SILENT CRY [RELOADED] — [18+!]
“I know, you told me not to thank you but, seriously, thank you for this, Chris,” you say.
“Anything for my princess.”
🧸 SYNOPSIS: Your father and you have always had a rather complicated relationship and it all just gets worse when he invites you to his very spontaneous wedding, expecting you to attend the event with a boyfriend. Luckily, your best friend is there to help you, playing that role just perfectly while the two of you try to ignore how you truly feel about each other.
🕯️ CONTENT INFO: chan x afab reader, fake dating au, friends to lovers, angst/fluff/smut, hurt/comfort, demisexual reader, chan is referred to as ‘chris’ and his love language is acts of services and words of affirmation [it shows lol], unfortunately a very personal story lmao, this is a rewrite of the 2022 version, warnings under the cut
💭 WORD COUNT: 12.0K (sorry)
🩹 WARNINGS: explicit sexual content [including slight dom/sub dynamics, semi-protected sex, praise kink, breeding kink, reader gets called princess, baby, good girl and slut], mental health topics revolving around daddy issues, anxiety and adhd, relationship with a huge age gap [neither chan nor reader]
“God, just because you write a text in an academic language so that no one understands it, this doesn’t make you any smarter, Mr…” Yeji closes the book to read the name of the author, “yet another white male scientist.”
You chuckle. There’s nothing better than a friend who stays up with you to work on a project for one of your classes, sticking together no matter what.
Well, hopefully not literally, considering the cold weather that is currently dominating the city.
It’s nothing new that January is characterised by those insane temperatures, so you’re glad to find yourself in the campus’ library with a functioning radiator. It’s way too cramped and crowded during the day which is why Yeji and you decide to go there in the late evening or during the night. It works just fine for night owls like you.
And besides that—you unfortunately work way better under insane pressure and time limits. At least you think so. But if you’re honest, procrastination only makes you more disciplined because at one point you don’t have a chance anymore and need to finish some tasks. But as long as you don’t fail with it or get out of a troublesome situation, your brain won’t learn from it.
Unfortunately, Yeji is similar to you and there’s another problem that occurs—you work better with your ADHD meds which shouldn’t be taken during the evening, so staying focused without them is another issue to deal with.
But you’re alright. You’ve got great company and a bunch of snacks and an iced coffee with you. You’re gonna survive this, too.
At least you think so, until your phone lights up and shows a message from your father on the screen.
[New message, 22:47]: Hello, darling. It’s a bit spontaneous but my girlfriend and I are getting married next week. I mailed you the invitation some days ago but you’re never checking your inbox as it seems. 😉
Your vision instantly gets blurry.
You can’t differentiate if it’s because your eyes are losing focus or getting filled with tears. Probably both. They switch between the bright screen and the book you're reading but all the words commingle until you dissociate completely, just like the letters in the text about the history of cinemas in front of you.
“Bad news?”
Yeji is your best friend for a reason. She’s got the superpower of knowing something is up before you give her any obvious signs. The girl didn’t even see your phone light up but still caught up on the fact that something isn’t as it should be.
“It’s okay,” you say with a small voice, not wanting to worry her.
“Are you sure, babe?”
You simply nod. You’re aware Yeji doesn’t believe you. But she’s not one that pushes you. She’ll give you some space and will always be here in case you need her.
“I’ll be right back.”
You grab your phone and your water bottle, before you head towards the bathroom that’s just a few aisles away. Walking next to the millions and billions of books helps you ease your mind a little and you’re glad the library is basically asleep in the evening hours.
After opening the door to your designated place, you disappear inside one of the stalls, before you dial his number.
It rings once. It rings twice.
The sound reminds you of whenever he tries to reach you. Your father usually waits for two seconds and when you’re not fast enough to pick up, he blames you for it.
But this time he actually answers.
“Y/N?”
“Hey, dad,” you say. It’s weird calling him that. You changed his contact name to his full name years ago but he still calls you his dear or darling whenever he texts you which happens around once or twice a year.
“Did you get my message?”
“Hm,” you hum. “Very spontaneous, huh?”
You sound so friendly, so polite. It’s a contradiction itself. But for some reason you always want to impress the people that don’t deserve your attention at all.
It’s not like your father is constantly mean to you. You just don’t connect. You’re too different on every level of life. He’s distant. You’re distant. That’s just how it’s always been, your whole life. He thinks he can make up for that by buying you big presents and sending you money whenever you need it but emotionally? He’s unavailable.
Having a child doesn’t automatically make you a parent. You have to earn that. If you put a human living being into this world, it is your duty to care for them beyond basic survival needs.
It doesn’t feel as if he’s your father. It never has felt like it. You don’t have any connection or trust towards him. But at some point you stopped caring and decided to live on with your life.
There’s just one problem.
The immense pressure he puts you under—considering your job, your academic career and your future family plans—doesn’t make anything easier. It’s as if all the attention you can get from him is when you impress him with your achievements. The achievements that fit his idea of a perfect life.
You realised it wasn’t your fault once you got older. Your father isn’t a family person at all or a social person in general. It’s almost ironic that his mother until this day is closer to your mum—your dad’s ex wife—than to her own son.
And of course his new girlfriend, sorry, fiancée.
There’s a reason your grandparents don’t approve of her and that’s mainly her age.
With your father being a middle aged man, it was surprising to find out he got into a relationship with a woman that is only five years older than you. Whatever midlife crisis caused him to make a decision like that.
It’s obvious she’s marrying him for his money. You met her twice and weren’t that impressed either. Although you would never blame her, your father is the one who’s in the wrong since he’s the older guy that apparently couldn’t get a woman his age.
“It is,” your father continues and for a second you forget you’re on the phone with him. “You’ll be there, right?”
You want to say no. You really do.
But unfortunately you’ve been raised under toxic standards that keep you from it. You wished you were stronger, more confident when it comes to this but it’s hard unpeeling these layers of high expectations and anxiety if they’re sticking to you like glue.
“Of course,” you say.
The fake excitement in your voice makes you sick. But you can’t turn that off either.
“Just so you know,” he starts again and the sound in his words shift, turn stricter, “there will be lots of important people there. You know how much they value certain standards.”
It is bold of him to say that when he’s the one who is in his late fifties, marrying a twenty-something woman.
“Okay…?” you answer but it is more like a question.
“I’m sure you have a boyfriend, right? You’re what? Twenty-two?”
Twenty-three.
“He’s invited, too. I for sure hope you’re not dating a… woman. You know that I don’t accept that.”
Wow. You definitely do not want to go there.
Why is he bringing this up all of a sudden?
“Sure,” you answer, fake politeness not audible anymore, “I’ll bring my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
Y/N, where the fuck are you supposed to get a boyfriend from last minute?
Well, this will be the issue of future-Y/N for now.
A quick ‘goodbye’ from your father’s side follows before you hear the familiar sound of a call ending. You keep standing there, eyes—filled with tears threatening to spill down like a waterfall—hovering over the tiles on the wall and the graffiti drawn on them.
