.
âYes, you can. Just a little more. Be good for me, sweetheart.â
He kissed you thenâmessy, deep, tongues tangling as your moans spilled into his mouth.
And then, finallyââNow,â he breathed. âCum for me.â
Your orgasm tore through you like fire. Your whole body arched off the counter, a loud, uncontrollable cry echoing from your chest. Your cunt pulsed around him, gripping him so tightly he nearly came right then.
âFuuuck, thatâs itâŚâ he groaned, eyes fluttering shut as your body milked him.
He didnât stop moving.
He wasnât done with you yet.
He pulled out suddenly, and you whimpered from the loss. Before you could ask anything, he gripped your hips and turned you around.
âHands on the counter. Ass up.â
You obeyed instantly, chest pressing against the cold surface of the marble as your hands braced for impact.
He lined himself up again and slid in with one smooth thrust from behind. You gasped, one hand flying up to cover your mouth as he started fucking you again.
This angle was differentâdeeper, rougher. You could feel everything.
His hand came down to spank your ass, the slap echoing through the kitchen. âYouâre still dripping, baby. I didnât know you could get wetter.â
You moaned something incoherent, too fucked out to respond.
He leaned over your back, his breath hot against your shoulder. âYouâre mine like this. No one else gets this.â
You nodded, pressing your ass back against him. âOnly yoursâŚâ
His rhythm faltered. You felt him twitch inside you.
âIâm gonna cumâŚâ he rasped, pulling out just enough before slamming back in, chasing his high. âWhere do you want it?â
âInside,â you gasped, reckless and raw. âPlease.â
That broke him.
With one final, brutal thrust, he stilled. His body tensed. He grunted into your shoulder as warm, thick ropes of cum spilled inside you. You felt every pulse, every breathless tremor of his release.
He stayed there for a momentâforehead resting against your spine, both of you panting like youâd just run through a thunderstorm.
Eventually, he pulled out, and you felt his cum drip down your thigh.
Christian kissed the small of your back.
You turned to look at him over your shoulder, your smile soft, fucked-out, glowing.
He cupped your jaw gently, brushing your sweaty hair away from your cheek. âYouâre trouble,â he whispered, kissing your forehead.
You giggled, voice hoarse. âYou love trouble.â
He smirked and helped you down from the counter, steadying your shaky legs.
#SoundCloud#christian yu x female reader#dpr ian x female reader#dpr ian x reader#christian yu x reader#dpr ian x you#christian yu x you#christian yu#dpr ian#dpr ian fluff#smut#Degrading#christian yu fluff#fluff#k hip hop#kpop#love#cute#praising#Food play#Spoon and fork
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Merry go (happy ending) || Christian Yu

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader ๨ŕ§
Genre: Fluff, heartbreak, bittersweet ๨ŕ§
Inspo: The song Merry Go, by DPR IAN on his album "MIITO (Moodswings In To Order)" ๨ŕ§
Word count: 2k ๨ŕ§
âË âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľŕ¨ŕ§ ¡ ¡ ⥠¡ ¡ ŕ¨ŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ Ëâ
Tags: @dlme08
The rain was pattering outside his window, soft at firstâlike fingertips on glassâbut gradually building into a restless symphony of storm and sorrow. Each drop slid down the pane like the seconds he was losing, time running through his fingers again.
He was in a rush. Always in a rush.
But this time, it was different.
This time, it mattered.
He cursed under his breath, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. His car had broken down againâthis time in the middle of the highway. The engine had coughed, sputtered, and finally died, and the headlights, long flickering like they had one foot in the grave, gave out entirely.
You always told him to fix it. Over and over.
But he never listened. Not about the car. Not about anything.
Now, with the sky barely blushing blue and the streetlights flickering out like tired stars, he sat stranded, helpless, and too far away.
He slammed his fist into the wheel, head falling forward, his forehead resting there in defeat. His breathing was shallow, rapid. Then slower. And then, suddenly, there were tears. At first, he tried to fight themâlike alwaysâbut this time he couldnât. They spilled. Heavy, hot, and angry.
He picked up his phone.
5:30 AM.
He was late.
He missed your flight.
His vision blurred, the cold light of the screen glowing in the darkness of the car. Panic twisted through his chest like a knife. But even as the tears fell, he didnât give up. He couldnât.
He hailed the first taxi he could find, yelling into his phone, voice cracking as he gave the driver the destination: LAX.
By the time he arrived, the airport was already alive. Bright lights, sterile air, people moving like static through the halls of departure. He ranâran like his entire soul depended on it. He pushed past faces, past security lines and escalators, past time zones and memories. He searched until his lungs burned.
Thenâhe saw you.
You were standing near the gate, your suitcase at your side, hair gently tangled from the wind outside. And for a split second, everything froze. You hadnât boarded yet. You were still there.
His chest collapsed with relief, and without hesitation, he broke into a sprint. The moment you turned, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground. You gasped, more in disbelief than fear, and when he set you down, his eyes were red, tear-streaked, and wild with emotion.
âDonât leave meâŚâ he whispered, voice trembling.
You reached up, your thumb brushing a tear from his cheek. You were calm, heartbreakingly calm. âI have to,â you said softly.
He cupped your face in both hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks, trying to memorize everythingâthe shape of your lips, the small crease between your brows, the way your eyes looked when you were trying not to cry.
âYou know Iâll long for the boring nights we used to rock?â he whispered, a faint smile breaking through the grief. âI remembered the last time I was at your spot. These might be unknown dead ends⌠but we were all that.â
He leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead in a kiss that ached like goodbye.
Then he held you. Just held you.
But before he could say anything elseâŚ
He woke up.
Cold sweat clung to his skin like static. His chest was heaving, heart galloping like it was still running through that terminal.
Another nightmare.
Not a dream. Never a dream.
It had been months now, but that nightmare haunted him like clockwork.
Because in reality, he never made it in time.
You never waited.
And he never got that goodbye you both had longed for.
He checked his phone again.
5:32 AM. That hour. That cursed hour. Always lingering like a ghost.
He blinked against the blue light, rubbing his eyes as if doing so would erase the image of you. But it never worked.
He mustâve passed out again last night, midway through reliving your memories. He always did thatâruminated on the past, tried to dissect every what-if like an autopsy. It was a habit now. A ritual of pain.
He remembered that specific moment with perfect clarityâthe last time you tried. The rain was pouring then, too. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
You stood at his door, drenched and trembling, mascara smeared like war paint, eyes swollen from crying. You had begged him to open the door, just like every other time your worlds had started slipping apart.
He opened it.
And maybe⌠maybe that was his biggest mistake.
Because he let hope in again. He let you in again.
You collapsed into his arms like you belonged there, like home was a person and he was it. He carried you inside as if you were weightless, as if you hadnât both been dragging invisible baggage behind you for months.
You sat on his lap later that night, both of you cross-legged on the couch in dim lighting, legs tangled, hands framing each other's faces. Your fingers brushed through his hair gently as your gaze locked with his, unwavering.
âWhat do I do to you?â you asked, quiet and deadly.
The question pierced him.
You never really understood what you did to himânot fullyâbecause he never opened up. But that questionâŚ
It cracked something wide open.
âYou make me feel like Iâm on a merry go,â he whispered.
You blinked. âMerry go?â
You knew what he meant. But you needed him to say it.
âI keep spinning,â he said. âRound and round. Same place, different day. Always hoping it'll stop. But it never does.â
His grip on your hips tightened. His eyes shimmered with unshed guilt.
âI donât know if I can keep doing this back and forth⌠Iâm a mess, darling. You know that.â
You said nothing. What could you say? It was all true.
So instead, you pulled his head to your chest, running your hands along his back beneath his shirt. His skin was warm. Familiar. Real.
This⌠this was the comfort you craved. Not the yelling. Not the slammed doors or bitter silences. Just thisâhim, close, breathing with you.
Youâd been there too many timesâlove, break, repair, repeat.
You both knew how it started and how it always ended.
But that didnât stop you from missing each other.
Even now, he missed you with everything inside him.
You took pieces of him with you when you left, like shards of a mirrorâreflections of who he used to be when he was with you.
The night before you fled, you were lying in bed together. The windows were foggy from the rain. Your head was on his chest, your arm draped across his torso.
You tilted his face toward you, gently.
âCan we be forever?â you asked.
His breath caught.
You felt his heart race. Loud. Erratic.
âWhat do you mean?â he asked, playing innocent. But you could see through the cracks in his mask.
âDonât play stupid, baby,â you whispered, voice feather-soft. âJust tell me if this can genuinely work.â
You were brave in that moment. Braver than heâd ever been.
But he couldnât lie. He couldnât give you what you wanted.
âI canât,â he finally said.
And then, even softer, almost inaudibleââIâm scared.â
You understood.
God, you understood.
You gave up your fear to be with him.
But he couldnât do the same.
So, while he sleptâbreathing softly, peacefully, unawareâyou booked your flight.
You sent him a message before the sun rose:
|| Iâm leaving. If you care⌠come see me before I go. ||
When he woke up the next morning and saw your message, it felt like drowning. Like waking up underwater.
He sent you a flood of texts. One read:
|| Havenât I made it any further? You know I told you I was nervous... I didnât mean to murder the moments I had with you. ||
But he forgot something.
Something his mind buried so deep in regret it erased it entirely.
That same night, before bed, he had said:
|| Iâve been telling myself i could be better off alone. ||
And he said it casually. Like it meant nothing. Like it was just air.
But it meant everything.
And now⌠itâs been a while. Time moved on.
But he hasnât.
He still feels like heâs on that merry-go-round. Only now, youâre not there.
The spinning never stopped.
He went on a world tour after that. Music was all he had left to cope.
Then, one night, his tour brought him to the city you moved to. He never knew where you wentânever asked. Maybe he was too ashamed. Maybe he didnât think he deserved to know.
You, however, knew.
You stayed quietly updated. You knew about the album he released after you. You knew the song he wrote for you.
And despite everythingâdespite the painâyou bought tickets. Third row. Not close enough to be seen. But close enough to see him.
When the concert started, he walked out into the blinding lights and roaring crowd.
But somehow, someway⌠he saw you.
You didnât wave. You didnât smile.
But he saw you. Instantly.
His breath caught. His fingers tightened around the mic. He kept singing.
But something shifted.
And then⌠the song. Your song.
The one that bled you onto paper.
As it played, he locked eyes with you. And the world stopped spinning.
His voice cracked, raw with emotion. He cried. You did too.
No one else noticed. But somehow⌠they felt it. The emotion in his voice. The ghost in the crowd. The pain in every note.
They cried too.
Fighting their own demons.
The song ended.
You left.
Before the encore. Before he could find you. Before anything could start again.
And he didnât chase you.
