🂭 — Close to You
(♠︎ Kwak Jiseok x reader)
18+ | nsfw | explicit | yearning | friends to lovers
wc: 4k
summary: three years of friendship. One game. Seven minutes that change everything. You and Gaon can’t ignore the tension anymore—what starts as a dare turns into a night of unrestrained desire.
— Alexa, play Seven Minutes In Heaven by Mindless Self Indulgence.
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Ი𐑼: I spent 3 days writing this one because of a tiktok edit of Gaon with this song, sorry it's too long and full of repetitive words.
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Friendship: the emotions or conduct of friends; the state of being friends.
Love: an intense feeling of deep affection.
Simple definitions.
Words you used all the time.
Words you never struggled with — until they started circling him.
You always talked about friendship and love like they were clean, separate things.
Categories.
Boxes.
Labels that made sense when you were describing other people’s lives, other people’s mistakes, other people’s almost-relationships.
But now you were standing in the middle of your own.
Gaon. Friend. Best-friend. Lover. Almost-lover.
Something in between.
The four words swirled together until none of them made sense anymore.
Three years of a friendship that was too close, too warm, too entangled — and you never questioned it. Not when he draped himself over your shoulders, not when he stole half your food, not when he stared at you too long, not when he texted good night and tell me when you get home like it was his job.
That was just Gaon.
Your Gaon. Your friend. Right?
So why did your stomach flip every time he grabbed your wrist? Every time he says your name? Why do you always starts malfunctioning at every interaction with him?,
Why did your memory loop all the "accidental" touches you two had?
Were you spiraling?
Were you imagining things?
Or worse — were you realizing too late something everyone else already knew?
[𓏲ּ𝄢]
Finally it was Saturday night — the company party.
The building buzzed like it had a heartbeat of its own.
Music, voices, laughter spilling through every hallway.
Everyone was there.
Producers, seniors, recent debuted idols, dancers, managers, vocal coaches.
And somewhere in the crowd, him.
You arrived a little late — on purpose, maybe — smoothing your outfit, adjusting your hair, pretending you weren’t scanning for a familiar face the moment you stepped inside.
The room was warm, golden, loud.
People talked in clusters.
Music thumped lightly from the speakers.
Lights caught on glittery fabrics and polished glass.
You were just starting to relax when you felt someone’s eyes on you.
You turned.
And there he was.
Gaon.
Across the room, holding a drink he clearly wasn’t drinking, mid-conversation with Junhan — but staring straight at you like the night had been waiting for this exact moment.
His eyes widened the slightest bit.
His lips parted like he wanted to say something even from across the room.
He straightened, shoulders tightening, jaw flexing in a way that hit you too hard for something so simple.
And your heartbeat responded instantly, embarrassingly, like it recognized him before you did.
He blinked.
Slow and focused.
Like he was trying to remember how to look anywhere else… and failing.
It felt like electricity caught between you two.
Like the room was full of people but only the two of you were awake in it.
You swallowed, looking away before you could melt under that stare.
But you could still feel it — burning, tracking, following.
Something was different tonight.
Something was shifting.
Something was about to break open, whether you were ready or not.
And you didn’t know if it was friendship slipping out of your hands… or love finally catching up to you.
The moment you looked away, your pulse still thundering in your ears, you knew one thing for certain:
Tonight wasn’t going to be normal.
Not with him watching you like that.
Not with your chest tightening every time someone brushed past you and you thought—hoped—it was him.
You tried to distract yourself.
Tried to mingle, talk, smile, pretend your brain wasn’t rewiring itself because Gaon had looked at you like you were the only person in the entire building.
But it didn’t help.
Because every time you glanced around, he was already looking.
Quickly. Softly.
Like he was trying to catch every version of you in every light.
And failing miserably to hide it.
At one point, Jooyeon passed by you with a drink in each hand and whispered:
"Relax. He’s gonna combust at this rate."
You glared at him.
He winked.
And you knew the boys had noticed everything before you even walked in.
[𓏲ּ𝄢]
An hour later, the music was louder, people looser, the energy brighter.
Someone from the dance team dragged a group of idols toward a corner of the room where they’d set up games.
Truth or dare. Basic, right?
Card picks, mystery drinks, lap dancing, kissing whoever they were dared to.