‘Write more love letters.’
You’ve always been a hopeless romantic. Mostly hopeless because you’re anything but successful when it comes to turning those delusional daydreams into reality. Sometimes the idea of something feels much better, as it grants us comfort without the dangers and horrors.
You read further, trying to somewhat calm down. You’re still close to crying but that’s okay. You deserve to let out your emotions, you deserve to be vulnerable.
‘I miss him so much… I should call him,’ is what you read next and a ‘GIRL DON’T JUST DON’T YOU’RE BETTER THAN THAT!!!’ written right underneath.
This is what you mean by girls supporting girls. You’re glad Yeji is with you on campus and knowing she’s close gives you a bit more confidence to walk back to the library soon.
‘You look pretty<3’
Another little boost that you read before adjusting your outfit. You wipe the tears away with some toilet paper, glad about the fact you’re not wearing any makeup around your eyes today.
You take a deep breath, reading another one of the graffities.
‘Affordable housing now!!’
Yeah. Okay. This brings you back to reality completely. You push the door open and clean your hands quickly, before someone else enters the washroom.
“Y/N,” your best friend says. “Are you okay?”
You nod, fighting for dear life to hold back those stupid tears again.
“It’s– m-my dad–“
She instantly pulls you into a hug. Yeji basically knows everything about the background story—your father’s relationship, the reason he left your mother alone with you fifteen years ago, how his parents have a closer connection to their ex-daughter-in-law, the fact that he’s been as emotionally unavailable as someone can be, how he’s a contradiction in itself.
You’ve talked about him with Yeji a lot. Your best friend has always noticed how… indifferent you’ve sounded when sharing those intimate thoughts, when speaking about all the damage that has been done. She can tell it’s a coping mechanism. It’s obvious. So, she won’t push you further but at the same time won’t let you down either.
She’s promised to be here for you and remind you that none of this—none of the absence, the lack of support, the pressure he’s put on you—has ever been your fault. It destroys her, knowing that your father broke your heart before anyone else could ever do.
It explains the trust issues you have towards men, even towards the few in your life that don’t want anything bad. But it’s understandable, when your whole ability of trusting any person ever was demolished all those years ago when he left out of the blue. From one second to another. Just gone. Still here, somehow, calling once in a while, visiting you on your birthday for a couple of hours each year, but not there for you, emotionally speaking.
“Whatever he did this time, I’m here for you,” your friend reassures you. “Also, don’t call him ‘dad’. This is a title someone has to earn first.”
She’s right with that. You wouldn’t know what it takes for someone to be considered a father since no one in your life has ever occupied that role as it should be. But you’re somewhat okay with it now. You learnt how to live with it and you’ve got enough people in your life who truly care for you and love you unconditionally.
So, you nod, holding Yeji closer for a few more seconds before you pull away.
“Let’s go back home, okay? We’ve worked enough for today, my dear,” she offers.
🧸
Despite the trouble of falling asleep yesterday, you’ve managed to get some rest throughout the night. Your dreams were confusing, just like they always are when a lot is going on, when a bunch of stuff is harassing your mind. You just don’t seem to get rid of the struggles of overthinking and hyperfixating on a single issue. Sometimes you care too much—especially about the wrong ever returning problems.
Whenever something like this occupies your thoughts, you’re not able to focus on anything else anymore. As if focusing in general wasn’t already hard enough. You contemplate ditching the meds today, knowing it only helps you actually focus on the right stuff if you’re not distracted by something else. Apart from that, it’s the weekend and you should allow your body a break from the pills like your psychiatrist told you.
The dizziness in your head is already bad enough. Somehow, you still make it to the bathroom and manage to take a shower despite the listlessness trying to take over your body and mind. But a fresh up always helps a lot, whenever you’ve convinced yourself to do so.
Boiling some water to prepare tea helps you ease your mind a little further, until you hear a knock at the front door of your apartment.
Your heart skips a beat. The world stops. You hate that such little things that differ from the routine you created inside your head can overthrow your whole mood. The slightest inconvenience is enough for your mind to crumble, for anxiety to take over your soul.
“Y/N, it’s me.”
The tone of the voice is familiar, fortunately.
Taking a quick glance through the spyhole allows you to find out who the intruder is. You let him in, watching your friend enter your flat with a big brown bag of freshly baked goods.
“I know you hate it when I visit you out of the blue but I d-did text you and you didn’t reply so–“
“Chris, it’s fine,” you reassure him. He shyly nods, before he places the wrapped food on the couch table.
“Need help with anything?”
“No, it’s okay, just have a seat.” Your friend does as he’s told. “What did you buy?”
“A lot,” he confesses, unpacking the still warm, freshly baked goods. “I panicked and didn’t know what you might be craving right now. An avocado bagel and a hummus one—choose whichever one you like. Blueberry muffins. Half-baked double chocolate cookies. Oh, and a lemon and a raspberry tarte.”
Shit. He isn’t making it any easier—this gigantic crush that you have on him, that keeps you distracted at least twenty three hours a day.
“Did you rob the whole bakery, hm?”
He smiles, tilting his head and shrugging his shoulders, “I shouldn’t have gone there while being hungry myself, I was close to buying even more.”
You chuckle. “Tea?”
“Sure,” he says, scooting a bit on the sofa, as he watches you sit down next to him.
You decide to cut the bagels in half so you can try each one of them. After finishing the savory meal, you opt to do the same with the lemon and the raspberry tartes.
Time passes by with no stopping as Chris and you talk about whatever topic comes to your mind. He shares his thoughts on a new show he’s been watching, you tell him about a great album you found on Spotify the other day. It’s comforting. He feels like home. He is your home, if you will.
Although Yeji is your best friend as well, Chris and you have always had a different special connection. You’ve wondered throughout the years if it could be more and deep down you know that there are hidden romantic feelings slumbering inside your heart, ready to be explored.
But then again—you’re so scared. So fucking scared that he’s gonna turn his back against you. Of course, if he was even returning the feelings which you are sure he isn’t. That would be too much of a delusional dream. Just because you read about stories like these in your books, watch dynamics like this in on Netflix or hear similar thoughts as your own when listening to the music you like doesn’t make it realistic, right?
“How is the food?” your best friend awakens you from your spiral of thoughts.
“Great! Thank you so much by the way,” you reply, “how do I deserve this?”
Chris’s face falters, changes within the blink of an eye. “Well… Yeji told me that there is something going on… no details, though.”
Of course. You don’t blame her. You’re glad she didn’t tell Chris what is bothering you exactly although that means that you have to explain things to him now.
“I…”
“Come on, darling,” he starts, giving you a soft smile. “Tell me what’s going on inside your head.”
You nod, taking another sip from your tea that’s gone a bit colder by now. Still, it manages to give you comfort. Just like the blueberry muffin. Just like having Chris with you.
“Maybe… in my room?”
Chris knows that you have certain safe spaces that make it easier for you to talk about your feelings. What he isn’t aware of is the fact that he is your favourite safe space of them all.