Because for the first timeâŚ
He knew.
It was time to fully let go.
And thatâŚ
That was the last time you ever saw each other.
â
But the story didnât end there.
Not quite.
â
Weeks passed.
The song lingered like a bittersweet echo in your heart. You thought you were done. That chapter closed.
But one evening, as you sat alone in your favorite quiet cafĂŠ, a shadow fell across your table.
You looked up.
There he was.
Not on stage, not a distant figure in the crowdâjust him.
Eyes searching, hopeful, vulnerable.
âI never stopped looking for you,â he whispered.
You blinked, disbelief and hope warring inside you.
âWhy didnât you try to find me before?â you asked, voice trembling.
âI was afraid,â he said simply. âAfraid Iâd lost you forever.â
You smiledâa small, shaky smile. The walls youâd built around your heart softened.
He pulled out two coffee cups from a nearby counter, the steam curling like a promise between you.
âCan we start again? Just⌠talk?â
You nodded.
â
That night, you talked for hours.
About mistakes, regrets, dreams deferred.
About how much you missed the way things used to be.
But also, about what you both wanted now.
No pressure.
No expectations.
Just two people willing to try again.
â
The days that followed were filled with simple moments.
Long walks under streetlights, laughter that bubbled unexpectedly, and coffee shared in early morning silence.
He showed you the lyrics heâd written after that concert â new songs, honest and raw, dedicated to healing.
You shared your fears and hopes, opening up piece by piece.
â
One rainy afternoon, the city blurred in droplets on the cafĂŠ window as he took your hand gently in his.
âI donât want to be a ghost in your past anymore,â he said softly.
âYouâre not,â you replied, squeezing his hand back.
âI want to be your present. And maybe your future.â
You felt your heart catch and then steady.
â
Months passed.
The pain didnât disappear overnight, but it became softer, easier to carry.
And in its place grew something new â a steady, quiet love.
Not the whirlwind of before, but a gentle tide.
He took you to the merry-go-round at the old city park, the one you both used to love as kids.
As the carousel spun, lights twinkling and music playing softly, you felt the world tilt differently.
This time, you were both riding together.
Holding on.
And for the first time in a long time, the ride didnât feel endless.
It felt like home.
â
You looked at him â the boy who once spun around you like a wild, chaotic storm.
Now, steady. Present.
And you smiled.
Because this time, the music was yours to write together.
#Spotify#christian yu x female reader#dpr ian x female reader#dpr ian x reader#christian yu x reader#merry go round#dpr ian x you#christian yu x you#christian yu#dpr ian fluff#dpr ian#christian yu fluff#fluff#merry go#k hip hop#heartbreak#kpop#love#cute#bittersweet
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The (last) Burning Nightmare || MIIIIIITO

Pairing: Mito/Christian yu x Fem!Reader ๨ŕ§
Genre: Horror, thriller, dark romance, angst, and fluff. ๨ŕ§
Warnings: This story contains murdering, drugging, smut, stockholm syndrome, and psychological terror. All of this is fiction and not depicted from DPR IANs real life. ๨ŕ§
Word count: 2.5k ๨ŕ§
âË âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľŕ¨ŕ§ ¡ ¡ ⥠¡ ¡ ŕ¨ŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ Ëâ
You counted the days in silence.
Not with a calendar, not with scratches on a wall. You counted by what stopped happening. The sobs stopped first. Then the cold spots. The shaking mirror, the flickering light, the muffled whispers that used to wake you up in a sweat. Valerieâs presence slowly thinned, like a stain that faded over time but never really vanished.
A month.
Thatâs how long it took to kill her.
You didnât stab her or scream an exorcism. No. You suffocated her. Bit by bit, night by night, you made her powerless.
You gave Mito your time.
You gave him your body.
You let him in, and you didnât look away when he said your name like it meant something.
Valerie hated that. You knew it. She needed your misery to liveâand you gave her pleasure instead. Sick, twisted, tactical pleasure.
She clawed at the walls in protest. You ignored her.
She bled messages across the mirrors. You wiped them away without flinching.
Every day, you touched Mito longer. Kissed him harder. And made sure the ghost watched every second of it. You whispered sweet things into his ear and looked into the mirror while doing it.
She was your audience. And you were her executioner.
One night, you laughed into his mouth while he trailed kisses down your neck, your shirt pulled halfway off, and the mirror cracked right down the middle. A clean split. The symbolism wasnât lost on you.
After that, the house fell quiet.
Too quiet.
The next morning, the lights didnât flicker. The antique mirror showed nothing but your reflection. And the walls? Not a sound.
You pressed your hand against one of them, just to check.
âValerie?â you whispered.
No response.
You shouldâve felt triumphant. But something about the silence was worse.
You werenât free.
You were just aloneâwith Mito.
--
He started humming again, like he always did when something ended. You found him in the music room that afternoon, sitting at the piano, bare-chested, his tattoos shifting with every movement. The melody was soft, a little offbeat. It didnât comfort you.
âYou feel it too, donât you?â you said from the doorway.
He didnât turn around.
âSheâs gone.â
His fingers paused. âMm.â
You stepped inside. Your hand brushed against the wall beside you, feeling the smooth, lifeless wood. âI thought itâd feel different.â
He said nothing.
You sat beside him on the bench, close enough for your thighs to touch. He smelled like ash and flowers.
âShe was never the problem,â he said suddenly.
You blinked. âWhat?â
Mitoâs eyes stayed on the keys. âValerie. She was a consequence. A symptom.â
âOf what?â
He finally looked at you. âYou.â
Your blood went cold.
He smiled, like it was funny. âYou think you're innocent, donât you?â
You stood slowly, every muscle tensing. But his smile didnât fade. It lingered, like smoke.
âIâm kidding,â he said, even though you both knew he wasnât.
You walked out of the room without another word. You didnât know why your heart was pounding. He wasnât threatening you. He wasnât even angry. But something in the air shiftedâlike Valerie left a space behind that something else would fill.
Something worse.
--
That night, he didnât touch you right away. He sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his own hands.
âAre you scared of me?â he asked.
You didnât answer.
âI wouldnât blame you.â
Still, you said nothing.
He looked over his shoulder. His blind eye caught the moonlight like glass. âYouâve changed.â
âSo have you,â you said.
He gave you a half-smile, then turned away again.
Later, he pulled you into bed. He kissed you with hunger, but it wasnât about the ghost anymore. There was no audience. It was just him. Just you.
And stillâyou thought of the door.
The hallway.
The layout of the house.
The sound the front lock made when he used it.
Your fingers curled around his wrist, not in desperation but calculation. You traced the veins. You measured his breathing when he slept.
You hadnât forgotten why you came here.
You hadnât forgotten that you never wanted to stay.
ButâŚ
In the quiet, when his breath fanned your neck and his hand tangled in your hairâsomething clenched in your chest.
It wasnât love.
Not really.
But it was close enough to make you hesitate.
--
In the following days, he started treating you differently.
He read to you from dusty books at night. He took you outside brieflyâjust the back garden, behind locked gates, where ivy strangled the statues and the air felt less dead.
He made you laugh once. You hated how easy it came.
And when you woke from nightmares, he was always there. Too quickly. Too ready.
You started to wonder if he even slept.
--
One night, while the house was still, you crept into the hallway. You stood in front of the mirror that once cracked from Valerieâs wrath. You stared at yourself.
âYou should leave,â you whispered.
But your reflection didnât move.
It just stared back, tired and worn, a little softer.
You didnât look like a prisoner anymore.
You looked like a woman who made the cell her home.
That scared you more than anything.
--
In the morning, Mito brought you coffee. He sat beside you in bed and asked, âIf the door was open, would you go?â
You blinked. âIs it?â
He smiled. âAnswer the question baby.â
You paused.
ââŚI donât know.â
You were lying.
But maybe he already knew.
And maybeâjust maybeâthat was part of his plan, too.
--
It was sometime between night and morning. The hours bled into each other lately, like your thoughts. You couldnât tell the difference between dreams and waking life anymore. It all felt like one endless reel of dim lights, the scent of Mitoâs skin, the distant creaking of floorboards, and the weight in your chest that never left.
You were in the room againâhis room. The one with the black velvet curtains and the faint hum of that old record player spinning slow jazz in the background. You sat on the edge of the bed, tracing patterns into the blanket. Mito was across the room, shirtless, humming to himself while watering a dying plant on the windowsill.
He looked so calm. Too calm.
You blinked slowly.
Something was wrong.
It wasnât him. It was you.
Youâd felt it for days nowâyour mind slipping, like lace unraveling from its hem. There were moments where youâd stare too long at the knife drawer. Times where youâd wake up with your hands clenched like claws, nails digging into your own skin.
Your reflection had changed too.
Not physically. Not entirely. But something in your eyes was different now. Wilder.
That morning, you watched yourself in the bathroom mirror while brushing your teeth and you whispered aloud:
"You canât live like this."
The you in the mirror nodded.
--
Back in the bedroom, Mito was lighting a candle.
You stood slowly. Your feet were light, but your chest felt dense.
âIâm going to the kitchen,â you said quietly.
He turned toward you, candle flickering in his hand. His blind eye caught the light like a cracked marble.
âOkay, darling,â he said. Soft. As if youâd told him you were going to get a glass of water.
--
The hallway stretched endlessly. Your footsteps didnât echoâthey fell like whispers. The house was still, but it wasnât peaceful. It was waiting.
You entered the kitchen.
The fridge hummed. The air felt colder here. You moved slowly, your hand grazing the marble counter, past the glass tray, the crystal bowl of rotting apples, the bloodstained dish towel Mito never bothered to clean.
Then you saw it.
The knife block.
You reached for the largest oneâa chefâs blade with a silver sheen and a wooden handle stained dark. Your hand wrapped around it, and the moment you pulled it free, your entire body felt electric.
Like waking up for the first time in months.
You turned.
Walked.
Back down the hallway. Back to him.
--
He was still in the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, this time playing with the strings of his black sweatpants. He didnât look up as you entered. Didnât flinch at the sound of your footsteps.
You stopped a few feet from him.
He finally looked at you.
At the knife.
At your trembling hand.
âIs that for me?â he asked.
His voice was so calm. Like this was a conversation about tea.
You didnât answer.
Mito sighed and leaned back onto his elbows, exposing the full length of his body.
âThen do it.â
You blinked.
âWhat?â
He nodded slowly. âGo on. You want to be free, donât you?â
Your throat tightened. Your fingers gripped the knife harder.
âI⌠I do.â
âThen this is what it takes,â he whispered.
You stepped forward.
He didnât move.
He was breathing steadily. Like he wanted this. And maybe he did.
Maybe he always had.
Your hands shook.
âI⌠I didnât want to love you,â you whispered. âI didnât mean to love you.â
Mito smiled sadly.