And then landed on the dare that made your stomach drop: Seven Minutes in Heaven.
You almost scoffed.
This was ridiculous.
Half the room was sober.
The other half was pretending to be.
But people were loud, laughing, daring each other, pulling names, disappearing into a hallway closet like teenagers at a sleepover.
And you would’ve ignored the whole thing—
—until someone called your name.
"Yn!!!"
You froze mid-step.
It was one of the female idols you were close to, waving the little bowl of folded papers like she was summoning you to your doom.
"You’re up next!"
Your brain short-circuited.
"No, no, no, I’m good—"
"Come on! Everyone’s done it tonight! It’s just fun! We need you!"
The group was already cheering.
You didn’t even have time to form a coherent protest before they shoved the bowl toward you.
You sighed, reached in, and pulled a name.
You unfolded the paper.
And your heart stopped.
Kwak Jiseok. Gaon. THAT GAON.
The world tilted.
Around you, the group EXPLODED.
"NO WAY—"
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?"
"THE ODDS???"
"SOMEONE CHECK THE BOWL—IT’S RIGGED—"
You felt heat climb your neck.
Your breath caught.
Your fingers tightened around the slip of paper like it was about to fly away.
And you didn’t even dare turn around.
Because you knew he’d be there.
You could feel him behind you.
Feel the air shift.
Feel the tension spike through the room like static.
Someone grabbed his wrist and dragged him forward.
Gaon’s eyes met yours.
Wide. Shocked. Flushed.
Like someone had just kicked open every secret both of you were pretending didn’t exist.
He swallowed—hard.
And that was it.
Suddenly the crowd was yelling, pushing, cheering, escorting the two of you toward the hallway.
Toward that small, dim closet.
Toward seven minutes neither of you were ready for.
Seven minutes that felt like they were going to change everything.
The door swung open.
Someone shoved you inside.
Then him.
And right before the door clicked shut—
you saw his face.
Nervous. Flustered. Breathing visibly uneven.
Like he wasn’t your best friend.
Like he was something else entirely.
The lock slid into place.
Seven minutes.
Just you and him.
Just all the tension you’d been running from for three years. And no escape.
You could hear the party outside, muffled laughter, footsteps, the countdown timer someone had gleefully set. But inside the closet?
Only breathing. His breathing.
Unsteady. Deep. Too close.
You didn’t move at first.
Neither did he.
You were both statues carved out of tension and panic and something far too heavy to name.
"Um…" you whispered, voice embarrassingly thin. "We don’t actually have to—"
"Don’t say that."
His voice came out low.
Lower than you’d ever heard it.
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
You blinked in the dark, eyes barely adjusting, but you could feel him looking at you.
"Gaon—"
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
Not yet.
But close enough that your breath caught.
"I’m trying really hard," he said quietly, almost like it hurt. "Really, really hard not to do something stupid right now."
Your hands went numb.
"Wh—why?"
He let out a shaky laugh — the kind that meant he was absolutely losing it.
"Because you’re right there," he whispered. "And I’ve been—shit."
His hand brushed your waist.
Barely, but still felt like fire.
You sucked in a sharp breath.
He froze.
"Sorry," he muttered, voice shaking. "I didn’t— I mean, I did, but— God."
You could hear him swallow, feel the tremor in his breath against your temple.
Your own voice trembled.
"Jiseok… you can touch me."
Silence.
Immediate, heavy silence.
Then—
His hand slid back to your waist.
Slow.
Almost scared.
He exhaled, like he’d been punched.
"Don’t say things like that," he whispered into your hair. "I’ll lose my mind."
You felt yourself being gently pushed back until your spine touched the wall.
His palm flattened against the door beside your head.
His chest brushed yours.
Your knees nearly buckled.
You were breathing the same air now.
Barely an inch apart.
"Look at me," he said softly.
You did.
Even in the dark, you could see him.
The flushed cheeks.
The trembling lips.
The eyes that had stopped pretending.
He reached up—slow, careful—and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
His fingers lingered.
"You’re killing me," he whispered.
And that was it.
You didn’t even know who moved first.
All you knew was that suddenly his mouth was on yours.
Soft at first — like he was afraid to break you.
Then harder — like he’d been holding this in for years.
Your hands found his shirt, gripping, pulling him closer, making you more able to feel his hard.