The both of you clean up the mess in the kitchen, before you make another tea and disappear in your room with your friend. You two plop down on the soft cushion of your bed, feeling the mattress shift under the added weight.
After looking around and finding a certain someone on top of the duvet, Chris is carefully placing your blue dinosaur plushie against the wall, so that the little guy is sitting upright, almost in a circle with you. Your best friend bops the animal’s nose with his index finger, before he brings his attention back to you.
“So, Y/N. Whenever you’re ready, yeah?”
Oxygen enters your lungs when you take a deep breath. You don’t know why you’re suddenly anxious. It’s Chris sitting in front of you. Your best friend. The person you share all your secrets and darkest thoughts with.
“You won’t… judge?”
You hate that this topic is making you feel so vulnerable.
You don’t want to feel vulnerable. You’ve felt vulnerable your whole fucking life.
“Never, princess,” he encourages you with that tiny pet name. And it’s finally enough for you to gather up enough confidence.
“I received a call from my father.” The look on Chris’s face is unreadable but you continue. “He spontaneously is going to get married this weekend and wants me to attend the wedding…” You pause. “With… with a male partner. Because that old man only cares about his reputation and everything that could affect it.”
God. The hints of homophobia already make your best friend’s blood boil. But the whole situation? Sounds like a fucking circus. He’s a bit overwhelmed, he must admit—although not out loud. He feels sad. He feels angry. He feels furious that you are put in a situation like this.
Chris knows how much social gatherings suck out the little remaining energy that you’ve got left these days.
Shit. You’re both gonna find a solution, he’s sure. But for now, comfort is probably what you need first. Chris can read it in your eyes—the cry for affection, for someone just being there and allowing you to let those emotions burst out of you without holding back.
“Okay.” He says with a low voice. “How do you feel about it?”
Your gaze snaps up to him. His choice of words feel like something a therapist would say but you don’t mind. Weirdly to say, it helps you ground a bit. The question makes you feel seen, makes you feel as if it’s okay to be vulnerable.
“Overwhelmed. I don’t even want to go there at all. But I can’t cancel this. It’s inevitable, unfortunately. I’ll have to go there,” you explain.
It’s true. That’s the thing with your family or with your father—any type of gatherings but especially weddings have to be attended, no discussion. Family first, he always says. Absolutely ironic.
“Hm. I understand,” Chris says. “I’m really sorry you are put in such a situation. You don’t deserve this, Y/N. I hope you know that none of this is your fault, okay?” He witnesses you nod. “I’m always here for you, yeah?”
Your heart skips a beat. In a good way. Chris probably isn’t even aware of what those words do to you but you’re so grateful about them.
He’s always here for you. Your abandonment issues try to tell you otherwise, try to make you believe that this is just a big fat lie but when your eyes find the ones of your best friend again and notice the genuineness in that beautiful dark brown colour, you manage to push the anxiety away. Even if it’s just for a few seconds.
Chris sees you drifting off, watches you zone out and for some reason it enlightens panic in his chest. Maybe it’s the right moment now to share his solution with you.
“Listen, Y/N,” he starts again. “This is how it’s gonna go—I’m free the whole weekend. For the day before the wedding I’ll plan something just for the both of us. Something to look forward to and calm you down.”
Wow. You didn’t expect that. But it brings warmth to your heart. Chris always seems to know what to do and how to handle you.
“That’s kind, thank you,” you reply with a small smile.
“And once you know what colour your dress is going to be, let me know, so I still have enough time to choose a suit in a fitting shade,” he says out of the blue.
“W-What?”
Did he just… suggest going to the wedding with you?
No. That can’t be. You would never ever expect that from him.
“You need a boyfriend for that wedding, right?”
The smirk his face is carrying plays evil games with your heart but you decide to ignore it for now.
“Y-Yeah– but, you don't have to do that… you don’t have to… pretend you… like me, Chris.”
Oh, Y/N. If you only knew.
It's no pretense at all, Chris thinks but doesn’t speak those thoughts out loud.
“No discussion,” he replies with a stern voice. “We’ll go there together, okay?”
You know better than to argue with him. Despite that, you don’t even want to decline. Although rationally speaking, it’s a double ended sword—sure, having Chris with you in a difficult situation like this is a great idea but considering those stupid feelings you have for him it threatens to mess with your head all over again.
However, you give in.
“Okay. Thank you.”
🧸
“Princess, you look wonderful.”
Your best friend’s eyes are filled with stars, almost making him look like a real life version of that one Van Gogh painting. You take a step towards him, as he pulls you into a hug. The gentleman Chris is, he of course picks you up from your apartment.
The little Italian restaurant he chose isn’t that far from the student dormitories since you only need a few minutes to walk there. On top of that, he somehow managed to book the best table—right in front of a huge window, a bit hidden from the other guests.
Butterflies are shooting up inside your stomach, solely thinking about how romantic this whole setting seems to be. But that’s just how your best friend is—no half things under his watch, if he wants to treat you like his princess, he for sure chooses to make you feel like a queen instead.
“Thank you for this, honestly,” you say, before taking another sip of the red wine that Chris has ordered.
“Really no need to thank me, Y/N. You know I’d do anything for you.”
And there they are again. The butterflies. But instead of nervousness, they bring you comfort. Chris has always managed to make you feel this way—utmost safe, anxiety vanishing to ashes in the distance of your head. Finally room for something that isn't worry.
On top of the perfectness of the whole scene, the food tastes immaculate. It sums up this perfect dinner and evening. The two of you get into deep talks like you always do. With Chris you don’t have to pretend. When he asks you how your day was, it’s always because he truly wants to know and doesn’t just say it because it’s expected or some kind of manner.
He makes it so easy to forget about your surroundings. When you’re with your best friend, there’s no feeling that comes close to any second spent with him. Hours turn into minutes, as time always flies by way too fast. And after a long discussion, Chris insists on paying for everything, before he calls the waitress.
“You’re really a good-looking couple. Have a great night, thank you for visiting us,” she says, handing the bill to the man sitting across from you.
Heat instantly rushes up to your face and Chris is glad that you can’t see the red shimmer decorating his pretty face, right here in the dim light of the candles.
“Thank you. It was amazing.”
When the employee is gone and the two of you get up again, Chris helps you into your jacket and you leave the restaurant. You decide to take a little stroll, watching the stars in the sky since the night is already welcoming you. It feels so domestic. Almost too domestic so it plays evil games with your heart that you don’t seem to be able to stop.
Entering a small convenience store, Chris buys two bottles of soju and some snacks, before he—all of a sudden—reaches for your hand. Your fingers stay intertwined with his, while he holds the plastic bag filled with the tasty goods inside the others.
Once you find an empty bench, you sit down and your best friend opens the beverages for you. Deciding to drink straight out of the bottles, you clink your glass to his, listening to the sound that erupts from the collision, before you take a sip.
“I know, you told me not to thank you but, seriously, thank you for this, Chris,” you say.