âThatâs the cruelest part, isnât it?â
âYou let me fall in love with you just so I could be the one to end it,â you whispered.
âNo,â he said. âYou loved me because it was the only thing you had left to give.â
You looked into his eyes. For once, neither of them scared you. They both looked human. Fragile.
You inhaled.
He slowly pulled your free hand into his and pressed it against his chestâright where his heart beat steady and unafraid.
âRight here,â he whispered. âMake it count.â
Your body moved before your brain could.
Steel sank into skin.
You stabbed him low in the stomach, not the heart.
He gaspedâa sharp, wet sound. His body jerked forward, blood blooming fast beneath your hands.
âF-Fuck,â he stammered, his breath catching.
His hands clutched your arms, not to push you away, but to hold onto something. Anything.
Tears ran down his cheeks.
âI love you,â he whispered.
You froze.
Then you started crying.
âWhy didnât you stop me?â you sobbed. âWhy didnât you stop me, Mito?!â
He smiled through the pain.
âBecause I wanted you to be free.â
You collapsed to your knees, the knife clattering to the floor beside his body. You covered your face with bloody hands and sobbed.
Not because you regretted it.
But because you loved him.
You loved the man who locked you away.
You loved the man who broke you.
You loved the only constant thing in your twisted lifeâand you still had to kill him.
You then got up to hold onto him, your tears mixing with the blood. You held him as he gasped again and again, every breath smaller than the last.
And then, something strange happened.
You laughed.
It started small. A hiccup between sobs. Then it grew. Sharper. Unhinged.
Because you were free now.
There was no ghost.
No cage.
No one left to love you wrong.
Just you.
And the sound of Mitoâs breathingâfading like a lullaby.
âI won,â you whispered.
Suddenly, all the lights in the house blinked onceâthen went out completely.
A silence followed, so thick and absolute it almost buzzed in your ears. Like the house had exhaled. Or maybe died with him.
The air changed. No more shadows moving in the corners. No more cold spots in rooms that shouldâve been warm. The haunting⌠it was gone.
Mito let out a trembling breath, his blood pooling beneath him, thick and dark. His voice was barely audible now.
âThereâs a flashlightâŚâ he murmured, eyes fluttering. âIn the drawer⌠youâll need it⌠to leave.â
You stood on shaky legs. Your hands were covered in his blood. You stumbled toward the nightstand, groped blindly in the dark, and found the flashlight. The moment you turned it on, the beam sliced through the black like a lifeline. You shined it on his face.
His skin had gone pale. His lips were trembling. You kneeled beside him again.
âIâm sorry,â you whispered.
He blinked slowly. âDonât be.â
âI love you.â
He managed a small, pained smile. âLucky me.â
You leaned in and kissed him one last time. His lips were warm. Faintly trembling. Then still.
And just like that⌠he was gone.
You got up. The flashlight beam danced across the walls as you moved through the hallway. Each room you passed was different nowâdust settling, wallpaper peeling. The glamor was gone. No magic. No illusions. Just rot. Just time.
Thatâs when you found a door you swore hadnât been there before.
Cracked. Humble.
You opened it.
And stepped into the woods.
--
The cold hit you instantly. A real cold. Not the kind that haunted your spine or settled into your bones like fearâbut the kind that whispered youâre awake now.
Your breath steamed in front of you. The flashlight caught on tall trees, their bark glistening with dew. You turned back.
The houseâIt wasnât a mansion. Not anymore.
It was a crooked little cabin. A small, forgettable wooden box sunken into the earth, with vines curling around the corners and windows blackened by time.
Had that⌠always been it?
You stared, heart pounding. Then turned again, ready to run. Ready to escape for real.
And thatâs when you saw him.
A figure in the distance, walking casually among the trees, talking to someone beside him. His voice faint but real. Human.
Your breath caught.
Same build.
Same hair.
Same presence.
But something was off.
He turned.
And both of his eyes were whole.
Your legs gave out.
You fell to your knees in the dirt, the flashlight slipping from your hand.
Because it was him.
But not exactly.
Not Mito.
Not the haunting man.
The real one.
He blinked, stepping forward, alarm flashing in his face.
âHeyâwhoa, are you okay?â
He broke into a jog, his friendâsome guy you couldnât even registerâhanging back a few steps.
You screamed.
Your throat tore with it. The cry was primal, panickedâripping out of your lungs like something was dying inside you all over again.
Christian froze for a second, then crouched down as you curled up, face buried in your bloodstained hands.
He reached toward you slowly. âHey, heyâeasy. Iâm not going to hurt you.â
You sobbed. You couldnât breathe.
Because he looked just like Mito, but there was nothing in his face but concern.
Not obsession.
Not madness.
Not haunting.
Just⌠a man.
Normal.
Alive.
And completely unaware of what youâd survived.
âWhat happened?â he asked, softer now. âYouâre covered in bloodâare you hurt?â
You shook your head violently, still crying.
Christian turned to his friend. âCall someone. Now.â
And as his hand gently rested on your shoulder, you looked up at him through the blur of tears and whispered:
âWhy do you look like him?â
His brows furrowed. âWhat?â
You laughed through your sobs. Then cried harder. Then laughed again.
You didnât know if you were safe.
You didnât even know if this was real.
All you knew was that your nightmare had ended.
And now, somehowâŚ
It wore a new face.
#eerie#christian yu x female reader#dpr ian x female reader#dpr ian x reader#christian yu x reader#dpr ian x you#christian yu#christian yu x you#dpr ian fluff#dpr ian#angst#smut#stockholm syndrome#christian yu fluff#fear#fluff#k hip hop#heartbreak#horror#kpop#love#bittersweet#mito
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The Burning Nightmare || MIIIIITO

Pairing: Mito/Christian yu x Fem!Reader ๨ŕ§
Genre: Horror, thriller, dark romance, angst, and fluff. ๨ŕ§
Warnings: This story contains murdering, drugging, smut, stockholm syndrome, and psychological terror. All of this is fiction and not depicted from DPR IANs real life. ๨ŕ§
Word count: 1.5k ๨ŕ§
âË âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľŕ¨ŕ§ ¡ ¡ ⥠¡ ¡ ŕ¨ŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ Ëâ
After a stretch of heavy silence, the lights in the room flickered back on with a quiet bzzt, buzzing faintly like insects trapped inside the walls. The shadows dissolved in the pale glow. You slowly pulled away from Mitoâs chest, and the warmth of his body faded with the motion.
He paused, watching you for a beat, then smiled softly, brushing your hair behind your ear. "Goodnight, angel," he whispered, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear before trailing a gentle kiss to your neck.
It should've comforted you.
But instead, something about it felt finalâlike the close of a chapter you hadnât agreed to end.
You wanted to say somethingâanythingâbut the exhaustion won. You forced a tired smile instead. Your jaw ached from clenching.
Mito left without another word. The door clicked shut behind him.
You turned onto your side in the massive bed. The sheets were too soft, almost like clouds soaked in perfume. It should've felt luxurious, but it just made the room feel artificialâlike a dream you didnât trust.
Your eyes fluttered closed, lashes grazing your cheek. You were just beginning to drift when the lights started to flicker again.
It started subtlyâa slow dim, then a pulse of brightness. Then faster. Erratic. Angry.
You bolted upright, heart stammering in your chest. The air felt thicker now, charged with something you couldnât name. Your skin prickled.
You sat up, pressing your back to the cold wall behind you. It was damp with condensation.
You whispered carefully, like talking to a sleeping beast:
"Can you stop, please?"
The flickering only intensified. A hard flash, then another. The air crackled like static. You knew what it meant.
Valerie was listening.
"Mito!" you called out, voice shaking.
Nothing.
"Mito!" louder now. Still no reply.
Your panic spiked. âMITO!â
Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.
The door creaked open slowly, and there he wasâshirtless, bleary-eyed, his black hair tousled like he'd just torn himself out of sleep. His tattoos stood stark against his skin, like stories inked into flesh.
"Yes, darling?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
âValerie,â you breathed out. âSheâs making the lights flicker again. I... Iâm scared.â
He looked around. The lights had stopped.
âWhat are you talking about?â he asked, blinking. âTheyâre fine.â
You groaned, frustrated. âShe stopped when you walked in.â
Mito chuckled, the sound low and almost teasing. He walked toward you, arms wide. âYouâre so jumpy, sweet thing.â
You didnât answer, just stepped into him, letting yourself be wrapped in his warmth.
âCan you... stay?â Your voice was small, barely audible against his chest.
He didnât respond at first, just breathed into your hair, his palm gliding up and down your spine. Then a soft âMhm.â
He pulled away, waiting for you to lie down first. You hesitated, just for a moment. A flicker of doubt. But then you slipped beneath the covers, the sheets cool against your skin. Mito followed, curling his body around yours like a shield.
He nuzzled his face into your neck, lips brushing skin. âI love you,â he whispered, almost like a confession.
The words hit your stomach like a rock.
You didnât answer. You couldnât.
---
You woke up alone.
The bed was too quiet, too cold. Mitoâs side was empty, sheets still rumpled from where his body had been. You sat up slowly, rubbing your face, trying to piece yourself back together.
Then the door creaked open.
âGood morning, beautiful,â Mito said with a wide grin, carrying a tray with foodâtoast, eggs, and something that smelled like vanilla. Too perfect.
You tried to return the smile. âGood⌠morning.â
He placed the tray gently on your lap, watching your reaction. You stared at it like it might grow teeth.
He raised an eyebrow. âYou think I did something to it?â
âNo, I justâŚâ
He laughed, sharp and knowing. âYou donât have to lie. I can see it all over your face.â
You stayed quiet. He slid onto the bed next to you.
âHere. Weâll eat it together.â He picked up a fork, took a bite of the eggs. Chewed, swallowed. âSee? Not poisoned.â
You watched him closely before slowly taking your own bite. It tasted⌠good. Almost too good.
But something inside you wouldnât let you finish it. Pride? Fear? You werenât sure.
âI need the bathroom,â you muttered.
He didnât respond. Just gently took your hand and guided you out, walking you to the bathroom in silence.
The door clicked shut behind you. You let out a long, shaky breath.
You needed a way out. You needed a plan.
And nowâyou had one.
You were going to break Valerie. Push her. Make her jealous. Manipulate whatever tether she had to this place until it snapped.
Later, you found Mito at the piano. His back to you. Fingers dancing over the keys like magic. The melody was haunting, delicateâfull of something unspoken.
He noticed your presence and turned slightly, tilting his head with a smirk. âCome,â he said softly.
You sat beside him, watching his hands. Every finger moved like it had lived many lives. He was beautiful. Unnaturally so.
You leaned your head on his shoulder. The moment you didâscratch, scratch.
The sound clawed through the air.
