𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: chan x fem!reader
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: heavy makeout, cussing, gripping, p in v (wrap it up you whores), riding, clit rubbing, unprotected sex (reader is on birth control), established relationship.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2k (yes, i went hard)
𝐑𝐐 𝐁𝐘: this story has been brought by the author.
𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓: this is a complete work of fiction, nothing interpreted in the fic is how the person acts or talks.
𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐒: @chrisssiren for the dividers!
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: driving chan got me going...
the rain’s been steady for an hour, tracking neat stripes down the windshield and thrashing faintly as it hits the hood. you’re parked in a quiet lot beneath a single sodium lamp, the city muted around you, the engine long since cut. steam crawls up the glass; your breath fogs the windows into a private, warm world.
yeah, he said he would drop you off at home since it was dark and way past the usual time you leave the dorm. 3:57 am. wow. game night with the boys were your favorite but sometimes it always ended with you leaving too late or crashing at their place. right now, it was a similar case. you had work in the morning and you didn't want to bother the boys with sleeping on the couch or sleeping on a rug in the corner of the living room. you do that sometimes in the dorm — er, minho and jisung's dorm, specifically. you were never the type to intrude on other people like that, even if it is people you are close with.
you sigh, leaning your forehead against the glass, waiting for chan to come back out of the nearest open starbucks. you got thirsty and craved something to drink at this time of day. you never liked coffee, not really, despise it, really. so you opted for boba tea, which is something chan found adorable. admist other things.
it wasn't long before you heard the faint footsteps of shoes hitting wet concrete, low cussing filling the outside space of the car as the door opened. chan slid in, jacket dripping wet as he placed your boba in the cup holder next to him. he cursed, his accent twisting around the word, hands running through his silver dyed hair as he shook his head.
you tsked, cold droplets landing on your skin. you didn't say anything, just watched him as you grabbed your boba with eager hands, punching the straw into the lid before taking a sip. you sighed. you always found the tea mid, but you didn't mind sucking the little black balls inside the drink. chan knew this habit. never said anything.
he took a deep, low breath. holding it in for a few seconds as his head hit the back of the seat. he let out said breath, lolling his head to the side to look at you. soft, warm, intimate. "the things i do for you." he whispered it low, more to himself, not meaning for you to catch it. but you did.
your eyes flicked to the side for a second, lips curled around the straw before retreating, looking at slightly to your feet. ah. see, sometimes you feel guilty. you know you'll never find someone who's ready enough to get you boba past 3 am. you know chan; sweet, kind, gentle, selfless and you know he'll do anything for you. you use that to your advantage, of course. you take, but oh you give back, of course you do. you take and take but you give it back just as much. because he's yours.
his eyes softened into something gentler, noticing the way your expression shifted, hands almost slipping from the cup. he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “you couldn’t wait,” he says, voice low enough to vibrate through the leather. he doesn't sound mad, he's the one who offered to get it anyway.
you swallow, placing the boba on the dashboard. you turn your head, giving him a look that screams both guilty and something soft, eyes flicking across his features. he smirks faintly, wrist resting on your shoulder as his thumb runs over your eyelid. "don't do that.” he whispered, voice softer yet deep then it normally was. normally is. it makes heat rise in your lower belly.
you cross the small space of the console as the words left his lips, fingers slipping into the collar of his shirt. he lets you, breath hitching at your touch. when you lean in, he tilts his head and your lips meet — soft at first, then a hard press that deepens on the second, third contact. his hand comes up to the back of your head, thumb rubbing warm circles at your hairline. the sound he makes against your mouth is half–grunt, half–laugh.
he pulls back first, looking up at you with a faint look of lust, love hidden behind it because how can it not be there? he stroked your thigh gently with his other hand, inching further up your short jeans. "you know it's raining,” he mused, looking down for a moment before catching your eyes, fingers now tracing random patterns by your inner thigh. your pussy throbbed.
he smiled. “i take it you want something more.” it wasn't even a question.
you didn't have time to answer because he was already unbuttoning your jeans, pulling it down with the help of you raising your hips off his lap for a second. he thanks the lord jesus christ that the windows are tinted.
his hands travel from your thighs to your breasts, thumbs tracing the seam of your bra underneath the tee as if measuring the exact pressure he’ll need. he tugs it up with one easy move — no fumbling, only intent — and the cool air on your stomach makes you shiver. the seats creak when he shifts, bringing you flush to him, comfortable and raw at the same time he hums, not bothering to unhook your bra, thumb tracing the nipple over the black fabric.
“did you really want boba tea or was that just a distraction?” he asked, eyes flicking to the abandoned tea that was sitting on the dashboard. half empty. you don't answer, he already knows what it was. “don’t be loud,” he murmurs, but the warning is a tease.
his palm cups your pussy through the fabric of your panties while his fingers find the right angle. he pushes them aside, making room for him. you swallow, hands placed on his shoulders like it'll anchor you, breathe catching in your throat.
you were really about to do this. in a car. he could sense your vulnerability; the way your lips brush under your teeth, the way your hands clench around the fabric of his jacket. he senses it. he lets you remove the leather, throwing his jacket in the backseat before cupping your cheek.