“Anything for my princess.”
He is flirting with you, isn’t he? But then again—he kinda does this with anyone. What makes your heart run quicker is a different detail anyway. The sound of him calling you his princess fills a void inside your soul, it manages to make you forget about all the bad things in this world.
“I know you value honesty a lot, Y/N.”
“I do, yeah,” you say, not quite catching what he’s hinting at.
Chris would love to tell you how he really feels. Now just seems to be the perfect setting, right? You’re close together, watching the stars after a romantic dinner. But on top of being too shy, he isn’t sure if, first, you feel comfortable enough to receive such news and, second, if you even return those silly little feelings.
“It’s because of him, you know? He’s the reason why I despise lies so much,” you start again.
Chris gets dragged out of his dissociation, a bit glad that you made the decision where this conversation is leading—which can’t be taken for granted since you rarely manage to make any decisions. Usually, Chris has to do this for you and he is the textbook definition of a libra.
“Your… father?”
Your best friend knows who you are talking about. But by being the first one to mention the person in question, he creates a circle of safety in which the two of you can stay together and allow your thoughts to run free.
“Yeah. He’s a liar,” you say with a chuckle that is rather a scoff. “Through and through. Had cheated on his wife for years, left his child with her alone, pretends to be someone else in front of his business partners, and can't even have a normal conversation with his own parents—the list goes on. He’s the reason I despise dishonesty so fucking much. Every liar reminds me of him.”
It makes a lot of sense now and Chris’s stomach does a weird twist, an uncomfortable sensation bubbling up right there. What if you consider him a liar, too? After all he hasn’t been honest about his true feelings for you for literal years now. He’s always held back—mainly to not scare you off, to not lose this tight bond of friendship that he has with you.
Shut up, this isn’t about you.
The voice inside his head brings him back to where the two of you are. He just trusts his instincts and prays that you will forgive him once he finally gathers up enough strength and confidence to tell you about how his heart truly views you.
Thinking about it, he can’t wait to share his thoughts with you—how much he adores the noises you make while laughing or when something surprises you, how much he values the way you show emotions, in their truest form, never holding back even when people think you’re being too impulsive or stubborn.
Sure, it can get a little exhausting when you interrupt almost every single conversation but Chris knows that you do this to show that you care, that you relate to whatever he says. He knows that your brain tends to work a little differently and he won’t hold you back from being yourself.
Your best friend admires how you keep fighting, how you wait for the light after a storm. Of course, you have conditions that differ a lot from other people—especially talking about college—but he will always remind you that it doesn’t matter how quick you achieve something, what really matters is if you have a good reason for wanting to reach your goals.
And you have. He sensed it in that class you had together in your first semester, the one in which you met because you happened to be late and sat down next to Chris. You’ve had trouble with participating in class since then but when he got into conversations about the arts of movies—being a film student as well—he realised that you are made for this field. You’re creative in a way he’s never seen before, you pour your heart into every art that you make.
As if this isn’t enough, you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. God, Chris is head over heels for you and you don’t even seem to notice.
When he sees you fidgeting with the bottle cap, twirling the metal between your fingers, he decides to continue where you left off.
“How about we talk a little about your father, hm?”
Your gaze shoots towards your best friend.
“My father?”
“Hm, I think it would be good to do so. There’s a lot that you haven’t told me and it will help you feel a little more at ease, just talking about it. Also, I’d like to know what to prepare myself for, you know?”
He ends his explanation with a little giggle that grants you comfort.
“Alright… but where do I start?”
Chris scoots a little closer, watching the surprised expression on your face but, nevertheless, he decides to keep going. A hand carefully reaches towards your face, softly brushing your cheek.
“You’re safe with me, okay?”
You nod, unable to speak a word.
“You wanna tell me… just in general how you feel about him?”
You know that it’s a good idea to share these things with your best friend. No matter how hard it is. But in the end it’ll help you and you’ll feel more prepared for the wedding day tomorrow.
“Maybe feel is the wrong word,” you start. “It’s like I don’t feel anything for him. He could just… not be there and it wouldn’t make a difference.”
Your heart hurts thinking about it. Of course, you can’t miss a feeling you’ve never experienced—after all, he’s always been like that even when your mother and him were still together. However, you feel a tear run down your cheek whenever you see a father with his daughter together in public, how they get along, how he cares for her like any parent should.
Your best friend reaches for your fingers, when he observes you fall into dissociation and he manages to bring you back to the present.
“I understand,” Chris says, squeezing your hand tight. It gives you enough courage to go further.
“I… I am honest, I don’t even hate him. I tried to. I desperately tried to hate him all these years. But the connection is so distant that this doesn’t even work. Hate is a feeling, after all.”
You chuckle, or maybe it’s rather a scoff. Watching the stars in the distance, you try to bring your whole focus to the way Chris’s skin is pressed against your own, how his bigger hand feels wrapped around your smaller one, how he makes you feel safe without doing much.
“I think we don’t talk enough about how abandonment traumatises us, how absence of an important figure in growing lives can destroy so much,” your best friend adds. And he’s right. The lack of something can have a huge impact on a child, too.
But for you—at least you thought so when growing up—you’ve never missed anything. Your mum has always been an angel, trying her best, earning the money to keep you fed, encouraging you to follow your dreams. You didn’t have much during your younger days, financially speaking, but you did receive a lot of love from your present parent and from other close relatives.
And having great friends like Yeji and Chris filled the space that was once reserved for someone else.
“My mother has always been both mum and dad to me,” you explain. “She was the one to help me understand math homeworks. She was the one who carried my heavy suitcases when I came back from a class trip. She was the one to build up furniture and fix electricity. And she will be the one to escort me down the aisle one day.”
Chris feels his heart getting all warm when he listens to your soft words. He’s glad your family managed to make the best out of this situation that you had been put into. He desperately hopes when your mum will escort you down the aisle someday that it’ll be because you’re marrying Chris.
“I’m glad to hear that, Y/N,” he adds and gives you a gentle smile.
“Can I… continue?”
The thoughts are running free, begging to be let out. You feel safe enough around your friend to tell him more.
“Of course, darling.”
You take a deep breath.
“I’ve been trying to gain his attention by doing everything to impress him,” you say, your words becoming a bit smaller, “but the only thing that has ever impressed him was when I did well academically. This shaped me for life, unfortunately. Especially, since I’ve struggled in school and college because of my ADHD—so this has been an ideal that I just can’t seem to live up to.”
Your best friend scoots closer, using his other hand to take your own now, so he’s able to wrap his free arm around your figure. He pulls you towards him by the waist—it’s gotten a little colder, after all. At least that’s the excuse inside his head.
But you don’t mind at all. Chris manages to make you feel a bit more confident—in what you’re sharing with him, in yourself. Just in general.
“And you don’t have to live up to that. Someone who truly loves you wouldn’t be like this,” he says.
He’s right. Deep down you know this. However, there’s a reason why you don’t seem to be able to follow his advice.