Valerie.
You covered your ears instinctively. The scratching grew louderâangrier. Then it stopped.
And the walls began to sob.
Actual sobbing. Wet and echoing, like the house itself was crying.
âShe hasnât done that in a while,â Mito said, puzzled.
âCry?â you asked, shifting closer, your voice feigning innocence.
He nodded, smiling faintly. Then he wrapped an arm around youâand the crying got louder. More desperate.
âYouâre making her upset.â
âIâm not doing anythingâŚâ you whispered, smiling into his shoulder.
This was it. This was your leverage.
--
Days passed.
You flirted lightly with Mito, careful not to push too far.
He treated you like glassâgentle hands, soft words. It made you question yourself. Was this the monster you were escaping from?
One night, you were behind him, massaging his shoulders. The dim light cast shadows over the scars and ink on his skin.
âYou know,â he began, voice low, âI know youâre pretending.â
Your hands froze.
He turned to face you. âYou didnât think Iâd catch on, did you?â
Your throat clenched. You stayed quiet.
âI told you beforeâI know you. Every part of you. I can smell your lies, darling.â
You blinked, swallowed. You couldnât stop now.
You stepped off the bed, slowly walked to stand before him. His eyes followed your every move.
You closed the gap until your thighs were in between his. Inches from his mouth. Thenâyou kissed him.
He was startled. But not hesitant.
He kissed you back like he needed it. Like it was the last thing keeping him alive. He stood, grabbing your hips, walking you backward until you hit the dresser.
You broke the kiss to breathe, tilting your head as he kissed along your jaw.
With one hand, you subtly turned the antique mirror toward the bedâjust enough for Valerie to see.
You kissed him again. This time, deeper.
His tongue slid into your mouth like it belonged there. He pulled you to the bed, gently laying you down before climbing over you.
He panted against your neck. âYouâre trying to make her jealous, huh?â
You didnât answer.
âThatâs fine,â he murmured, lips moving down your neck. âLetâs play this game together.â
You bit your lip. This wasnât the plan.
But you needed her gone.
So you kissed him again.
His hands slipped under your shirtâwarm and sure. You gasped as his hands squeezed your breasts, fumbling with your bra, teasing your nipples until your breath hitched.
You moaned, and the walls screamed.
He grinned. âSheâs listening.â
You looked at the mirror. âGood.â
âIf thatâs what you want,â he said.
His fingers slid into your underwear, gliding between your folds. He circled your clit. Teasing it. You arched into him, hips lifting instinctively.
Then two fingers inside you.
Your moans filled the room.
Valerie screamed through the walls again.
He pressed harder.
"God, youâre so tight," he whispered.
Your back arched again as he curled his fingers, hitting that spot, over and over. He even started grinding against your thigh softly, his hardness was evident.
You trembled beneath him.
He kissed your lipsâtasting every breath. But just as you were about to fall apartâHe stopped.
Pulled away.
You blinked in confusion. âWhyâd you stop?â
âLook behind you.â
You turnedâand froze.
Your name.
Written in huge, jagged letters on the wall.
In blood.
You scrambled up. âWas that Valerie?â
Mito nodded slowly. âWeâre hurting her too much.â
You stared.
Thenâsmiled.
A genuine smile.
You couldnât help it.
This was working.
You turned to Mito and threw your arms around him. He grinned into your shoulder.
âDonât get too excited, yeah?â he whispered. âThis is just the beginning, baby.â
Your heart stopped.
But you didnât pull away.
You couldnât. Not if you ever wanted to leave.
Not until she broke first.
#eerie#christian yu x female reader#dpr ian x female reader#dpr ian x reader#christian yu x reader#dpr ian x you#christian yu x you#christian yu#dpr ian fluff#dpr ian#angst#smut#stockholm syndrome#christian yu fluff#fear#fluff#k hip hop#heartbreak#horror#kpop#love#bittersweet#mito
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The Burning Nightmare || MIIIITO

Pairing: Mito/Christian yu x Fem!Reader ๨ŕ§
Genre: Horror, thriller, dark romance, angst, and fluff. ๨ŕ§
Warnings: This story contains murdering, drugging, smut, stockholm syndrome, and psychological terror. All of this is fiction and not depicted from DPR IANs real life. ๨ŕ§
Word count: 1.1k ๨ŕ§
âË âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľŕ¨ŕ§ ¡ ¡ ⥠¡ ¡ ŕ¨ŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ Ëâ
Youâre not sure how long itâs been since he left.
An hour? Two? The only light you have is the dim golden flicker from a single bulb above the door. It hums faintly, almost like it's struggling to stay aliveâlike itâs the only thing left between you and pitch black. You sit on the edge of the bed, knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. The ropes are gone, but you havenât left the room.
You donât know why. You just⌠donât. It feels like even if thinking about crossing the threshold without permission might wake it up.
You tried to sleep. Your eyes shut eventually from exhaustion more than anything else, and you drifted into an uneasy dream. A hallway with no end. Mito standing at the other side, reaching for you, but every time you stepped closer, he faded further away.
You woke up with a jerk.
And thatâs when you heard it.
A voice. No⌠not a voice. A whisper.
At first, you thought it was your mind playing tricks on youâremnants of the dream clinging to your ears.
But thenâŚ
âY/nâŚâ
You freeze.
The whisper is raspy. Delicate. Right up against your ear, though no oneâs near you.
You turn slowly to the wall behind the bed.
âY/nâŚâ
This time itâs clearer. Multiple voices. Like a chorus of breathless chants all calling for you.
âY/n⌠Y/n⌠Y/nâŚâ
You stand, slowly. The floor beneath you groans as if it doesnât want you to move.
You step toward the wall. You donât know why. Curiosity? Instinct? Or maybe that same fear that tells people to check the closet even though they know the monster is there.
You lean your head slightly, listening.
Nothing.
Then, without fully understanding whyâyou whisper back.
ââŚYes?â
Silence.
Your breath catches. You wait.
ââŚHello?â you say, louder.
The silence hangs like a thread about to snap.
Then the ground trembles.
Not gently. Not like a subway humming beneath the earth. Violently. Like something underneath is trying to break through.
You stumble forward, hit your knees hard on the wooden floor. Your palms slap down to catch yourself. The tremors donât stop.
Your voice finally breaks through.
âMito!!â
No response.
You call again, louder this time, your voice shaking like the walls.
âMito!!â
Thenâfootsteps.
Heavy and slow. Not rushed. Almost⌠deliberate. You freeze in place as they grow louder.
Then the door creaks open. He walks in like heâd just returned from a walk in the park, calm and collected, wearing a faint smile.
âWhatâs wrong, baby?â he asks, stepping inside casually.
You scramble up from the floor, brushing dust off your legs. âDonât call me that.â
He pauses, tilts his head, watching you with a calm curiosity. âAlright,â he says softly. âY/n.â
You cross your arms tightly, almost like youâre trying to hold yourself together. âDid you⌠feel that? The shaking? And⌠the whispers?â
He raises a brow. âWhispers?â
Your lips part to respond, but you stop yourself. You already feel like you sound crazy. The way his expression shifts so subtlyâjust a twitch of the eye, a curve of the mouthâit makes you feel small.
âI heard voices coming from the wall,â you say finally, more cautiously. âAnd the whole room started shakingâŚâ
He watches you in silence for a moment.
Then laughs.
You flinch.
âAhhh,â he says, walking slowly toward you. âThat makes sense.â
You blink. âWhat?â
âSheâs jealous.â
ââŚShe?â
He steps even closer now, and you take a step back. He lifts his hands slowlyâlike heâs reaching for something fragileâand gently brushes your hair behind your ear with both palms. His fingers are warm, but his touch sends cold down your spine.
âYou donât remember?â he says, voice low.
Your voice is barely a whisper. âRemember what?â
He leans in, his lips nearly brushing your temple. âThe girl who lives inside the walls. Valerie. She doesnât like you.â
Your blood goes cold.
You step away from his touch. âWhy?â
His eyes flash briefly with something darker. Possessiveness, maybe. But then he smiles again. That charming, unnerving smile.
âBecause youâre the only one I love.â
He kisses your cheek gently, like itâs something innocent. But it isnât. Not when your heart is thudding with panic. Not when you feel eyes on you, watching from places they shouldnât.
You push him away. âDonât.â
The floor trembles againâsubtly at first, but enough to make the bedframe rattle.
Mitoâs head snaps toward the wall, and his jaw tightens.
âSheâs getting louder,â he mutters, annoyed.
You clutch the edge of the bed. He walks out of the room.
You sit frozen, unsure whether to follow or hide.
A minute passes.
Then another.
Then he comes back.
In his handâa knife.
Your eyes widen. You scramble backward on the bed until your back hits the wall. âNo, pleaseâMito, I didnât meanâwhatever I didâplease, donâtââ
His head jerks up and he stares at you, then laughs againâlouder this time.
âItâs not for you, silly.â He grins and holds the knife up. âI told you, Iâd never hurt you.â
You stare at him in disbelief.
He turns and drives the knife into the wall.
Not once.
Not twice.
Over and over.
With each stab, the house groans. Cracks splinter across the wall like veins. And thenâBlood.
Thick and dark, seeping down from the cuts like the wall itself is alive. The light above you flickers violently and thenâDarkness.
You gasp.
Total black.
You canât see. Canât breathe. You fall to the floor, disoriented, crawling on your hands and knees until your fingers brush something solid.
A leg.
âMito?â you whisper, voice trembling.
He crouches. Even in the dark, you feel the strength of his arms as he lifts you effortlessly and carries you back to the bed.
âJust wait,â he whispers. âSheâs done now.â
Youâre shaking.
He pulls you close. His arm around your shoulder, his palm gently stroking your arm. Itâs strangely soothingâso much so that you hate yourself for letting it calm you. You bury your face in his chest, breathing shallow, unsure of where reality ends and nightmare begins.
âShe just needed a reminder,â he murmurs.
âA reminder of what?â you ask, voice small.
He doesnât respond.
You stay like that for a long time. Minutes. Maybe hours. Curled into his side in complete darkness.
And slowly, a thought begins to form. A plan.
If Valerie gets jealous⌠then maybe, just maybe, you can use that.
Not now.
But soon.
You nuzzle closer to him, letting him believe the fear in your body is surrender instead of strategy.
âThank you,â you whisper into his shirt.
He presses a kiss to the top of your head.
âYouâre safe with me,â he says.
You nod against his chest.
