Truth or Strip 2
Bestfriend! Chan x Reader
PART TWO
Tags: Slowburn smut, best friends to lovers, teasing, playful tension, emotional filth, alcohol, heavy teasing, strip games, oral (f + m receiving), 69, mutual masturbation, fingering, cock worship, dirty talk, creampie, overstimulation, switchy energy, possessiveness
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!
prev
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You woke to the quiet sound of birds.
Soft sunlight filtered through your curtains, golden and warm, dancing over the sheets—and over the skin beneath them.
Your skin.
His skin.
Chan’s.
He was behind you, wrapped around you like a second blanket, one arm slung lazily around your waist, his bare chest pressed against your back, his thighs tangled with yours beneath the covers.
You were still nude.
Both of you.
Still sticky with each other. Still aching.
Your breath caught.
Last night slammed back into your head like a freight train—his hands on your thighs, your mouth on his cock, his tongue in you, that moment you both snapped and came like the world was ending—
God.
You hadn’t even made it to bed. He must’ve carried you here after, tucked the sheets around you, pulled you against him and held on like he always did—except this time?
This time was different.
Your body tensed without meaning to.
He felt it.
And suddenly, the arm around your waist tightened—just a little. His nose nudged into your hair. His voice was low, hoarse from sleep.
“…You awake?”
You didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Your cheeks were burning, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Couldn’t risk seeing the regret or confusion or—God forbid—pity in his eyes.
His voice came again, quieter this time. Almost cautious.
“I didn’t dream that, did I?”
You swallowed thickly. Shook your head.
“No.”
Silence.
His hand shifted on your stomach, fingertips dragging up slightly—barely touching—but it still lit a trail of goosebumps across your skin.
You exhaled shakily. “We were drunk.”
“We were,” he said.
More silence.
You finally tried to pull away—but he didn’t let you.
“Don’t,” he said, too fast. Too firm. “Just—stay. Please.”
That broke something in you.
You stared at the wall, blinking. “…I can’t even look at you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you saw me naked last night, and then ate me out like a starving animal, and I sucked your dick until you cried, and now we’re cuddling like we didn’t just completely fuck up our friendship.”
Chan went quiet for a second.
Then his chest moved—a huff of a laugh.
You stiffened. “You think it’s funny?”
“No,” he murmured. “I think you’re cute when you panic.”
“Chan.”
“I’m not panicking,” he said, voice softer now. “You are. And that’s okay. I’ll wait.”
You finally turned your head, hesitant.
And there he was.
Propped on one elbow, tousled hair, swollen lips, dark eyes dragging over your face like he was still trying to memorize it.
He didn’t look ashamed.
He didn’t look confused.
He just looked like him.
Except now… his gaze dipped to your bare shoulder, and his throat bobbed.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispered. “You. Last night.”
Your heart jumped.
He leaned closer, eyes fixed on you. “Tell me to forget it—and I will. But if you don’t…”
His hand found yours under the covers, fingers lacing slow.
“…I’m not gonna pretend it didn’t happen.”
You didn’t answer.
But you didn’t pull away either.
And that told him everything.
Chan didn’t push.
He just laid there with you for a while, breathing steady against your skin, his arm still tucked around your middle like it belonged there, and you let it. Let him. Let it all hang in the space between you, thick and heavy and impossible to shake off.
Eventually, the room got too warm. Your stomach growled.
And Chan—quiet, gentle—slipped out of bed first.
He found one of your oversized hoodies, tugged it over his bare chest, and tossed a second one onto the mattress without looking directly at you.
You put it on.
No underwear.
Just his scent.
The kitchen was quiet when you padded in, the coffee machine already sputtering, and Chan flipping eggs like this was just any other lazy morning between best friends. Except he was still in just his boxers, and you were very much not wearing pants.
You sat at the counter in silence.
He glanced up once. Met your eyes.
You quickly looked away.
But he didn’t.