“we don't have to do this.” he settles you, one hand bracing at the small of your back, the other sneaking between your legs to test. you feel it before anything else: solid, hot, already hard. you know he means it when he says it. he won't push you into anything, he cares that much about your comfort. it takes you back to when he loved you for the first time. he was so gentle when he stripped your clothes off for him, fingers gliding across your skin like it was sacred.that's part of the many reasons you trust this man with your entire being.
the scent of him — old spice and rain — fills your head. you can't say no, not right now. you'll take a risk. why? because you're horny and knows he'll be gentle. “no, no,” you sigh out, hands cupping his neck, thumb running over his jaw. “i want it– i want you.”
chan's expression softens. that's all the permission he needs.
he pushes inside you in one slow, deep roll that steals your breath. the confined space makes every inch of contact feel intimate and increased ten fold: his chest pressed to yours, his breath hot at your throat, the soft skin of his against your hands. it's perfect. his rhythm starts softly, long strokes that sink in so deep you can feel him all the way to the bone. the car rocks with each motion — quiet, soft — until the need in your lower half throbs hard and insistent. he watches you the whole time, eyes hooded but attentive, as if your face draws a song he wants to memorize.
your eyebrows stitch together softly in bliss, head tilting up. chan swears he's seeing stars right now. you move, adjusting on top of him before burying your face in his neck. he hums softly, a hand trailing up to cup the back of your head, still moving his hips. it's a little hard to move in a space like this. and yes, even though you're stuffed full and can feel the tip pressing against your gspot, you can feel his movements falter every few seconds. that small pause before lifting his hips again. it makes you want to laugh.
you chuckle softly, moving back to look at him. “babe, wait,” you pull the lever at the bottom. his seat reclines back. he gasps softly, hands clutching the edge of the seat, eyes flickering to meet your glazed ones. “love.” he breathes out, hands resting on your thighs. you don't say anything. you just move. small grinds at first, like a roll of the hips that has him already groaning and throwing his head back.
when he wants more, he takes it. he grabs your hips with rough hands, guiding you faster as his jaw sets. there’s a push and pull to him: possessive when he calls you “mine,” careful when he checks in with a low, “you okay?” between grinds. the safety of the parked car is a paradox — public enough that the danger fills the scent of rain outside, private enough that you can love him like this.
you tilt your head forward against his shoulder, breath sharp. he grabs your jaw, gently this time before pulling your face back and finds your mouth and kisses you hard — no gentling, just a claim. your fingers drag down his arm, nails digging little crescents that leave heat-smudged paths. he groans softly into the kiss at the light sting.
at one point he fucks up into you harder — so hard the seat frame thumps and the car makes this noise — and you choke out his name. he answers by snapping his hips into yours in a way that lifts you against him and has your knees breaking. then he shifts, leaning forward so he can cup your face and bite the hollow beneath your ear. his teeth graze skin, tongue touching it whenever he talks. “look at me,” he rasps. when you do, his pupils are blown, dark and gentle at the same time. “there she is, pretty baby.”
he moves again with an urgency that’s almost desperate — closer, faster — leaning back against the seat while his hand moves down — first feeling the bulge of him moving in your lower belly, then down to rub your clit for more pressure. you hiss. “c–chris, i'm close..” you moan out softly, hand clutching the wrist that's working your clit, mouth parted in bliss. he groans. he loves that expression.
he finds a pace that’s brutal and caring at once, angling his hips so each thrust slides home deeper than before. your tightness clamps around his cock and he groans low, a sound that vibrates against your sternum.
“cum for me,” whispered, voice breaking with its own need.
you do. your body folds around him; your nails run down his shoulders, head dropping back and the sound you let out is a mix of a groan and a whimper, thighs clenching around his. you cream around him, warm and sticky and that's enough to send chan over the edge too.
he fills you up with your permission, low groans and high curses filling the air. “fuck– baby..” he hisses, hips relaxing as he finally calms down, sweat dripping down his cheek and past his jaw. he pulls you back down to him and kisses the salt from your lips like it’s a prayer. the motion slows. he rests his forehead to yours, breath coming in hard pulls, hands still heavy on your thighs as if making sure you didn’t vanish from him. outside, the rain has eased to a whisper. inside, your breathing finds a shared rhythm.
“next time,” he murmurs into your hair, voice soft now and threaded with something almost like apology, “i'm taking you home.” then he laughs, small and rough. “and loving you properly.”
you smile faintly, flicking his forehead in silent protest. “this was hot. we're doing it again.”
he groans, a hiss leaving his lips after, head falling back against the seat. “shut your fucking mouth or i'm using that throat of yours.”
you know he means it and if you're being honest? you don't mind.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: all rights reserved to @luvlve , please do not copy my work.
taglist 🔖: @luviedovie, @jijisuung, @lavenoreern
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