#christian yu x female reader#eerie#dpr ian x female reader#dpr ian x reader#christian yu x reader#dpr ian x you#christian yu x you#christian yu#dpr ian fluff#dpr ian#angst#stockholm syndrome#smut#christian yu fluff#fear#fluff#k hip hop#heartbreak#horror#kpop#love#bittersweet#mito
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The Burning Nightmare || MIIITO

Pairing: Mito/Christian yu x Fem!Reader ๨ŕ§
Genre: Horror, thriller, dark romance, angst, and fluff. ๨ŕ§
Warnings: This story contains murdering, drugging, smut, stockholm syndrome, and psychological terror. All of this is fiction and not depicted from DPR IANs real life. ๨ŕ§
Word count: 970 ๨ŕ§
âË âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľŕ¨ŕ§ ¡ ¡ ⥠¡ ¡ ŕ¨ŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ Ëâ
He carried you into a room and when your blurred vision cleared, you were stunned.
The space was lavishâlike something out of a dream. Deep velvet curtains, crystal chandeliers, antique gold-trimmed mirrors. A fire flickered gently in the hearth, casting soft light on polished wood floors and marbled statues. There were paintings, even a plush white couch he laid you on like a porcelain doll.
The air didnât smell like dust. It smelled faintly of roses and sandalwood.
You blinked at him in disbelief. âWhat⌠what is this place?â
âMy favorite room,â he replied. âThis is where I bring the ones I love. Or thought i did.â
You recoiled slightly. âYou donât love me. You donât even know me.â
He tilted his head, confused by your resistance. âI know everything about you. Iâve seen you beforeâmany times. In dreams. In visions. I know your laugh. I know how you bite your lip when youâre nervous. I even know how you sleep.â
Your skin crawled.
He leaned in and cradled your face, his touch cold and obsessive. âYouâre exactly how I imagined. No one else has come close.â
You pushed his hand away. âI want to go home,â you said hoarsely.
His expression darkened for the first time. âThis is home.â
âNo⌠this is a prison. Youâre sick.â
That struck something in himâhe blinked, then grinned. âThere it is,â he whispered. âThe fire in your voice. I was waiting for that.â
He slowly knelt in front of you, placing his hands gently on your thighs. You stiffened.
âI could worship you forever,â he said, eyes scanning your face like a painting he couldnât touch enough. âYou donât understand what you do to me.â
You jerked back, panicked. âDonât touch me!â
He leaned in, brushing a kiss to your jaw. You shiveredânot from the touch, but from the weight of powerlessness.
You slapped his chest, pushing him off.
He stumbled back slightly, laughing under his breath. âFeisty.â
You glared at him, tears still slipping down. âYouâre disgusting.â
He stood, brushing invisible dust from his knees. âSorry,â he said casually, like youâd just declined a dance. âGot a little carried away. Bad habit, I suppose.â
You stood shakily, backing toward the door.
âI need air,â you muttered.
He arched a brow. âAir? Hmm.â
You werenât going to wait for his permission.
âThereâs a garden,â he finally offered, eyes watching you closely. âDown the hallway, first door on the left. But I wouldnât recommendââ
You were already gone.
Your bare feet hit the floor hard, adrenaline giving you strength. You didnât care if it was a trap. You just needed space. Something real.
The garden doors creaked open and for a moment, you forgot everything.
White roses. Thick vines curling around stone arches. The scent of honeysuckle and morning dew. It was hauntingly beautiful, like something preserved from another world.
You stepped inside.
Crunch.
You looked down.
A severed hand.
Your breath caught. You stumbled back, eyes darting. That wasnât the only one. Scattered among the roses were other piecesâlimbs, fragments of bone, heads with hollow eyes that stared up like they'd been caught mid-scream.
You screamed, nearly collapsing.
He caught you.
His arms circled you again, too familiar, too warm.
âYou werenât supposed to come here,â he said softly into your hair. âYouâre stubborn.â
You turned to him, eyes wild. âWhat⌠what is this? Are those real?â
âYes.â
âWhy?!â Your voice cracked. âWhy would youâwhat did youââ
He took your hands, unnervingly gentle. âThey werenât you.â
You stared at him, breath coming in ragged gasps. âYou killed them.â
âI had to,â he said simply. âThey tried to pretend, but my heart always knew. And I donât like liars.â
You yanked your hands away. âYouâre fucking insane!â
He only smiled. âYouâve said that already. But youâll change your mind.â
You ran back to the house, lungs burning. Into the kitchen. Ripping through drawers, searching for anything. A knife. A key. Water. Something. Anything.
You found a half-empty bottle and gulped it down, letting it spill down your chin.
Behind you, footsteps. Not rushed. Leisurely.
He waited for you to drink, then reached for your wrist. âCome.â
âNo!â
But he was stronger, and he led youânot forcefully, just calmlyâinto another room. A bedroom this time. Clean. Soft white sheets. Black candles. A massive antique mirror resting on a dresser.
He made you sit beside him.
Silence.
You were the first to speak, voice hoarse. âWhatâs your name?â
He smiled, like heâd been waiting for the question. âMito.â
You swallowed. âMito⌠what happened to those girls?â
âI killed them.â
âI know that,â you snapped. âI mean before you did. What did you do to them?â
His gaze wandered toward the ceiling, thoughtful. âI took them in. Dressed them. Fed them. Made them feel special. I thought they were you.â
âBut they werenât.â
He nodded. âThey always got something wrong. Their laugh. Their eyes. The way they said my name.â
âAnd me?â you whispered.
âThereâs no doubt about you.â
You didnât respond. You couldnât. You didnât even know who you were anymore.
After a long silence, he stood and pulled something from a drawer. An ornate mirror with delicate carvings.
He handed it to you.
You looked at yourself.
Pale. Tired. Your lips chapped. Your eyes sunken.
But your reflectionâŚ
Smiled.
You werenât smiling.
You gasped and dropped the mirror, hands shaking. âD-did you see that?â
He chuckled.
âSheâs one of them,â he said casually. âThe last girl. Sheâs in the walls now. Her spirit clings to me. She loved me too much to leave.â
You stared at him in horror. âThen why did you kill her?â
He leaned in close.
âBecause,â he whispered, âshe wasnât you. And anyone who isnât you⌠doesnât belong in my world.â
And with that, he left the room, leaving you alone.
#eerie#christian yu x female reader#dpr ian x female reader#dpr ian x reader#christian yu x reader#dpr ian x you#christian yu x you#christian yu#dpr ian fluff#dpr ian#angst#smut#stockholm syndrome#christian yu fluff#fear#fluff#k hip hop#heartbreak#horror#kpop#love#bittersweet#mito
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The Burning Nightmare || MIITO

Pairing: Mito/Christian yu x Fem!Reader ๨ŕ§
Genre: Horror, thriller, dark romance, angst, and fluff. ๨ŕ§
Warnings: This story contains murdering, drugging, smut, stockholm syndrome, and psychological terror. All of this is fiction and not depicted from DPR IANs real life. ๨ŕ§
Word count: 1.5k ๨ŕ§
âË âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľŕ¨ŕ§ ¡ ¡ ⥠¡ ¡ ŕ¨ŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ Ëâ
You stirred awake to a heavy stillness. The air felt thick, dense with dust and something metallic. Your eyes fluttered open, barely adjusting to the dim lightingâa single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly as if it had just been disturbed. The basement around you was lifeless, the corners swallowed in shadow, the silence unnatural.
It took you a moment to understand what you were feelingâtightness, pressure. You blinked harder, the fog in your head slowly lifting. Your wrists ached. Thatâs when you noticed the ropes. They were knotted tightly behind your back, rough against your skin, digging deeper with each subtle movement. You winced. Your shoulders throbbed from being held in such an unnatural position.
A sick wave of confusion crept over you as you tilted your head downward. The dress you wore last nightâmidnight blue, sparkly, delicate strapsâwas gone. In its place was an oversized t-shirt, baggy over your frame, paired with a simple pair of cotton shorts. They smelled like fabric softener. Clean. Fresh.
But that only made it worse.
Your breath hitched.
Had he�
You trembled, the idea of him changing your clothes settling like ice in your veins. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying not to let your imagination spiralâbut it was already too late. The thoughts clawed their way to the surface, cruel and intrusive.
You let out a shaky breath and tried twisting your wrists, testing the ropes. No give. Just more raw skin.
Above you, the old floorboards creaked. You froze. The sound was soft at firstâlight footsteps. Slow. Intentional. Then came the faint groan of a door opening, and before you could even brace yourself, you heard it. That rhythmic thump of descending steps.
He was coming.
The basement door cracked open, the hinges whining as it swung wider. Your breath lodged in your throat. You didnât want to lookâbut you did.
He stepped inside, bathed in the faint overhead glow. Now dressed entirely in whiteâwhite linen shirt, white pants, barefoot like a ghost. His presence filled the room effortlessly, like the air shifted to make room for him. His eyeâthe one that still held sightâshone like liquid obsidian, sharp and beautiful in the most terrifying way. The other, clouded over, gave his stare an uncanny edge.
"Hey, darling," he said, voice light, sing-song, like he was greeting a lover at the door. His grin spread slowly, unnervingly wide. "Missed me?"
You didnât answer. Your instincts screamed to run, to fight, to do somethingâbut you could only inch backward, pressing your spine flush against the cold, gritty wall behind you.
Nowhere else to go.
He took his time walking over. Each step was unhurried, deliberate, as though savoring the moment. He crouched in front of you, resting on the balls of his feet, his face leveling with yours.
Then, his fingers reached forwardâslow, gentle. They threaded through your hair, brushing against your scalp with care that felt so out of place it made your stomach turn.
"Why⌠why are you doing this?" you rasped, your throat dry, lips cracked. It felt like the first words youâd spoken in hours, maybe longer.
He let out a quiet laugh. Not loudâjust a breath of sound, but it sent a chill through you. It wasnât joyful. It was... indulgent.
He leaned in until you could feel his breath fan across your cheek.
"BabyâŚ" he whispered, voice suddenly syrupy, almost reverent, "I've been through hell trying to find you."
His hand, still tangled in your hair, drifted to your cheek. His thumb caressed the side of your face like he was trying to memorize it by touch. The contrast between his tenderness and the tight ropes biting into your skin made it feel all the more wrong.
You swallowed hard. "W-why have you been looking for me?" Your voice wavered, barely above a whisper.
He didnât answer right away. Instead, he stood upâsharp, swift, like something had clicked into place inside him. You flinched.
He turned away, pacing slowly toward a set of drawers tucked into the shadows of the basement. His movements were smooth, too fluid, like he was rehearsing a dance heâd performed a hundred times before. He pulled a drawer open with a soft creak, rummaging inside until he retrieved something flat, worn at the edges.
A sketchbook.
He returned and sat down cross-legged in front of you, holding the book with a kind of reverence, like it was sacred.
âSee this?â he asked, voice quiet now.
You didnât respond. You couldnât. You just watched as he flipped it open, page by page.
Drawings.
Dozens of them.
Each one of you.
Your breath caught in your chest.