“But I have this urge… like, my younger self desperately holds onto the idea of… of hearing that her father is proud of her.”
Even in the darkest night, only a few street lights helping Chris to see your full face, he knows that you’re on the verge of tears.
“Y/N, listen. What I’m gonna say will sound easier than it’s done but you know that I’m always honest with you.” Almost always. “But you don’t have to impress him, you don’t have to even be liked by him because—you don’t like him, either. The only one’s thoughts about you that matter are those of a friend. And of course, your thoughts about yourself.”
You snicker, “Yeah, regarding that… My insecurities have been eating me alive lately.”
Lately? More like forever. But you don't want to sound even more hopeless than you already are. You hate being vulnerable, it makes you feel so small and weak like you had always felt when you were a child.
“I’m here,” Chris reassures you. “And whenever your brain tells you to not love yourself, I will be here to remind you of it, okay?”
For some reason that’s all it takes for you to start crying. Your head lands on his shoulder, as Chris softly strokes your back, keeping you in his hold.
“But… It makes me feel so weak. I hate being weak.”
The sniffles fill your surroundings, but your best friend pulls you closer, never letting go of you.
“You are allowed to be vulnerable, Y/N. It’s what makes us human. Showing weakness takes a lot of strength,” he whispers into your ear.
“Maybe you’re right, yeah.”
The irony that Chris can’t allow himself to be vulnerable either, right? How much he wishes to tell you how he truly feels about you. But he can’t be selfish right now. This isn’t the right time, this isn’t the right place. Maybe he will be able to gather up all the courage after the wedding.
🧸
Chris helps you out of the cab, making sure that your pretty dress doesn’t get damaged in the process. You look utterly beautiful—the purple shade suits you perfectly, matching with your best friend’s suit and tie. The choice of colour will probably be enough to piss off your father and all these businessmen but you woke up this morning with the sudden urge to turn this into a provocative event.
The building—almost a castle—that your father chose is stunning, making you feel like a real life princess in this outfit. You’re greeted by a stunning front yard, a field of flowers filling your vision, some types you have never seen before in your life.
Suddenly, your best friend—or, well, partner for the day—reaches for your hand when he notices how you observe the plants, how they manage to put a smile on your face.
“Let’s take a closer look, yeah? We’ve still got time.”
You nod, allowing him to lead the way, as you approach the beautiful flowers. For some reason, they help you calm down a little as silly as it sounds. The varierty of colours is insane—the whole spectrum of the rainbow united.
Unexpectedly, Chris squats down, his hand wandering towards one of the purple ones—you don’t even know what type it is—and decides to rip it out of the ground. You call out his name but all he does is chuckle, looking up at you before he stands upright again.
“It’s the exact same shade as your dress. I just thought it would suit you, princess.”
He’s flirting with you again, isn’t he? You can’t even tell at this point. Not if your heart is beating out of your chest, threatening to explode.
“Thank you,” you say, reaching for the flower.
“It’s a bellflower,” he informs you, leaving out that it symbolises everlasting love.
Chris helps you to stick it onto your dress, the loop right under your collarbone working quite well for that.
“Shit, when I thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful you need to prove me wrong, huh?”
You look at him with wide eyes, unsure how to react—since you’re not able to react at all as it seems.
“Shall we get inside?”
All you do is nod, before Chris takes your hand and guides the two of you into the building. Most guests seem to be already here. Your father and his fiancée—now wife—decided to have the ceremony in private, just inviting their guests to the party after.
Once you’re inside, you realise that it’s just as luxurious here. Marble floor, ornaments decorating the expensive furniture with pure gold, velvety chairs and couches—this whole interior screams pretentious.
Chris and you soon find your designated seats, as you sink down right there. You’re surrounded by a bunch of younger people, who you have never seen before. You’ve expected your father to have you sit together with your cousins but taking a quick look around it doesn’t seem as if any of them have been invited.
You don’t even seem to find your father and his wife, but who does find you a little later are his parents. Getting up, you walk towards your grandma and Chris gets the hint, when he approaches them too.
“Y/N, you look beautiful,” she says, taking a closer look at your outfit. Purple has always been her favourite colour too and usually she likes dresses that are nothing ordinary.
“Thank you so much, nana.”
She lets go of you again, spotting the man next to you.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Chris. Her boyfriend.” Your best friend is ready to shake your grandmother’s hand but she’s quicker to pull him into a hug, right from the start being all informal with him.
Your grandpa greets you, too, before he approaches Chris. To your surprise, your grandfather acts the same way his wife did, embracing your boyfriend. Since he’s always been a bit more conservative, you didn’t expect it. On top of that, he’s already overwhelmed by all the different noises inside—just like you—so you appreciate that he’s trying his best. Your grandparents seem to like Chris from the start, which makes you wonder again if this is meant to be more.
When you all notice your father entering the huge room, your grandparents walk back to their seats, linking their arms as they make their way back.
You catch a glimpse of the bride now—a cinderella-like white dress is hugging her figure. The blonde hair is put up, little details of rhinestones are reflecting the lights inside the room, becoming all glittering.
The two of you sit down again, before your father begins his speech.
“Thank you all for being here with us on this special day. We appreciate it a lot and don’t even want to talk too much.” He reaches for his glass filled with champagne and all the guests do the same. “Cheers to love.”
You’re glad you haven’t started drinking yet because regarding the scoff you just let out this could have ended very embarrassingly. Still, you take a small sip from your beverage.
During the whole time, Chris makes sure to hold your hand whenever you seem to get a little uneasy. The food is good, though, so you decide to at least appreciate that. In the back of your head, you know that at some point of the evening you will have to have a conversation with your father.
So, once dinner is over and you’ve gathered up enough courage, Chris seems to read your mind and grabs your hand, before you get up. You both slowly walk towards where the freshly wed couple is sitting, your father currently being occupied in a conversation with some of his business partners.
However, his wife notices and greets you, for some reason being not so impressed by your’s and your best friend’s outfits. But you decide to ignore her glances, as your father turns around to pull you into a quick and cold hug.
Your boyfriend takes a step towards the man, as he speaks, “I’m Chris. Thank you for the invitation. We wish you all the best, congrats.”
The pretentious smile on your fathers face is just as fake as anything he does. All while Chris is doing his very best to hide his true emotions. Especially after the long talk yesterday but also since he realises how much the impact of your own father has always been on your mental health and self-confidence, he has to gather up lots of strength to keep holding back.
“So, last semester finally? When will you be done studying?”
Of course. Of fucking course. No how are you, no how have you been. This is all he’s ever cared about. Your academic achievements and that he has to pay for you. How about not putting an innocent child in this world when their basic needs already overwhelm him? Well, maybe it’s because he has to spend all his money on another twenty-something year old now.
The thought makes you nauseous. So, you push it aside and reach for your best friend’s hand instead. He finds your palm sweaty, realising that anxiety is taking over you again. With a quick glance he reassures you that everything’s fine. You agreed before getting here that you can ask him to bring you home at any time.