He set your plate down, slid into the seat across from you, and said nothing as you both started eating. And when the silence started getting unbearable—too thick, too awkward, too aware—he leaned back in his chair and said:
“…I still remember how your tits looked in the moonlight.”
You choked.
“Chan—!”
“I’m serious.” He grinned lazily, taking a sip of his coffee. “You were so fucking pretty. Sitting there, topless, nipples hard, all flustered and giggly—God, I wanted to bend you over the couch right there and fuck you until you couldn’t say my name anymore.”
Your jaw dropped.
“You—?!”
“And the way you looked at me?” He hummed. “You weren’t drunk. Not by then.”
You couldn’t even argue.
You had sobered up. Somewhere between “take it off” and your top hitting the floor, your heart had sprinted into very lucid, very dangerous territory—and you’d followed willingly. Panting. Curious. Drenched.
“I wanted you so fucking bad,” he said quietly, staring into his mug like it held the memory. “Still do.”
You swallowed. Hard.
He looked up then.
Met your eyes. Voice lower.
“If you hadn’t flipped us over, I would’ve fucked you right into the cushions. Probably filled you up too.”
You went still.
“Chan—”
“I mean it.”
His eyes darkened.
“I was this close to sinking into you bare and staying there. Letting you milk me dry until I couldn’t think straight.”
You felt your thighs press together involuntarily.
He noticed.
And he smirked.
“I’m not sorry,” he murmured. “Only regret is not finishing what we started.”
You clutched your mug tighter, staring into the half-drunk coffee like it might offer a way out. A reset button. A rewind.
But the memories played so vividly—skin on skin, sweat, tongue, heat, moans muffled by mouths and hands and the couch cushions. You could still taste him if you tried hard enough. Still feel him against your lips, on your tongue, heavy and thick and twitching when you swallowed around it.
You couldn’t unsee it.
Couldn’t untaste it.
And maybe worse—you didn’t want to.
“But…” you finally said, voice thinner than it should’ve been, “I’m your best friend.”
You paused.
“That… that wasn’t even supposed to happen.”
It was the weakest excuse in the book, but you had to try. Had to say something before you lost your mind and crawled back into his lap.
Chan didn’t laugh.
Didn’t soften.
He set his coffee down with a quiet click and just stared at you. His voice was even when he finally spoke, but it was laced with something dark. Something feral.
“I’m not gonna be normal about this.”
Your stomach flipped.
He stood slowly, bracing his hands on the edge of the kitchen counter across from you, leaning in just enough that you felt it—his presence, the heat coming off of him in waves.
“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I’m fine,” he said, eyes dragging over you like you were already naked again. “Not when I’ve had your tits in my mouth. Not when I’ve had your mouth on my cock, so warm and fucking perfect, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how you couldn’t even wrap both hands around me.”
You stopped breathing.
“I’m not gonna be normal until I’m inside you,” he said, and his voice dropped—low, dangerous, final. “Until I’ve got my cock buried so deep in you that you forget how it felt to be just friends.”
You trembled.
Something snapped behind your ribs.
No warning.
No defense.
You remembered how right it felt, how absolutely filthy it was, how he didn’t treat you like some fragile, sacred thing but like something he needed to consume.
And now—right now—it was the forbidden wrongness that made you ache.
He was your best friend. He shouldn’t say shit like that. You shouldn’t want it.
But you did.
God, you did.
The moment he said it—“I’m not gonna be normal until I’m inside you”—something inside you shattered. You crossed the line again without thinking.
“Then do it,” you whispered, already breathless. “Fuck being normal.”
Chan didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
You stood.
Took two steps.
And when your hand landed on his chest, he caught your wrist. Pulled you closer. Held you there, noses brushing, his breath hot on your lips.
“You sure?” he murmured. “Because if I do, I’m not pulling out. Never.”
Your thighs clenched so tight it hurt.
You bit your lip.
“I’m not gonna be normal about this either.”
And that was all he needed.
You didn’t even think.