One showed you laughing, head tilted back with joy. Anotherâyour eyes downcast, solemn. Others showed you crying, asleep, looking away, unaware. But it was you. All of you. Page after page after page. Some looked like they were done from memory, others like he'd been watching from somewhere close.
You blinked back tears. From fear. From disbelief. How could this be real? You didnât know him. You had never met him before last night.
He mustâve seen the horror on your face, because his grin returnedâwide and boyish.
"I know what youâre thinking, my love," he said, closing the sketchbook with a soft thump. "But I swear Iâm not crazy."
You didnât move. Your heart thudded in your chest, loud, uneven.
He let out a long breath, eyes softening. âIâve known you for a long time,â he said, almost like a confession.
You frowned, your confusion showing before you could mask it.
He chuckled.
âIâve been dreaming about you since I was a teenager,â he continued. âEvery night. No matter where I was, or how old I gotâyou were always there. Calling for me. Reaching for me. Needing me.â He paused, letting the silence stretch between you. âAnd Iâve been needing you. More than youâll ever understand.â
You stared at him, stunned. This was beyond obsession. It was delusionâand deeply rooted.
He knelt in front of you again and, before you could recoil, he pulled you into a slow, lingering hug. His arms wrapped around your trembling frame with unsettling familiarity.
You wanted to cryânot from comfort, but from the overwhelming sense of being trapped inside someone else's fantasy. You werenât a person to him. You were a dream he refused to wake up from.
His lips hovered near your ear, breath warm against your skin.
âIâm gonna take care of you,â he whispered. âJust like youâve taken care of me⌠in all those dreams. Okay?â
His voice was so gentle, so heartbreakingly sincere, it almost made you forget how dangerous he was.
He finally stepped back, the warmth of his breath lingering in the cold air as if reluctant to leave you. Thenâwithout a wordâhe reached for the ropes at your wrists.
The ropes fell away one by one, his fingers slow and deliberate, as if untying a gift. Your breath caught in your throatânot from relief, but from confusion. Why was he letting you go? You didnât trust it.
As the last knot loosened, you flinched and pulled your arms in, cradling your wrists. They were sore and lined with deep red indentations. You didnât dare look him in the eye.
He didnât say a word. Just stood there⌠watching.
You forced yourself to your feet, slow and unsteady. The basement smelled like mildew and old dust, but your mind was already reaching for something beyond itâfreedom. Air. Light. Anything but him.
The silence stretched.
Then his voice cut through itâlight, amused.
âRun if youâd like,â he said. âIt makes things more exciting.â
You didnât hesitate. You bolted past him and up the creaking stairs. Your heart thundered so loudly it drowned out every other sound. Once at the top, you stopped to scan the hallway.
There were so many doors.
Too many.
You grabbed the nearest doorknob and flung it open. Darkness.
Another.
Darkness.
Another.
Black void, no end in sight.
You spun in a circle, frantic. Each door revealed the same bottomless night, like portals to nowhere. No windows, no cracks in the walls. The hallway was a maze with no exit.
Panic swelled in your chest.
Behind you, you heard the soft thump of his footsteps on the stairs. But he didnât rush. He moved slowly, like a predator letting its prey exhaust itself.
You backed against the wall, breath shallow. When you felt his presence behind you, your legs buckled. His hand landed gentlyâtoo gentlyâon your shoulder.
âThereâs no leaving me, baby,â he whispered, voice brushing your ear like smoke. âYouâre all mine now.â
You turned your face away and sank to the floor, trembling. You didnât even feel yourself crying until your vision blurred with tears. You curled into yourself, hoping to disappear.
âWhy are you doing this?â you whispered into your knees. âPlease⌠please let me goâŚâ
But your begging only seemed to entertain him.
He crouched and scooped you into his arms like you weighed nothing.
âDonât be scared,â he murmured. âYouâre safe here with me.â
Safe. That word shattered something in you.
#eerie#christian yu x female reader#dpr ian x female reader#dpr ian x reader#christian yu x reader#dpr ian x you#christian yu x you#christian yu#dpr ian fluff#dpr ian#angst#christian yu fluff#fear#fluff#horror#k hip hop#heartbreak#kpop#love#bittersweet#mito#stockholm syndrome#smut
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The Burning Nightmare || MITO

Pairing: Mito/Christian yu x Fem!Reader ๨ŕ§
Genre: Horror, thriller, dark romance, angst, and fluff. ๨ŕ§
Warnings: This story contains murdering, drugging, smut, stockholm syndrome, and psychological terror. All of this is fiction and not depicted from DPR IANs real life. ๨ŕ§
Word count: 1.2k ๨ŕ§
âË âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľŕ¨ŕ§ ¡ ¡ ⥠¡ ¡ ŕ¨ŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ Ëâ
The club doors swung open behind you with a screech, spilling out muffled bass and a wave of warm, alcohol-soaked air. You stepped onto the sidewalk, heels unsteady against the uneven concrete, as the door thudded shut behind you.
The sudden silence felt like a slap.
Your phone buzzed weakly in your hand, battery clinging to 2%. You glanced at the screenâno new messages. No one had texted to check if you got home safe. You swiped your tongue over your dry lips and looked up.
The city was a different animal at 2 AM.
Empty streets. Flickering lights. A wind that whispered down the narrow alleys like it knew secrets.
You tugged your jacket tighter, though it wasnât doing much against the cold. Your dressâshort, sparkly, beautiful under club lightsânow felt too thin, too loud. You crossed your arms over your chest and began to walk, head down, trying not to trip.
Your head was fuzzy. Not drunk, exactlyâjust off-balance. Like you were floating half out of your body.
You knew you shouldn't be walking alone. But youâd spent every dollar at the bar, and the Uber app wouldnât even load.
Home was fifteen minutes away. Ten, if you cut through the alley.
You paused at the entrance. It was narrow and soaked in shadow, like a mouth waiting to swallow you.
You knew better. You really did.
But your feet moved anyway.
You stepped inside.
It was darker than you expectedâno windows, no neon signs. Just the dim, sour glow of a single streetlamp trying to reach in from the end. Your heels clicked on the wet pavement. You walked fast. You told yourself not to think about movies or news reports or all the girls whose faces ended up on missing posters.
And then you heard it.
Footsteps.
Not echoing. Not from behind a corner. Not imaginary.
Behind you.
Soft, steady. Measured. Matching your rhythm exactly.
You stopped.
They stopped.
A chill crept up your spine like fingers tapping your vertebrae. You swallowed thickly and glanced over your shoulder.
No one.
Just an empty stretch of alley.
You exhaled through your nose and laughed nervously to yourself. âParanoid,â you muttered.
You picked up the pace, heels tapping faster now, echoing louder than before.
And thenâagainâfootsteps.
Closer this time. Confident.
You didnât stop to look. You started to walk faster.
Faster.
You could feel someone behind you now. Not just hear itâfeel it. The heat of them. The weight of their gaze. The air felt thinner.
Your breath quickened. You turned a corner, heart pounding, mind spinning.
And then a voice.
Low.
Right behind your ear.
âGoing somewhere?â
A scream clawed its way up your throatâbut it never made it out.
A hand seized your wristâcold, strongâand spun you around so fast your vision blurred.
You slammed into the brick wall. The impact stole the air from your lungs.
He stood in front of you.
He stood beneath the glow of a flickering streetlight, a shadow molded by the dark.
At first, all you saw was the outlineâtall, lean, shoulders squared beneath a studded black jacket that shimmered ever so slightly when he moved. He looked like someone pulled from a dream gone wrong. Not quite real. Not quite human. His hair fell in soft waves across his face, messy and windblown like heâd been walking for miles. But it was his eyes that rooted you to the spot.
One eye was wide, sharpâburning with something unreadable. The other was dulled, clouded over, as if it had seen too much. They didn't match, yet they both stared into you, not at you. Like he already knew who you were. Like heâd been waiting.
His expression was calm, but empty in a way that sent a jolt of unease through your chest.
He didnât speak at first.
He just looked at you.
And smiled.
It wasnât comforting.
It felt like the moment before something goes terribly wrong.
He tilted his head.
You froze, your breath rattling in your throat.
âD-do I⌠do I know you?â you stammered.
He smiled. Slow. Amused.
âDo I need to?â
His voice was velvety. Too calm. It made your skin crawl.
You tried to step sideways. He mirrored you.
âIâIâm just trying to get home,â you whispered.
He stepped forward.
You stepped back.
The wall met your spine with a shuddering stop.
He was close now. Closer than anyone should be. His breath fanned against your faceâsweet and metallic. His hand came up and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear with such gentleness it almost made you flinch.
âYouâre trembling,â he murmured. âYou scared of me, sweetheart?â
You shook your head, too scared to lie convincingly.
His smile widened.
âLiar.â
His fingers slid down your cheek. You flinched, but didnât pull away. You didnât dare.
Thenâhe pulled something from his coat pocket.
A small blade. Slim. Clean. The kind you donât carry unless you plan to use it.
Your blood turned to ice.
âIf I ask you to do something for me,â he said, lifting the blade between you, âwill you do it?â
You opened your mouth, unsure whether to scream or beg. Instead, all that came out was: âIt⌠depends on what it is.â
His face changed.
Smile gone.
He pressed the flat of the knife to your cheek. Not hard. Just enough to feel the cold kiss of the metal.
âWrong answer.â
You gasped as he slashedâquick, shallowâbut enough. Enough to make your skin burn and blood rise.
You yelped, clutching your face. Tears sprang to your eyes.
He laughed. Not loudly. Quietly. Like it was private amusement. Like you were the punchline.
âIâpleaseâplease, Iâll do whatever you want,â you sobbed.
He ignored you, pulling out a phone with one hand and casually checking the screen. You watched his eyes move. Notifications. Messages. A clock.
You ran.
You barely made it four steps before your head jerked backwardâhe had your hair in his fist.
He yanked you to the ground, knees scraping the concrete. You screamed.
âWhat the fuck do you think youâre doing?â he growled.
âIâm sorryâIâm sorryâI swear, just let me go!â Your voice broke. âIâll do anything. Please.â
He knelt beside you, crouching low like an animal. His head tilted again.
âIf I let you go,â he said calmly, âthen you wouldnât do anything for me.â
He leaned in, his face inches from yours.
âWhy's a pretty girl like you out here dressed like that?â His gaze drifted down, lingering on your chest, your legs, the cut in your cheek.
You tried to crawl backward. He caught your ankle.
âNo, no,â he crooned. âNot yet. Youâre just getting interesting.â
You opened your mouth to scream again.
But you didnât get the chance.
His hand was at your sideâanother sharp jab. You gasped, looking down.
A syringe.
He withdrew it smoothly, expression unreadable.
You blinked. The world around you began to swim.