Still, you don’t want him to be disappointed. Chris came all the way here with you, sacrificing his whole weekend for your little family drama. However, he would never be disappointed in you, ever.
“Yeah. Sure,” you tell your father.
“Sure?”
He looks at you confused since your reply doesn’t quite match his question.
“I don’t know,” you continue, voice sounding a little broken. “I’ve had some trouble with the classes I took this semester, so, possibly I’ll need another year in case I fail the exams,” you gulp, directing your gaze away from him.
But that's when the monologue starts. Why go to university at all when you have your father, another middle-aged privileged man, that’s lecturing you about all your oh so bad life decisions, too?
“When I was your age I had already had my degree, you know? But that’s your generation, right? You’re all lazy and don’t want to work anymore—majoring in film or gender studies or God knows what and then don’t even get a job.”
Besides the fact that he doesn’t struggle the same way you do caused by your ADHD and a bunch of other mental issues, your father has never told you that he didn’t work while studying in college back then, thirty years ago. Whereas you work part time, have been doing so since highschool. The double standards are insane—but what do you expect from a liar and hypocrite like him, right?
Your father looks at your friend now, “You’re doing film too, Chris?”
“Yeah, film minor and economics major,” he explains, his voice sounding stern, trying to hide the annoyance.
“Well, at least something I guess,” your father says, shrugging his shoulders.
If there’s something he’s good at, it’s provoking for no reason. And you’ve had enough. Your emotions are overflowing you—not just from the setting tonight itself, maybe all the stress adds to it, perhaps you not taking your meds today makes it harder to focus. It’s a miracle that you haven’t interrupted your father yet.
“What’s your fucking problem?”
His eyes widen, “Don’t you dare to talk back to me with that language.”
You scoff, getting a bit closer. Your heart is pounding out of your chest but you have to get this out.
“If you don’t like it when I talk back to you, why did you teach me how to speak then, huh?” You look around, watching his surprised face, before you add, “Oh no, my bad. That was mum. Since you’ve never been there for me anyway.”
He’s truly at a loss for words. He wants to say something but no sound comes out. Who would have thought this man would be speechless one day?
Not caring about any consequences anymore, you reach for Chris’s hand, looking up at him, “Let’s go. We’ve spent enough time here. Thanks again for the invitation and… have a nice evening.”
🧸
The ride home with the cab is very silent but you appreciate it. Your best friend has the palm of his hand placed on your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh a little whenever he sees that nervous expression on you. But little does he know that your heart is bursting out of you because he’s so close.
Now that the wedding is over and his job is done playing your boyfriend—what will this evolve to? Will you, maybe one day, be able to tell him how you truly feel? Or will the pain just go on, will he continue dating other people—although nothing serious ever happens—and you’re just there watching?
It doesn’t help that he looks so fucking hot in his attire. The suit and tie is something that always has your knees go weak but the fact he’s dressed up like that for you, lets delusion enter your mind. An idea is occupying your mind—ripping layer after layer off his body, having him bare naked all over you, his tongue grazing over your skin, his lips attached to yours, as he’s touching you, pleasuring you until you’re both ready for him to finally slide in. God. You’re a lost cause and the reason is Christopher Bahng.
On top of that, you really need to get laid. It’s been some time, some years since you’ve been intimate with another person. You don’t know why but you only seem to be able to get close with someone that you have a strong emotional connection with and, unfortunately, the only person that this applies to is your best friend.
But you’re dragged out of your thoughts when the cab comes to a halt. Your friend gets out first, of course, to be the gentleman he’s always been. He walks around and opens the door for you, helping you again with your dress.
Chris is already on his way to get his car keys since he parked the vehicle in front of your building this afternoon. However, you hesitate—your hand circles around his wrist, making him stop in his tracks. Your best friend turns around, looking at you, a little confused.
“Can you… come upstairs for a bit? I don’t want to be alone right now,” you tell him. Your best friend wasn’t gonna leave you like this and call it a night. He just searched for his keys to get some stuff from his trunk—more comfortable clothes and… other things.
So, he nods, before you let go of him but Chris is fast to reach out again. His fingers get entangled with your own, while you walk towards the front door. You stay like this the whole time, making opening the door a little more complicated than it should be but he helps you.
Once you’ve climbed up all the stairs, you get through the entrance of your student apartment. You take off your shoes, before you walk to the kitchenette and bring two glasses that you fill with tap water. Handing one to him, he tells you to sit down on the couch with you.
You do as you’re told, taking a sip from your cold beverage. It helps you calm down a little. The aftermath of this evening is still lingering in your head and Chris’s presence unfortunately adds to your nervous state. Usually, having him around brings you calmness and comfort and this still applies. However, with the questions running around, making you wonder what happens next, you can’t bring your focus to breathe a little slower.
“I’m so fucking proud of you, baby,” Chris says all of a sudden.
You look at him confused, not having expected him to say this, “What?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, reaching for your glass of water. He carefully puts it on the table next to you, before he takes your hand and places his own on it. “For going there with me, for staying so long and for talking back at him when he spilled such bullshit.”
Your eyebrows rise up a little. “You… you think so?”
Chris is stroking the back of your hand with his thumb, keeping his gaze fixated right there. Oh, how he wishes he could do this forever—be close to you, take care of you, call you his. Hopefully, he’ll have the courage soon to tell you all this.
“Of course, Y/N,” he continues. “I’m always proud of you, you know? You’re so… perfect. Literally. You’re so kind. You’re so creative, it’s insane. The ideas you have when writing the stories for our classes or what colours to use during editing—it gives me goosebumps which is crazy since we’re talking about colours.”
You giggle. You seriously can’t believe he feels like this about you. Could this be more? Probably not. He definitely only says this in a platonic way.
“I mean it. Truly,” he reassures you. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’m so glad you were late that day and were forced to sit next to me in our class together.”
Tears are pricking on your lower lash line and for a second in the dim lights of your living room, it seems as if Chris is currently experiencing the same.
“I’m glad too, Chris,” you tell him.
“You were so brave today, princess, so fucking brave.” His voice is barely a whisper right now, his eyes are locked with your own and if you paid a little more attention you’d realise how nervous he is right now.
He gets a little more confident, his words increasing their volume when he starts again, “I think it’s my turn now to be brave, hm?”
You tilt your head, not quite catching what he’s referring to.
“What do you mean?”
Chris takes another deep breath.
“Fuck—okay, I truly hope this won’t destroy anything between us so if it’ll make you uncomfortable in any way just forget what I am about to say but–“
“I don’t understand,” you interrupt him.
Still, he decides to continue, “I’m… I catch myself quite frequently thinking of you. Thinking of you as more than a friend. And tonight just proved that this is what I want to be. Your boyfriend, by your side, forever, eventually your husband, if you let me.”
Your face falls. The earth stops. Nothing makes any sense anymore. For once, the odds are in your favour. You’ve had this exact same dream so many times you’ve lost count by now.
Usually, you wake up at this exact point.
You wait. You wait more.