He groaned — an actual groan — the sound vibrating into your mouth as his hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face up so he could kiss you deeper.
His other hand traveled down your side, fingertips pressing into your waist, anchoring himself to you like he was terrified you’d disappear.
You gasped against his lips when he pulled you fully against him.
"Sorry—" he murmured between kisses, "—I’m trying— I’m trying to slow down—"
"You don’t have to," you breathed.
He froze for half a second.
Then he kissed you like he absolutely forgot how to breathe.
Hot and desperate. Making all the years of tension snapping all at once.
He pressed his forehead to yours, chest rising and falling against you.
"We shouldn’t be doing this," he whispered.
But his hands were slowly sliding to your ass.
And his lips found yours again before he even finished the sentence.
You kissed him back, fingers sliding up to his neck, tugging him closer until his breath stuttered against your mouth.
The timer outside beeped once.
The timer didn’t stop the world.
It didn’t even slow it down.
It just beeped — sharp, distant, meaningless — because neither of you moved.
Neither of you breathed.
Gaon’s forehead was still pressed to yours, lips swollen, chest heaving like he’d just sprinted across the building.
Your fingers were still curled in his shirt.
His hands were still gripping your waist like he needed the contact to stay upright.
Another beep.
He shut his eyes, jaw clenching.
"…we’re supposed to go out now," he whispered, voice still shaking, breath ghosting your lips.
You didn’t move.
He didn’t either.
He swallowed.
"I can’t—"
His voice cracked.
"I can’t open that door yet."
Your heart thudded so hard it almost hurt.
"…why not?" you whispered.
He let out a low, broken laugh — the kind that sounded like he was fighting himself.
"Because," he murmured, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone, "if I walk out there right now, everyone is going to know."
You blinked.
"Know what?"
He opened his eyes.
And the look he gave you wasn’t friendly.
It wasn’t confused.
It wasn’t almost-anything.
It was raw.
"You have to know," he whispered. "You have to know what’s happening. What I’ve been trying not to do for months. What I just—what we just—"
You felt him press closer, like he couldn’t help it.
"Jiseok…"
He exhaled sharply, like the sound of his name on your lips hurt him.
"I’m trying to be good," he whispered. "I’m trying to be your friend. I’m trying not to ruin everything. But then you look at me, and you let me touch you, and you—"
He cut himself off, throat tight.
"You have no idea what you do to me."
Your fingers loosened at his collar.
"What do I do to you?"
He let out a shaky breath.
"You make me forget I’m supposed to be pretending."
Before you could respond, there was a loud knock on the door.
"TIME’S UP! HELLOOO?" someone yelled, laughing. "DON’T MAKE US OPEN IT FOR YOU."
Gaon’s entire body tensed.
"…shit."
You almost laughed at how panicked he suddenly looked — like he’d been caught stealing something.
Then the doorknob rattled.
"HEY! DON’T YOU TWO BE WEIRD IN THERE!"
You slapped a hand over your mouth, choking back a nervous laugh.
Gaon groaned under his breath and leaned his forehead back against the door with a soft thud.
"We’re gonna have to open it."
"Yeah," you whispered.
Neither of you moved.
He inhaled, then slowly backed up an inch — just enough to not look like he’d been kissing you breathless.
His hands slid off your waist reluctantly, fingertips trailing like he didn’t want to let go.
Your lips tingled.
Your heart was somewhere near your throat.
He reached for the doorknob, stopped, then turned back to you one more time.
And his voice dropped to a quiet, trembling confession:
"This isn’t over."
Your knees almost gave out.
Then he opened the door.
Warm light from the hallway spilled inside, and instantly—
The crowd ERUPTED.
Whistles. Screams. Cheers.
Junhan pretending to faint.
Jooyeon yelling, "LOOK AT THEIR FACES, I KNEW IT—PAY UP, EVERYONE!"
Both of you frozs.
But he didn’t step away from you.
Not completely.
His hand brushed the small of your back — barely there, almost hidden.
But you felt it.
And he kept his eyes on you, even with everyone watching.
Even with chaos exploding around you.
He leaned the slightest bit closer, voice low so only you could hear:
"Find me later."
Then he slipped into the crowd.
But he kept looking back.
Every time.