Your body moved before your brain caught up—your hand curling around the back of his neck, pulling him in, pressing your mouth to his with a kind of desperation that made the breath leave your lungs.
He didn’t waste a second.
Chan kissed you back like he’d been holding it in for years. Like he needed it to live. His mouth devoured yours—hungry, messy, tongue pushing past your lips, swallowing every soft whimper you made like he couldn’t get enough.
The kiss turned feral.
You clawed at his hair, pulling tight just to hear the growl he gave in response. He grabbed your hips and yanked you closer, caging you between the counter and his body, grinding up against you like he wanted to break through your clothes with sheer friction.
His hands slid beneath the hem of your hoodie—slow, greedy palms dragging up the backs of your thighs, over your bare ass, between your legs.
He groaned.
“Fuck,” he rasped, voice shredded and dark. “You’re dripping.”
You were.
He slipped two fingers along your soaked folds and you gasped into his mouth, nearly choking on the sound as your knees buckled.
“Still so wet for me,” he muttered, biting your bottom lip. “From last night? Or just from the thought of me inside you?”
You couldn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
He spun, sat down on the stool behind him, and pulled you with him—manhandling you onto his lap with a roughness that made your breath catch.
You straddled him automatically, thighs spread wide across his legs, the hem of your hoodie barely covering anything. He didn’t even hesitate.
His hands gripped your waist, then slid down—thumbs parting your folds, fingers teasing the slick mess he found there like he knew you were already losing it.
Then—you felt it.
The thick, hot press of his cock freed from his boxers, heavy and twitching between you.
“Chan—”
“You said do it,” he growled, voice shaking. “So ride it.”
He lined himself up. You hovered for a heartbeat, your whole body trembling, and then—
You sank.
Slow.
So. Fucking. Slow.
Your jaw dropped as he stretched you open, as his cock filled you inch by throbbing inch, deeper than you thought was possible.
You couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Could only feel—the insane stretch, the burn, the obscene pressure as you took him all the way down and bottomed out on his lap.
Chan’s head tipped back.
“Holy fucking shit,” he gasped, hands shaking as he held your hips. “You feel—fuck—you feel like a dream.”
You clutched at his shoulders, pulse pounding so loud it drowned out the rest of the world.
You didn’t move right away.
Not because you were scared.
But because you wanted to feel every second of it.
He was so deep, you swore you could feel him in your throat—pulsing, heavy, thick where he stretched you open. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, and Chan’s whole body twitched underneath you.
“Shit—” he hissed. “Don’t do that.”
You smirked, dizzy from the pressure and the power.
You had him.
One slow roll of your hips and he groaned, deep and guttural, hands flexing on your ass.
“You said ride it,” you whispered, dragging your lips along his jaw. “Didn’t say how fast.”
You moved again—slow, wet, grinding down until your clit rubbed against the base of his cock and you saw stars.
Chan bit back a growl, head falling to your shoulder as you rocked against him—lazy, teasing, delicious. Every slick sound between your bodies made your toes curl.
“You’re evil,” he muttered, voice strained. “You wanna kill me like this?”
“Not yet.”
You leaned back slightly, watching the way his jaw tensed as you started a rhythm—taunting, slow, so fucking wet it echoed off the kitchen walls.
His cock dragged along your walls with every grind, perfectly angled, hitting that spot over and over like you were built for him.
“You feel how deep you are?” you whispered against his ear. “I can feel you in my stomach.”
That broke him.
Chan’s hands slammed into your hips, forcing you down harder—faster.
“You want deep?” he growled, mouth brushing your cheek. “Then take it.”
And fuck, did you.
You started riding him in earnest now, bouncing in his lap, tits swaying under the hoodie, moans spilling from your lips like you couldn’t hold them in even if you tried.
He was so deep, so thick, filling you to the brim and then some. Your nails raked down his arms, gripping him tight, thighs burning as you chased the heat building fast between your legs.
“Fuck, baby—” he was breathless now, watching you lose yourself on his cock. “Look at you.”