But you soon grasp that this is in fact reality.
“Are you for fucking real?”
You wished you could have worded it better but there’s no structure, just pure chaos inside your head right now. Nothing uncommon per se, but a lot more intense right now.
“Y-Yeah,” Chris lets out, all shyly, “I’d never joke about something l-like that.”
Deciding to get up now, you start walking around in your living room. Your hands are attached to your head, a gesture to show how overwhelmed you are right now—positively of course.
“This is insane,” you pant. “Is this a dream? Can you wake me up?”
Chris hesitantly gets up, unsure how to categorise the fact you’re hyperventilating a little right now. He approaches you, getting closer.
“Now I’m the one who can’t quite follow…”
You grab his face, pulling him towards you, “I like you too, a lot. No, screw that. I’m in love with you.”
He scoffs, “I’m in love with you, too.”
Time stands still another time when Chris decides he’s tired of waiting and smashes his lips into yours. And it feels so good, there aren’t any words in any language of this world that would do this moment justice. You allow the sensation to take over you, allow him to keep his mouth pressed against yours until you part your lips and allow his tongue entrance.
How can a kiss be soft and passionate at the same time? You can’t compare this to anyone else. Well, it’s not like you have a lot of experience quantity wise but even in a thousand years, this kiss will be your favourite.
On top of that, you can’t believe that it took the both of you so fucking long to realise that you’re actually on the same page. This is truly insane. Chris—your best friend, your anchor, your longtime crush—feels the same about you.
“God, we’re such idiots,” you giggle in between kisses.
“Hm, we are,” he replies. “But I think it was just the universe letting us wait for when the time is right.”
One would expect that the kissing would have stopped by now but you both just keep going, as if you’re each other’s oxygen, unable to breathe alone. Kissing him just feels right. Everything feels right. How his plump lips are pressed against your own, how he grabs you by the waist to pull you closer, how a sweet little whimper spills from his lips.
Faster than you’re able to grasp it, you’re stumbling towards your bedroom door. Chris reaches for the knob, before you get inside. You walk further and further but right before your calves hit the frame of your bed, the man in front of you stops.
Chris knows that you need a special connection with someone in order to sleep with them. You’ve talked quite freely about anything sex related, your blood always boiling to the highest temperature possible whenever he mentioned that he went on a date. He’s never gotten any far with other people—after all, no one manages to live up to you.
So, he wants to make sure that everything is perfect. He needs to know that you’re totally sure about this since you don’t have sex with anyone.
“Are you okay with us going further, princess?”
You nod, giving him a sweet smile. Chris brings his fingers to your face, carefully grazing over your lower lip with his thumb.
“Words, baby. Words. Talk to me.”
Your knees are already getting weak. You’ve always suspected Chris to be on the dominant side but with the softness sprinkled into it, this is just perfect. Perfect for you to basically faint.
“I want this. So, so much,” you confess, getting a little shy.
In the meantime, your best friend’s eyes darken, before he pulls you towards him for another heated kiss. He’s getting even more passionate—if that’s possible—his hands placed right on your hips, while your head starts spinning, finally in a good way for once.
Chris makes you walk a little backwards until the way is blocked by your bed. With a small nudge, you land on your back, waiting for your best friend to devour you. He does exactly that, now towering above you and not believing what his own eyes are witnessing.
He’s dreamt about this so many times he’s lost count—you underneath him, moaning for more, begging to be touched, pleasured, corrupted. That’s what he thinks about on a daily basis if he’s honest. And finally he’s got this whole scenario in reality, too.
His lips land on your neck, making their way down to your collarbones. Chris feels so warm against you, heating you up from inside and outside. The little kisses add to it—they have you craving for more, they have you absolutely lose your mind because of the hungry man hovering above you.
He follows the pathway he’s created in his head, wandering south before Chris catches a glimpse of the little flower that is still attached to the purple fabric. Carefully, he frees it from the loop and places it on your nightstand table before he brings his whole attention back to you.
“Chris, please,” he hears you whine underneath him.
“Please what, pretty?”
A pout finds your face, as you grab him by the collar of his button up shirt, “Kiss me, touch me, do whatever you want with me.”
God, you’re desperate. So fucking desperate and all just for him. Chris can’t believe this is real, can’t believe that you are real.
He uses this as an invitation to go further, helping you sit upright for a second so he can get rid of the dress that’s still hugging your figure. Sure, you look absolutely stunning in it but he knows that you’ll look even better with no material hiding your beauty.
And his assumptions turn out to be true, once only your lingerie is left to cover your body. Of course, you chose a fitting one—a similar shade to your dress.
“Fuck… you’re so unbelievably beautiful,” Chris says, absolutely unable to hold back. The words don’t even do you justice in the slightest. Even ‘perfect’ wouldn’t be perfect enough.
He goes right back to business, those kisses erupting on your skin again when his plump lips collide with your neck. Traveling down, he simultaneously helps you out of your bra, observing the stunning view of your bare breasts. Chris licks his lips, before he brings his mouth to one of them—tongue circling around the nub, his fingers do the same with the other one.
Lust erupts from your center, arousal dripping right into your underwear. He hasn’t even done much yet and you’re already on the verge of going absolutely insane. This is the effect he has on you. You’ve even forgotten that you tend to be rather shy when it comes to undressing but Chris makes you feel like the only person on this planet, like a goddess, you could say.
The man in question wanders further down, passing your stomach and belly button, before he stops right and the hem of your panties.
“Princess?”
You bring your gaze towards him when he calls you, “Y-Yeah?”
“Say the word and I’m yours,” he chuckles.
God, that brat. Of course he wants you to beg for more. You’ve known this was gonna end like this from the start. Chris seems to enjoy this a little too much—you can tell by the smirk and if this isn’t enough evidence, you soon will find out how hard he already is only because of you. His cock is neglected inside those tight trousers but it’s about you first.
He takes another look at you, waiting for you to speak.
So, you do exactly that when you say, “Please, touch me, make me feel good.”
That’s all he needs to bring his hand between your legs which you part for him oh so obediently. He grazes over the drenched fabric, ready to ruin you—similar to the current state of your laces. He chuckles to himself, before he scoots further down until his face is right between your thighs, nose almost colliding with your covered pussy.
He licks a long stripe over the material, tasting your essences that are trickling through your underwear. You let out a moan, your hand reaching for his head, grabbing a few curls to play with them.
Chris is ready now to slide down the remaining fabric, leaving you fully naked for him. As if you’re on autopilot, you part your legs even further, giving him better access.
All he does is chuckle, before he adds, “Look at you—spread out like this, just for me, hm?”
Fuck. His voice has dropped so low, you could basically cum just at the sound of it.
“Only for you, Chris,” you reassure him.
He’s convinced he’s gonna see stars soon if you keep going like that. To push himself even more into his demise, he continues then—spreading your pussy lips apart, he gives his tongue room to collide with your clit. Chris immediately starts drawing circles on it, watching your eyes roll back to your skull when he observes you through his lashes.