As if seven minutes hadn’t been nearly enough.
[𓏲ּ𝄢]
You didn’t see him for six days.
Six days of silence.
Six days of pretending your heart wasn’t bruised from the inside out.
Six days of replaying that kiss — the way he pulled you in, the way his breath shook, the way his hands didn’t know whether to hold you closer or let you go.
He disappeared into schedules.
You disappeared into yours.
Nobody asked questions.
None of you had the time or courage to ask anything.
You had gone six days without hearing his voice.
Six days without his stupid memes, his half-asleep texts, his "ate already?" messages. Six days without him hanging around your neck.
He didn’t even view your story.
And the more time passed, the more it felt like something inside your chest was collapsing slowly, painfully, like a building losing support beam after support beam.
You hated it.
You hated how much it mattered.
You hated that you missed him so intensely you couldn’t breathe right.
But on the seventh night — exhausted, irritated, spiraling — you stayed late in the studio.
Just to keep moving.
Just to keep from thinking.
The building was quiet.
Hall lights dim.
Only your small practice room lit up, warm and lonely.
You were sitting on the floor, back against the mirror, scrolling aimlessly — pretending your chest wasn’t tightening again — when the door clicked open.
You didn’t look up at first.
But you heard the breath.
Sharp.
Uncontrolled.
Like someone had been searching, running, panicking.
And then:
"…You’re here."
His voice made you froze.
Your head snapped up.
Jiseok stood in the doorway, hair messy from either from practice or stress or running to you — you couldn’t tell.
Hoodie half-zipped.
Chest rising and falling too fast.
Eyes wide, exhausted, furious, terrified, relieved — everything at once.
Like seeing you punched all the air out of him.
You couldn’t speak or move.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, back pressed against it like he needed it to stay upright.
"Why didn’t you answer me?" he asked, voice low, trembling underneath.
Not angry.
Wrecked.
Your eyebrows pulled together. "You… You didn’t text me."
"I did."
A beat.
"…Drafts don’t count, I know. But I… I tried."
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping halfway across the room — like crossing the rest of the distance would be too dangerous.
"I didn’t know what to say," he admitted.
"I didn’t know what I would do if I saw you again. I didn’t trust myself."
You swallowed hard.
"Why?"
He laughed — bitter, breathless — almost like he hated himself.
"Because seven minutes wasn’t enough," he said quietly.
"Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because I haven’t slept. Because every time I close my eyes, I feel you pulling me in again and I—"
He cut himself off, shaking his head like the rest was too much to confess out loud.
Your heartbeat climbed into your throat.
"And you?" he asked, almost whispering.
"You’re avoiding me too."
"I wasn’t avoiding—"
"You couldn’t look at me," he said, stepping closer before he could stop himself.
His voice cracked.
"You wouldn’t even be in the same hallway."
"Because I didn’t know what you wanted," you burst out.
"Because you acted like nothing happened. Because you kissed me like— like you wanted more and then disappeared. What was I supposed to think?"
He inhaled sharply through his nose, like your words physically struck him.
Then he moved.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
Crossing the room before your brain even caught up.
He stopped right in front of you — close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek, but not touching you.
His hand hovered beside your face, shaking, like he wanted to hold you but was terrified you'd pull away.
"What I wanted," he whispered, "was you. Only you. I just didn’t know if I was allowed to want that."
Your breath hitched.
He leaned just a little closer.
"Tell me I didn’t imagine it," he said.
"Tell me you felt something too."
You didn’t answer with words.
You reached up — uncertain, trembling — and grabbed the front of his hoodie.
His breath choked in his throat.
That was enough.
He broke.
He exhaled like he had been drowning for days and finally surfaced; hands coming up to cradle your jaw, forehead dropping to yours with a soft, desperate thud.
"I missed you," he whispered into the space between your lips.
"More than I should’ve."
You swallowed, voice thin.
"I know, I missed you so much."
He laughed — pained, relieved, disbelieving.
And then he pulled you in.
Not kissing.
Not yet.
Just holding you.
Arms tightening around you like he needed to convince himself you were real.
Your fingers clutching his shoulders without thinking.
Your faces buried against each other’s necks, breathing hard, shaking, overwhelmed.
And in that silent, burning, trembling embrace, everything became clear.
It was never just friendship.