“Chan—” you gasped, already close again. “You feel so fucking good—”
“I’m gonna come,” he warned, breath stuttering. “You keep going like this, I’m gonna come so deep inside you, you won’t feel normal for days.”
That wrecked you.
You leaned forward, forehead against his, moaning like you couldn’t help it.
“Do it.”
And he did.
“Fuck—fuck, baby, I’m close—”
Chan’s voice was a growl against your throat, strained and trembling. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your back under the hoodie, clutching fistfuls of your ass to help you ride him harder, deeper, faster.
You were barely holding on.
Every bounce made your breath hitch, your walls fluttering around him as the pressure curled tight inside your belly. Your legs were shaking, your skin hot, your vision hazy—but Chan’s voice, fuck, his voice, it grounded you.
“Don’t—don’t come yet,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours, his lips barely grazing your skin. “Not yet. Not without me.”
Your body was screaming for it.
You wanted to fall.
Needed to.
But when his hands tightened and he groaned, “Please—baby, wait for me,” something snapped.
You nodded, eyes glassy, grinding down on him harder even as your body threatened to give out. His cock was pulsing inside you, thick veins dragging along your walls with every desperate grind, making you clench like crazy.
“I’m so fucking close,” you gasped, lips parting as you whimpered. “Chan—fuck—I can’t—”
“Yes you can,” he growled, voice dark and ragged. “Come with me. Look at me. Come on my cock.”
You locked eyes.
That’s all it took.
You shattered—hard, loud, full-body spasms as you came with a cry, your cunt milking him in wild, clenching waves that made his face twist with helpless, raw need.
And then he lost it.
Chan let out the filthiest sound you’d ever heard, yanking you down as his hips jerked up, cock throbbing, flooding you with heat so deep you felt it in your core.
His whole body arched, wrapped around yours like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t be deep enough.
You both came so hard, so long, that when you collapsed against his chest, your body went numb.
His hands stroked your back, both of you breathing like you’d run a marathon. He kissed your temple, soft and slow, even as his cock stayed buried deep, twitching with the aftershocks.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “I’ve never come like that in my life.”
Neither had you.
You didn’t move.
Not even when your legs started trembling. Not even when the room stopped spinning.
Chan’s cock was still deep inside you—softening slowly, twitching every few seconds from the aftershocks—but neither of you could bring yourselves to let go.
His arms had wrapped tight around your waist the second you collapsed onto him, lips still brushing your temple, breathing slowly steadying against your skin. His hands moved in slow, dazed sweeps along your back, gentle and grounding.
You buried your face in his neck.
You were still leaking around him.
Still open for him.
Still aching.
And all you could think about was how full you felt.
How fucking good it had felt to let him in.
To take him like that.
To come so hard, your heart forgot how to beat.
A beat of silence passed, then two. His hand stroked the back of your head as you blinked, trying to find the words while still catching your breath.
You pulled back a little, enough to look him in the eye.
He looked wrecked—hair a mess, lips red from kissing you, pupils blown wide. And god, he was still the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.
Your hand slid along his jaw. You kissed him.
Soft at first.
Then a little more.
Your lips brushed his again, slower this time. Deeper.
His breath stuttered.
“I think I might want you again,” you whispered against his mouth. “Right now.”
His whole body twitched beneath you.
Your hands tangled in his hair, still breathless, still trembling. You kissed him again, tongue teasing at his lips, hungry and desperate even though you were barely holding yourself up.
He groaned softly, deep in his chest.
“You’re still inside me,” you whispered, breath tickling his skin. “And I already miss the stretch.”
His grip on your waist tightened. His hips shifted beneath you, cock twitching again, not even fully soft anymore.
And his voice—fuck, his voice—came out like a promise wrapped in sin.
“You’ll get it,” he whispered, eyes flickering dark. “But not on this stool again.”
⸻
He carried you.