“Fuck– yes,” you already let out, although he’s just started.
He continues making out with your sensitive nub, until you feel a string of his saliva landing right above your entrance. Bringing two fingers right there, he carefully pushes one of them inside, instantly feeling how tight you are. After all, it’s been some years, right?
However, he keeps going when he hears those desperate pleas that spill from your lips, as he adds another digit and starts thrusting them into you. Fuck, if his fingers already feel that good you can’t even imagine what the real deal will be like. What’s for sure is that Chris will need to prepare you a little more so you’ll be able to take his cock.
And you’re already getting close. Which isn’t surprising when he finds that velvety spot inside you, keeping his tongue attached to your clit at all times. He earns cute little moans and whimpers from you, before your legs start shaking and that unholy feeling takes over you. Clenching around his fingers, he helps you ride out your high.
Chris pulls his fingers out of your heat a little while later, licking them clean, as a grunt escapes his mouth.
You’re fast to sit somewhat upright again—head once again dizzy—and grab him by the collar like you did earlier. Your lips crash into his, while you hastily open each button of his shirt. The tie lands somewhere on the floor where your other clothes must be but neither of you care about anything like that right now.
Chris gets up from the bed, pulling you towards the end of the mattress with him, before he starts fumbling with his belt. You can see the tent quite well, his cock pressing against the tight fabric, begging to be freed.
That’s what you do, opening the button and sliding down the zipper until Chris slips out of the dark trousers. Only in his boxers now, his hand reaches towards you face—two fingers are under your chin, tilting your head upwards so that you’re looking at him.
You reach for the hem of his underwear, before you pull that remaining fabric down too. Your eyes widen, when you catch a glimpse of his hard erection. He definitely has the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen—well, there weren’t that many but still—a little above average, the tip leaking precum.
Out of reflex, your mouth lands on his lower stomach, while your hand circles around his length.
But Chris needs more than this. He knows he unfortunately won’t be able to hold back any much longer and he doesn’t want to waste even a single drop of his cum before he has been inside of your tight cunt.
“Next time, yeah?”
Heat rises up to your face at the thought of being with him like this for the rest of your life. So, you nod, while you allow Chris to place you on the bed again. Your back hits the mattress, as you part your legs for him.
Right in that moment, your best friend remembers something quite important.
“I d-don’t have a condom with me, Y/N. Left them in the car, sorry,” Chris says.
He has to hide a grin, thinking about the fact that he’s been hoping for exactly this to happen, which is why he brought them with him in the first place—what a pity they aren’t here now.
However, you reassure him with a smile, when you reply, “That’s fine for me. You know that I’m on the pill.”
Chris knows exactly what contraceptives you take, since he usually makes sure to remind you of taking your meds, knowing you sometimes don’t—thanks to your forgetful nature.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I trust you,” you say with a stern voice.
He catches your lips in yet another heated kiss, fireworks rushing through your veins once more.
You pull back all suddenly, when a thought crosses your mind.
“It’s been some time… some years, to be honest, since I… you know,” you confess.
Chris gives you a smile, “Okay. No worries. I’ll be gentle, I promise. We’ll go slow, yeah?”
You nod and tell him to keep going. Chris circles a hand around his length, stroking himself a few times before he gets closer—brushing over your clit with his leaking tip, he watches the way you’re already arching your back, ready to have him inside of you.
Time stands still when he slowly pushes the first few centimetres into your wetness, observing you squirm underneath him.
“You okay, princess?” he asks, a little worried.
“Y-Yeah, just need some time,” you reassure him now.
Once you’re adjusted to his size, you tell him to keep going.
Chris starts with rather slow movements, making sure you’re comfortable at all times, when he’s pleasuring you so perfectly. Moans are soon filling the room, as his name spills from your lips one too many times. The two of you know that neither of you might last that long but then you’ll just go for another round later, right?
“Fuck– you’re so big,” you let out, clenching around his cock.
Your best friend has your legs positioned over his shoulders by now—the angle helps him to pound even deeper into you and brush that spot again. You feel your brain shut off, all the thoughts and anxieties running far away, when Chris has you like this, when he takes care of your body like you’ve deserved all this time.
“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” he reassures you with a whisper. “I know you can take me. I know you can be a good girl for me, yeah?”
Oh, fuck. Although your brain has turned into mush, these few little words still manage to make your mind go absolutely crazy. You clench around him another time, your mouth parted, as you stare up at him.
“Yeah, just like that,” he praises you. “Such a good girl, such a slut for my cock, hm?”
You tighten once again when you listen to his words, getting even closer to that sweet relief.
“S-So… you’re so good at this, Chris.”
He feels himself twitch inside of you, while your name leaves his lips. Who would have thought that his praise kink is just as severe as yours?
Chris decides to bring one of his hands near to where your bodies meet. His fingers are back on your clit, just like his tongue was earlier, as he starts playing with you.
It’s inevitable. You can’t hold back any longer. A pathetic little ‘please’ leaves your lips before you hear Chris chuckle while he adds a ‘go on’ and ‘be a good girl’.
That’s all it takes for you to reach your second orgasm of the night, as you cum all over his cock. You cry out his name like a mantra and Chris realises that this is the sweetest melody his ears have ever witnessed. You look so utterly beautiful like this.
He feels himself getting closer too, which isn’t surprising when you’re tightening around him like that. There’s a thought on his mind that he wants to let free, a dark desire that’s burning on the tip of his tongue.
So, he decides to just speak it out loud, “Can I cum inside of you, hm? Need to breed you and pump you full of my seeds, baby.”
Fuck. He’s gonna be the death of you.
“Chris– please–“ is all that makes it past your lips.
The idea of his cum seeping into your tight hole, running out of you and down your thighs is an image that has been appearing in your dreams or during lonely nights way too often.
“Beg a little more, come on. Be a good girl for me,” he encourages you, ignoring the fact that he won’t last any longer.
“Baby, please,” you continue, “I need you so much… please fill me up with your cum, I’d look so pretty, wouldn’t I?”
Chris rolls his eyes to the back of his head, as he picks up his pace, “Shit– you’re something else, princess.”
Shortly after, he does exactly what you’ve been asking him—hot white spurts paint your walls, fill you up, when he’s reaching his climax. His breathing is heavy and so is yours when he comes to a halt.
Your eyes lock with his, before you begin to giggle. Chris places a gentle kiss on your forehead, staying inside of you.
“I love you so much, Y/N,” he whispers.
“I love you too… so much.”
🤍 AUTHOR’S NOTE: to anyone who relates to the father’s and reader’s relationship a bit too much—please know that you are so so loved and deserve all the best, nothing of this is your fault and I love you. Thank you so so much for taking the time to read this. Maybe it could bring you a little comfort—it did for me, while writing the story. Please consider leaving a comment and reblog if that’s the case! You can also share your kind feedback with me via asks or DMs! It’s what keeps us authors going, really. Have a great day and thank you for being here! xx
© j-0ne25 2022/2024 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited
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