Not for a long time.
Gaon was still holding you — arms wrapped tight, forehead pressed into your shoulder like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, the warmth of you, the relief of you.
But then…
Something shifted.
You felt it before you saw it.
His breathing changed — deeper, unsteady.
His hands, gripping your waist, flexed like he was fighting something.
His forehead lifted from your shoulder, slow, almost unwilling, until his nose brushed yours.
Both of you froze.
His eyes dropped to your lips.
Not quickly.
Not accidentally.
He traced them with his stare like he’d been starving for six days and finally found food to eat.
Your heartbeat slammed into your ribs.
"Jiseok…" you whispered.
"Don’t," he breathed back, voice wrecked.
"If you say my name like that I—"
He didn’t finish.
He couldn’t.
Your lips were centimeters apart, maybe less, ghosting, breathing the same air, trembling in sync.
You felt him shiver.
"We shouldn’t," he whispered.
It wasn’t a warning.
It was a confession.
You swallowed.
Your hands slid up from his shoulders to the sides of his neck, fingers brushing his hair without thinking.
He inhaled sharply — like your touch made something inside him snap.
“We shouldn’t,” you echoed softly.
But neither of you moved.
Neither of you stepped back.
Neither of you broke the tension that was pulling you together like gravity.
His thumb brushed your cheek — slow, gentle, shaking.
"Tell me to stop," he said, but his voice was already gone, already losing to the desire in his eyes.
"Tell me you don’t want this."
You didn’t say anything.
Your silence was an answer.
A loud one.
His jaw clenched.
His hand slid from your cheek to your jawline, tilting your face up just a little — not claiming, not demanding, just pleading.
"I tried," he whispered. "I really tried to stay away."
Your breath hitched.
"I never wanted you to," you replied.
That was it.
That was all it took.
He kissed you.
Not soft. Not cautious. Not shy like the party kiss.
This one was different.
This one was everything the two of you pretended wasn’t there —
the longing, the confusion, the restraint that finally snapped.
His lips met yours with a desperate, almost painful urgency, showing he’d been holding himself back for years — not days.
His hands slid to your waist, pulling you impossibly close, making you again feel his hardness.
You gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss at the sound.
It wasn’t neat.
It wasn’t slow.
It was raw and overwhelming and perfect in its messiness.
He broke the kiss just long enough to breathe your name and start kissing your jaw.
"God… we really shouldn’t be doing this."
But his lips were already brushing your neck.
You whispered, breath trembling,
"Then… why are we?"
He let out a breath that sounded like defeat.
"Because we can’t stop."
Another kiss — slower this time, but deeper, lingering, the kind that says I missed you everywhere.
His hands slid up your back.
Yours cupped his jaw, guiding him closer when he was already as close as physically possible.
He laughed softly against your mouth — the kind of laugh someone makes when they’re overwhelmed, ruined and relieved.
"This is bad," he murmured, kissing you again. "We’re in so much trouble."
"Then we don’t stop," you whispered.
He didn’t.
He kissed you again, harder this time, he deepened the kiss inserting his tongue. His grip tightening and your hands exploring more each other's needy body.
His mouth was still on yours when the shift happened — subtle at first, barely noticeable, just a small change in the way he exhaled against your lips.
But then his hand slid.
Slow. Lower. Bolder.
Fingers tracing the hem of your shirt like he was testing the boundary he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross.
Your breath hitched — loudly enough that he froze for a split second.
"Don’t…" he whispered, voice shaking,
"…don’t make that sound. Please."
You weren’t sure whether he meant it as a warning or a confession.
Maybe both.
His hands sliding up from your hips to your waist.
Your back arched without meaning to.
And that did it.
He swallowed hard — you felt the motion with your whole body — and his hand slipped under your shirt.
Just his palm at first.
Warm. Careful.
Like he was afraid to move too fast and terrified to stop.
Your breath stuttered against his mouth.
"Ji—"
"Tell me to stop," he said, but he was already brushing his thumb along your skin, sweeping slow circles that made your knees weaken.
"Shh, just take me," you whispered.
His whole body reacted — chest rising sharply, jaw tightening, a quiet curse leaving his lips.
And then he kissed your neck.
This kiss wasn’t the frantic, desperate one from before.