âNoâŚâ you slurred, trying to lift your arm. Your fingers didnât listen.
He caught you as you fell forward, whispering into your ear:
âBe a good girl for me.â
And everything went black.
#eerie#christian yu x female reader#dpr ian x female reader#dpr ian x reader#christian yu x reader#dpr ian x you#christian yu x you#christian yu#dpr ian fluff#dpr ian#angst#christian yu fluff#fear#fluff#k hip hop#kpop#heartbreak#love#bittersweet#horror#thriller#dark romance#stockhom syndrome#smut#mito
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Merry Go || Christian Yu

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader ๨ŕ§
Genre: Fluff, heartbreak, bittersweet ๨ŕ§
Inspo: The song Merry Go, by DPR IAN on his album "MIITO (Moodswings In To Order)" ๨ŕ§
Word count: 1.6k
âË âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľŕ¨ŕ§ ¡ ¡ ⥠¡ ¡ ŕ¨ŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ Ëâ
The rain was pattering outside his window, soft at firstâlike fingertips on glassâbut gradually building into a restless symphony of storm and sorrow. Each drop slid down the pane like the seconds he was losing, time running through his fingers again.
He was in a rush.
Always in a rush.
But this time, it was different.
This time, it mattered.
He cursed under his breath, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. His car had broken down againâthis time in the middle of the highway. The engine had coughed, sputtered, and finally died, and the headlights, long flickering like they had one foot in the grave, gave out entirely.
You always told him to fix it.
Over and over.
But he never listened.
Not about the car. Not about anything.
Now, with the sky barely blushing blue and the streetlights flickering out like tired stars, he sat stranded, helpless, and too far away.
He slammed his fist into the wheel, head falling forward, his forehead resting there in defeat. His breathing was shallow, rapid. Then slower. And then, suddenly, there were tears. At first, he tried to fight themâlike alwaysâbut this time he couldnât. They spilled. Heavy, hot, and angry.
He picked up his phone.
5:30 AM.
He was late.
He missed your flight.
His vision blurred, the cold light of the screen glowing in the darkness of the car. Panic twisted through his chest like a knife. But even as the tears fell, he didnât give up. He couldnât.
He hailed the first taxi he could find, yelling into his phone, voice cracking as he gave the driver the destination: LAX.
By the time he arrived, the airport was already alive. Bright lights, sterile air, people moving like static through the halls of departure. He ranâran like his entire soul depended on it. He pushed past faces, past security lines and escalators, past time zones and memories. He searched until his lungs burned.
Thenâhe saw you.
You were standing near the gate, your suitcase at your side, hair gently tangled from the wind outside. And for a split second, everything froze. You hadnât boarded yet. You were still there.His chest collapsed with relief, and without hesitation, he broke into a sprint. The moment you turned, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground. You gasped, more in disbelief than fear, and when he set you down, his eyes were red, tear-streaked, and wild with emotion.
âDonât leave meâŚâ he whispered, voice trembling.
You reached up, your thumb brushing a tear from his cheek. You were calm, heartbreakingly calm. âI have to,â you said softly.
He cupped your face in both hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks, trying to memorize everythingâthe shape of your lips, the small crease between your brows, the way your eyes looked when you were trying not to cry.
âYou know Iâll long for the boring nights we used to rock?â he whispered, a faint smile breaking through the grief. âI remembered the last time I was at your spot. These might be unknown dead ends, but we...we were all that.â
He leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead in a kiss that ached like goodbye.
Then he held you. Just held you.
But before he could say anything elseâŚHe woke up.
Cold sweat clung to his skin like static. His chest was heaving, heart galloping like it was still running through that terminal.
Another nightmare.
Not a dream. Never a dream.
It had been months now, but that nightmare haunted him like clockwork.
Because in reality, he never made it in time.
You never waited.
And he never got that goodbye you both had longed for.
He checked his phone again.
5:32 AM.
That hour. That cursed hour. Always lingering like a ghost.
He blinked against the blue light, rubbing his eyes as if doing so would erase the image of you. But it never worked.
He mustâve passed out again last night, midway through reliving your memories. He always did thatâruminated on the past, tried to dissect every what-if like an autopsy. It was a habit now. A ritual of pain.
He remembered that specific moment with perfect clarityâthe last time you tried. The rain was pouring then, too. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
You stood at his door, drenched and trembling, mascara smeared like war paint, eyes swollen from crying. You had begged him to open the door, just like every other time your worlds had started slipping apart.
He opened it.
And maybe⌠maybe that was his biggest mistake.
Because he let hope in again. He let you in again.
You collapsed into his arms like you belonged there, like home was a person and he was it. He carried you inside as if you were weightless, as if you hadnât both been dragging invisible baggage behind you for months.
You sat on his lap later that night, both of you cross-legged on the couch in dim lighting, legs tangled, hands framing each other's faces. Your fingers brushed through his hair gently as your gaze locked with his, unwavering.
âWhat do I do to you?â you asked, quiet and deadly.
The question pierced him.
You never really understood what you did to himânot fullyâbecause he never opened up. But that questionâŚIt cracked something wide open.
âYou make me feel like Iâm on a merry go,â he whispered.
You blinked. âMerry go?â
You knew what he meant. But you needed him to say it.
âI keep spinning,â he said. âRound and round. Same place, different day. Always hoping it'll stop. But it never does.â
His grip on your hips tightened. His eyes shimmered with unshed guilt.
âI donât know if I can keep doing this back and forth⌠Iâm a mess, darling. You know that.â
You said nothing. What could you say? It was all true.
So instead, you rested your head on his chest, while he ran his hands along your back beneath your shirt. His hands were warm. Familiar. Real.
This⌠this was the comfort you craved. Not the yelling. Not the slammed doors or bitter silences. Just thisâhim, close, breathing with you.
Youâd been there too many timesâlove, break, repair, repeat.
You both knew how it started and how it always ended.
But that didnât stop you from missing each other.
Even now, he missed you with everything inside him.
You took pieces of him with you when you left, like shards of a mirrorâreflections of who he used to be when he was with you.
The night before you fled, you were lying in bed together. The windows were foggy from the rain. Your head was on his chest, your arm draped across his torso.
You tilted his face toward you, gently.
âCan we be forever?â you asked.
His breath caught.
You felt his heart race. Loud. Erratic.
âWhat do you mean?â he asked, playing innocent. But you could see through the cracks in his mask.
âDonât act stupid, baby,â you whispered, voice feather-soft. âJust tell me if this can genuinely work.â
You were brave in that moment. Braver than heâd ever been.
But he couldnât lie. He couldnât give you what you wanted.
âI canât,â he finally said.
And then, even softer, almost inaudibleâ
âIâm scared.â
You understood.
God, you understood.
You gave up your fear to be with him.
But he couldnât do the same.
So, while he sleptâbreathing softly, peacefully, unawareâyou booked your flight.
You sent him a message before the sun rose:
|| Iâm leaving. If you care⌠come see me before I go. ||
When he woke up the next morning and saw your message, it felt like drowning. Like waking up underwater.
He sent you a flood of texts.
One read:
|| Havenât I made it any further? You know I told you I was nervous... I didnât mean to murder the moments I had with you. ||
But he forgot something.
Something his mind buried so deep in regret it erased it entirely.
That same night, before bed, he had said:
|| Iâve been telling myself I could be better off alone. ||
And he said it casually. Like it meant nothing. Like it was just air.
But it meant everything.
And now⌠itâs been a while. Time moved on.
But he hasnât.
He still feels like heâs on that merry-go-round. Only now, youâre not there.
The spinning never stopped.
He went on a world tour after that. Music was all he had left to cope.
Then, one night, his tour brought him to the city you moved to. He never knew where you wentânever asked. Maybe he was too ashamed. Maybe he didnât think he deserved to know.
You, however, knew.
You stayed quietly updated. You knew about the album he released after you. You knew the song he wrote for you.
And despite everythingâdespite the painâyou bought tickets. Third row. Not close enough to be seen. But close enough to see him.
When the concert started, he walked out into the blinding lights and roaring crowd.
But somehow, someway⌠he saw you.
You didnât wave. You didnât smile.
But he saw you. Instantly.
His breath caught. His fingers tightened around the mic. He kept singing.
But something shifted.
And then⌠the song. Your song.
The one that bled you onto paper.
As it played, he locked eyes with you. And the world stopped spinning.
His voice cracked, raw with emotion. He cried. You did too.
No one else noticed. But somehow⌠they felt it. The emotion in his voice. The ghost in the crowd. The pain in every note.
They cried too.
Fighting their own demons.
The song ended.
You left.
Before the encore. Before he could find you. Before anything could start again.
And he didnât chase you.
Because for the first timeâŚHe knew.
It was time to fully let go.
And thatâŚThat was the last time you ever saw each other.
But even now, even stillâHe spins.
Around and around.
On a merry go.
Without you.
#christian yu x female reader#dpr ian x female reader#dpr ian x reader#christian yu x reader#dpr ian x you#christian yu x you#christian yu#dpr ian fluff#dpr ian#christian yu fluff#fluff#k hip hop#kpop#love#cute#heartbreak#bittersweet#SoundCloud#Merry go#merry go round#Spotify
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hey guys so I'm kinda getting writers block for my next parts of the train station so I'm gonna start this new thing where I make like oneshots based off of dpr ian songs or songs outside of him if you guys request it!! Ik I only have 11 followers but it means alot to me đĽşđ
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i need to fuck him or else i will literally combust
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The train station || Christian Yu ; Part 4

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader ๨ŕ§
Genre: Comfort, Fluff. ๨ŕ§
Inspo: "Nothing lasts forever. But because nothing is everlasting, every moment we shared together was all precious." That's what they should've believed in. ๨ŕ§
Word count: 2.1k
âË âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľŕ¨ŕ§ ¡ ¡ ⥠¡ ¡ ŕ¨ŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżď¸ľ Ëâ
You parted ways that evening with a kind of ache you didnât expect. It wasnât painfulâmore like a soft tug at your chest that lingered as you watched him walk away. You had told yourself you were just meeting someone interesting. Thatâs all. Nothing more. But something in the way Christian looked back at you, with that half-smile and the hesitant wave of his fingers, made you feel like maybe you werenât the only one walking away a little slower than usual.
That night, neither of you could sleep.
It started with a âmade it home safe?â text from himâsent just five minutes after you got off the train.
You replied instantly:
You: Yeah, Iâm in bed now. Tired but in a good way. U?
Christian: Same. That was nice today.
You: Really nice. Unexpectedly easy.
There was a pause, a few bubbles that blinked and disappeared, like he was typing and backspacing. Then finally:
Christian: I felt like I could talk to you forever.
You: Haha donât say that, Iâll hold you to it
Christian: Good. Hold me to it.