Lifted you off his lap with your thighs still shaking, his spend dripping down your legs, your hoodie clinging to your sweaty skin. His cock—still hardening again between you—brushed against your inner thigh as he walked you to your bedroom, lips grazing your forehead.
He laid you down like you were precious.
But there was nothing soft in his eyes.
Not anymore.
He hovered over you, staring like you were some fever dream, like he still couldn’t believe what the two of you had done.
And still wanted more.
You reached for him—fingers trailing his jaw, then lower, your eyes locked to his as you slid down the bed, knees parting slowly between his legs.
He knew what you were doing.
And fuck, the way he sat back and let you…
You kissed his hip. His stomach.
And then you kissed the base of his cock—slow, reverent, like you were grateful for it.
Chan’s breath hitched.
“Baby…”
Your eyes flicked up, lips curling slightly as your hand wrapped around him—already rock hard again, already leaking for you.
He was so thick in your grip, so heavy. You kissed the tip, teasing, letting your tongue swirl slowly before you slid your lips over him.
He moaned—moaned, head dropping back.
“Fuck, you’re unreal.”
You sucked him in deeper.
Then deeper.
Then deeper still—until he hit the back of your throat and you hummed like you wanted to stay there forever.
“Jesus—fuck—” His hand flew to your hair. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.”
You pulled off with a pop and a wicked smile.
“Maybe I want you to.”
But he didn’t let you go far.
Chan pulled you up—his lips crashing into yours, his cock pressing hot and ready against your soaked center. You didn’t even bother guiding him this time. Just let him push in slow, deeper than before.
You gasped into his mouth.
The angle was different. The stretch worse. And the pace?
Agonizing.
Deep, slow thrusts that dragged along your every nerve, filling you to the brim and staying there.
“You feel what you do to me?” he murmured against your lips. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m supposed to be your best friend and all I want to do is ruin you.”
You gasped, clawing at his shoulders.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you breathed, heart racing. “I wasn’t supposed to want you like this.”
“I don’t care.”
He buried himself deeper.
“I’ll ruin everything. I’ll cross every line. Just say the word.”
You didn’t mean to say it.
Not out loud. Not while you were still beneath him, trembling from every thrust, barely holding on.
But something about the way he looked at you—like you were his beginning and end—ripped the words from your throat before you could stop them.
Chan pressed his forehead to yours, voice wrecked, thrusts getting sloppier.
“Fuck, you’re gonna come for me again, aren’t you?”
You nodded, whimpering, biting your lip hard to keep from falling apart.
But then your voice broke out, breathless, raw, completely unfiltered.
“Chan—” You gasped, nails digging into his back. “I think—I think I’m fucked. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop wanting you.”
He froze.
Just for a second.
Then he growled—deep and guttural—and his cock hit something inside you that made your toes curl.
“That’s not just the sex talkin’,” he panted, eyes burning into yours. “Say it again.”
Your eyes brimmed, voice trembling.
“I think you ruined me,” you whispered. “Because this? Us? It doesn’t feel like a mistake. It doesn’t even feel like just fucking. It feels like something I’m already terrified to lose.”
He snapped.
A messy kiss. A moan swallowed. His hand cupping your cheek as he started fucking you harder—deeper, desperate.
“Then don’t lose me,” he rasped. “Keep me. Want me. I’ll give you everything.”
You shattered.
Your orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave, and Chan fell with you—grunting, holding you through every pulse, every shake, until all that was left was your tangled limbs and heavy breathing.
The silence after was thick.
But you didn’t move.
You didn’t want to.
Chan kissed your cheek. Your collarbone. Your lips. And then he just… held you.
“You know,” he murmured, voice hoarse, “this was the best worst idea we’ve ever had.”
You laughed softly, curling into him, still feeling his cum dripping between your thighs.
“Let’s make more bad decisions tomorrow.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors note: Thanks for being patient guys, thanks for the feedback on part 1 too ❤️ i hope you liked it??
If you did, dont forget to drop notes for me, i always look out for those! Love you! 🥰