This one was slower, heavier, intentional — like he wanted to feel everything, memorize everything, ruin both of you in the process.
You felt him lean in, press you tighter against him, his other hand sliding up on your body, pulling you up against him so there wasn’t a single inch of space left.
Fabric caught between your bodies.
Breaths tangled.
Heartbeats tripping over each other.
His hand under your shirt moved higher.
He paused again — breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.
"Okay?"
It came out rough. Barely made.
You nodded.
Too fast.Too needy.
He let out a shaky breath — relief, hunger, surrender all tangled together — and lifted your shirt a little higher, bunching the fabric slowly, like he wanted you to feel every inch of his intentions.
When his thumb brushed a new strip of skin, you gasped softly.
His eyes fluttered shut like the sound physically hit him.
"God…" he whispered, breath unsteady,
"…you don't know how much I wanted this."
Your hands moved on their own — sliding up his chest, gripping his shirt, tugging the fabric lightly.
He sucked in a breath.
"You want this off?" he whispered, voice almost breaking.
You nodded again.
He kissed you — quick, fierce — and then broke away just enough to grab the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one rough movement.
It fell somewhere on the floor.
He didn’t care.
You didn’t either.
He was back on you instantly — hands at your waist again, sliding up the curve of your body, pushing your own shirt higher with every breathless second.
But he stopped one last time, mouth hovering over yours, voice low and wrecked:
"If I take this off you… we’re not going back. You know that, right?"
Your fingers curled around his forearm.
"Then take it off."
He exhaled — hard, shaky — like he’d been waiting years to hear that.
And his hands slipped under your shirt again.
Slow. Reverent. Hungry.
Fabric lifted. Cold air hit your skin.
His breath stuttered.
He pulled your shirt up — not yanking, not rushing, just guiding it inch by impossible inch — like he wanted to feel the reveal as much as he wanted the result.
Your shirt rose above your ribs—
Your arms—
And then—
He lifted it off you completely.
The air between you changed.
He looked at you and to the outline of your breast hungrily, unconsciously licking his lips.
“Yn…” he whispered, barely holding himself back, "…you really make me go insane."
But his hands were already on your bare waist again.
And his lips were already finding your shoulders.
And there was no part of him that was stopping now.
"Jiseok... I need you" you breathed.
His eyes darkened making something inside him snapped, he guided you to the studio sofa never taking his mouth from you and your upper body.
He guided you backward until the back of your knees touched the sofa, and you sank down with a soft gasp.
He followed, but didn’t touch you right away.
Instead, Gaon stopped.
He just stood there for a heartbeat — chest rising, breath uneven, pupils blown wide — staring at you like the sight alone was enough to break him.
Slowly, he leaned over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other hovering above your waist like he was afraid he’d burn himself if he touched you too quickly.
His gaze traveled over your body, lingering on every place he’d wanted to touch for far too long.
"God…" he exhaled, voice trembling.
"You don’t even know what you’re doing to me."
You shifted slightly, and something about the movement snapped the last thread of restraint he had.
He lowered himself, lips brushing your jaw as his fingers finally found your waist, sliding under the edge of your pants with a careful, shaky breath.
"I had to look at you," he whispered against your skin. "Just once. Like this." he kept brushing his nose into you. "To make sure it’s real… before I let myself continue."
His forehead pressed to your cheek, his hand gliding up your side, slow and reverent.
"And now that I know it is…" his lips trailed down to your neck, "I’m not stopping."
He quickly unbuckled his belt, while trailing kisses from your neck to the middle of your covered chest, keeping eye contact, his hand hovered to your upper back waiting for a answer to remove your bra.
You nodded, and he kept kissing the middle of your breast then moved his mouth to one of them and one of his hand to the other. Gaon savored your breast, each lick, each suck making you moan ever higher.
The warmth of his breath against your sensitive skin sent shivers cascading down your spine. Each caress was a silent promise, each kiss a declaration that neither of you needed to voice aloud. The dim light of the room cast shadows that danced across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity in his gaze whenever he looked up to meet your eyes.
Heat bloomed across your skin, a flush that traveled from your face down to your cunt as his tongue traced delicate patterns against your sensitive flesh. The world beyond his touch seemed to dissolve into nothingness, leaving only the two of you suspended in this moment of intimacy.