You blinked at the screen, heart thudding lightly.
He followed up with a voice noteâhis voice a little lower, a little slower than it had been earlier, like the night had pulled something softer out of him.
|| âI keep thinking about how you looked when you were talking about your favorite movie. You went off for like five minutes and didnât even realize it.â ||
(you laughed softly)
|| âI like that version of you... the one that forgets time when sheâs talking.â ||
You recorded a voice note in return, your own tone shy, but honest.
|| âYou make it really easy to forget time. And I donât know, itâs been a while since I felt that comfortable with someone.â ||
His reply came quickly.
Christian: Same. I think... you might be a little dangerous.
You raised a brow, amused.
You: Dangerous?? Me??
Christian: Yeah. The kind of dangerous that makes people wanna stay up talking all night.
And so you did.
You talked about childhood, about old dreams. He told you about the time he thought he could build a treehouse in his grandmaâs backyard and ended up hammering a nail through his shoe. You told him about your obsession with space when you were ten, how you wrote letters to NASA thinking theyâd write back.
âYouâre like... secretly a nerd,â he said with a grin in his voice.
âYouâre just now figuring that out?â
âI love it.â
Around 2 a.m., you were both speaking slower, yawns sneaking in between words, voices quieter.
âI donât really do this,â he said suddenly.
âDo what?â
âStay up talking to someone like this. Not unless I really want to.â
You bit your lip. âSame.â
âIâm glad we met.â
âMe too.â
A long pause followed.
Then his voice, almost a whisper: âCan I call you tomorrow?â
Your heart did a little somersault. âYeah. Please do.â
---
The next morning, you woke up smiling. The kind of smile that lasts even as you brush your teeth and brew your coffee.
From that day on, the rhythm was set.
Every morning started with a good morning text. Every night ended with a sleepy exchange of thoughts or dreams or silly photos. You sent him a picture of your breakfast one dayâa sad, deflated pancakeâand he replied with a video of him dramatically judging it, Gordon Ramsay-style.
Heâd send voice notes when he was walking somewhere alone, telling you random thoughts like, âDo you think dogs ever think weâre their pets?â or âIf you had to eat one thing forever, what would it be?â
Youâd answer with giggles and over-thought answers like, âBut what are the long-term consequences of eating just mochi forever? Asking for my future self.â
It was flirty without being heavy, honest without being scary.
Then one night, as he was rambling about almost setting off his smoke alarm while trying to pan-fry dumplings, he stopped mid-sentence.
You were brushing your teeth when you noticed. Foam in your mouth, you glanced at your phone.
âChristian?â
There was a pause.
Then:
âHey... how do you feel about picnics?â
You blinked, spitting out toothpaste. âWhat?â
He chuckled. âJust answer.â
âMmm... theyâre nice. Why?â
âWanna go on one tomorrow?â
You giggled. âOf course I do.â
---
The next morning, you took your time getting ready.
It wasnât a date.
Not officially.
But something about it felt like it could be.
You stood in front of your mirror longer than usual, curling strands of your hair with practiced ease, reapplying gloss to your lips every time it faded. You wore a flowy, baby-yellow dress that caught sunlight like it was stitched from the morning itself. The neckline dipped gently, revealing just enough to make your heartbeat speed up when you imagined Christian seeing you.
You packed with care. Strawberriesâreal ones and also strawberry-flavored everything: macarons, mochi, soda. Youâd bought a pale pink cooler and matching plates just for the occasion. And the mat? Strawberry patterned, of course. Something about it felt ridiculously on theme and perfect.
You looked at the mirror one last time before leaving and whispered to yourself, âItâs just a picnic.â But your heart didnât believe you.
You arrived a little early. The park was quiet, sun-drenched, with trees offering pockets of shade and dappled light on the grass. You picked a spot not too crowded, under a wide tree that gave just enough privacy without making it feel too intimate.
You spread the strawberry mat, arranged the cooler beside it, and took a deep breath.
Then you waited.
Your hands fidgeted in your lap. Every passing group of people made your head lift. Was that him?
When he finally appeared, it was almost cinematic. He was walking toward you in slow strides, dressed in black cargo pants and a cream-colored shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was slightly tousled like he hadnât tried too hard, and he carried a paper bag and a grin that made your stomach flip inside out.
âHey,â he said, once he was close enough.
You stood up, smoothing your dress nervously. âHey.â
He paused, eyes scanning over you. âYou look... wow.â
Your cheeks flushed. âI tried.â
He laughed and set the bag down. âI can tell. Youâre glowing.â
You both sat down, the moment folding into something gentle, something shy but safe.
You poured drinks into paper cups. He unwrapped a baguette he brought and added it to your carefully prepped spread. You both laughed over how accidentally coordinated you wereâheâd brought strawberry lemonade without knowing anything about your theme.
âI swear I didnât copy you,â he said, taking a sip.
âThis is just... fate.â
You pretended to gasp. âDid you just say fate?â
He gave a smug smile. âDonât read into it.â
But you were.
You already were.
---
The sun was warm, not too hot, and the breeze played with the edges of the blanket, making it flap softly. Birds chirped in the distance. Every so often, the quiet between you two would stretch, but it never felt awkward. Just calm. Easy.
You laid on your back, staring up at the tree branches, your fingers brushing the soft fabric of your dress. Christian laid beside you, hands folded on his stomach, eyes half-closed against the sun.
Without thinking, you said, âI think Iâm scared of love.â
He turned his head slowly toward you. âWhy?â
You exhaled, letting the wind catch the weight of your voice. âI donât know... I feel like every time I acknowledge that Iâm experiencing love in my life, it goes wrong.â
You said it quietly, like it might break the moment.
He didnât speak right away.
Then, softly, âI get that.â
You looked over at him. His expression wasnât pitying. It was understanding. Heâd been there.
âBut you shouldnât run from it forever,â he said.
You smiled faintly, eyes stinging more than you expected. He reached out, brushed a strand of hair gently from your cheek, and let his fingers linger for a heartbeat too long.
âYouâre so pretty,â he whispered, more to himself than to you.
You turned to him, searching his face.
âDo you say that to all the girls you go on not-a-dates with?â
He grinned lazily. âNope. Only the ones who bring mochi and look like they walked out of a photoshoot.â
You laughed, trying to hide how much it affected you. âThatâs dangerously smooth.â
âIâm not trying to be,â he said. âI mean it.â
Your heart fluttered like it had wings.
Later, leaning against the tree trunk, you picked at a mochi while Christian laid stretched out, hands behind his head.
âDo you believe in timing?â you asked.
He looked at you, eyes thoughtful. âYeah. I think... the right people show up when theyâre supposed to. Even if itâs messy.â
âWhat if youâre scared when they show up?â
âThen you hold their hand until youâre not.â
You looked away, but your smile lingered.
The sun dipped lower, painting the park in golden hues.
Christian pulled out a disposable camera. âCan I take a picture of you?â
You blinked. âWhat? Why?â
âSo I can remember today,â he said simply.
You tried to protest, but he raised it, capturing you mid-laugh, hair caught in the breeze.
âBeautiful,â he said.
Then he handed it to you. âYour turn.â
You caught him pretending to model with a mochi in hand, eyes wide and dramatic.
âPerfect,â you said, snapping it.
He laid back down, and sighed. âToday was good.â
âYeah,â you echoed. âIt really was.â
And when he walked you back to your car, his fingers brushed yours and didnât let go.
âText me when you get home,â he said.
âYou already know I will.â
---
You had just gotten home when your phone buzzed.
Christian: You home safe?
You: Just walked in. You?
Christian: Yeah. Took the long way. Wasnât ready to go inside yet.
You smiled at the message, standing in the doorway with your shoes still on, your dress lightly brushing against your knees as you leaned back against the wall. Something about the air felt different. You were still carrying the softness of the day with you.
Your phone buzzed again.
Christian: Can I call?
You didnât even replyâjust hit the green button.
It rang once.
Twice.
Thenâ
âHey,â his voice said, warm and familiar through the speaker.
âHey,â you echoed, already smiling.
There was a soft, companionable silence for a moment. You could hear him moving, maybe sitting down.
âYou sounded surprised I wanted to call,â he teased.
âI wasnât,â you replied, kicking off your shoes. âJust... you know. Trying not to seem too eager.â
He chuckled. âYou donât have to do that with me.â
You curled up on your bed, the phone pressed to your ear. âYou sure?â
âYeah. I like knowing you wanna talk to me.â
Your chest bloomed at the quiet honesty in his tone.
âIâm still thinking about today,â you admitted, brushing your fingers over the hem of your dress absentmindedly. âIt was simple but... really special.â
âI was thinking the same,â he said. âYou looked beautiful, by the way.â
You rolled onto your back, cheeks burning. âYou already told me that.â
âI know,â he said. âJust wanted to say it again, in case you forgot.â
You paused, eyes flicking to the ceiling, letting the compliment settle into the quieter parts of your heart.
âThank you.â
Christian sighed softly on the other end. âYou know that thing you said today? About being scared of love?â
âYeah?â
âIâve thought about that a lot since you said it.â
You shifted, more alert now. âWhat do you mean?â
âI think... I used to feel like love had to be dramatic. Like... chaotic or complicated or intense to be real. But today felt different. Peaceful. And I donât think Iâve had that before.â
You swallowed. âThatâs kind of sweet.â
âIâm serious. I think Iâve always been waiting for the other shoe to drop. But with you today, I didnât feel like I had to keep my guard up.â
The silence stretched again, this time heavier.
âIâm really glad you asked me to go,â you said softly. âEven if it was just a picnic.â
He laughed under his breath. âYou keep saying just. But it didnât feel like just anything to me.â
You stayed quiet for a beat too long, and he noticed.
âWhat?â he asked gently.
âI think Iâm still afraid,â you admitted. âNot of you. Just... of what I might feel if I let this happen.â
There was a rustle, like he was adjusting how he was sitting.
"You don't have to be." He whispered.
You both stayed on the line, not talking much after that. Just listening to each other breathe, letting the weight of the day dissolve in shared silence. It wasnât awkward. It felt like the beginning of something. Something real.
Eventually, his voice came againâsleepier now.
âDonât hang up yet.â
âI wasnât planning to.â
You smiled into the phone, letting the sound of his breathing lull you into a sense of safety.
And that night, you both fell asleep on the call.
Still not a date.
Still not a label.
But something was quietly unfolding between youâsomething tender, unspoken, and entirely yours.
#christian yu x female reader#dpr ian x female reader#dpr ian x reader#christian yu x reader#train#train station#dpr ian x you#christian yu x you#christian yu#dpr ian fluff#cute#dpr ian#fluff#k hip hop#kpop#angst#christian yu fluff#love#strawberry#picnic
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