"Is this okay?" he whispered against your skin, mouth near the waistband of your jeans, his voice a rough velvet that vibrated through you, making you more needy. You nodded breathlessly, your fingers threading through his hair, anchoring him to you as if he might disappear at any moment.
His fingers traced the waistband of you pants, trembling slightly as they lingered at the button. Time seemed to slow as he undid it, the small metallic click resonating through his body like electricity. He tugged at the zipper, the sound amplifying the gravity of the moment. His heart hammered against his ribs, a primal rhythm that matched the dizzying anticipation building within him.
As he slid the fabric down over her hips, he felt a rush of desire wash over him, the heat pooling in his core. His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn't help but salivate at the sight before him, the way your skin glistened in the dim light. The trust he saw in her eyes nearly overwhelmed him, drowning out everything else as he reveled in the moment.
"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice low and needy, searching your gaze for confirmation.
Jiseok knew he had his answer, the moment you pressed your legs together arching your back. He putted both your legs on his shoulders leaving him with a clearer vision of visible soaking cunt.
"Haven't done much and you're already dripping for me..." he said while leaving a kiss against your wet panties making you moan and grip harder on his hair.
His eyes darkened with desire as he watched your reaction, savoring the way your body responded to his touch. With deft fingers, he hooked the sides of your panties and slowly dragged them down your thighs, his gaze never leaving yours.
Jiseok smiled against your skin, feeling your body tremble beneath his touch. The gentle scrape of his stubble against your inner thighs sent shivers cascading through you, igniting every nerve ending as he drew closer.
"I want to taste you," he whispered, his voice rough with need, laced with a deliberate patience that made you whimper.
"Please," you breathed, your voice barely audible, heat rushing to your cheeks as you thought about this for so long.
The anticipation was unbearable, your body aching with need as he gazed at you with those dark, hungry eyes.
"Please what?" he asked, his breath hot against your most sensitive area, making you squirm beneath him.
"I need you," you managed, feeling your chest rise and fall with each desperate breath.
His fingers tangled in your hair, neither pushing nor pulling, just holding you in place as he leaned closer, his warm breath ghosting over your exposed skin. The way he looked at you—like you were something precious yet something he wanted to devour—made goosebumps rise along your arms.
"Tell me what you want," he urged, his voice low and filled with desire, a mix of vulnerability and hunger that sent another wave of heat coursing through you.
You could feel the tension building, the connection between you two intensifying as you surrendered to the moment, already giving in to the pleasure.
You nodded, breathless, and he grinned before finally pulled your panties and threw them aside, revealing your glistening core. His tongue flicked out, teasingly slow, as he licked a long stripe along your folds, savoring your taste.
"You’re so sweet," he murmured against you, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He took his time, licking and teasing, his tongue dancing around your clit, building the tension higher and higher with each deliberate movement.
You squirmed beneath him, the sensations overwhelming as he played with you, his mouth working magic that made your body arch toward him, desperate for more. Each flick of his tongue sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, and you could feel the heat pooling in your core, ready to explode.
"Please don't stop," you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair, guiding him. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark with desire, a knowing smile playing on his lips before he returned his attention to your most sensitive spot.
"Don't stop," you gasped, holding him in place as he lavished attention on your sensitive flesh.
"Please," you begged, your voice trembling. "I'm so close..."
He hummed against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body as he worked his magic. The tension built rapidly now, coiling tighter with each expert stroke of his tongue. Your breathing became ragged, punctuated by soft moans that grew more desperate with each passing second. He anchored you in place, holding your thighs firmly as you writhed against him, the pleasure overwhelming. "Let go for me," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin, urging you closer to the edge.
With a sudden flick of his tongue and the addition of a finger curling inside you, he found that perfect spot, the sensation sending you spiraling. The combination of his mouth on your clit and the rhythmic thrust of his finger pushed you over the edge.
Your orgasm crashed through you, waves of pleasure washing over you as you cried out his name, your body trembling in ecstasy. He continued to lick and suck, drawing out your pleasure until you were left gasping, your body still quaking from the intensity of it.
As you came, he pulled back, his eyes dark with need. He leaned in to kiss you, the taste of you still lingering on his lips, igniting a new fire within him. You could feel his urgency as he pressed against you, his hands roaming your body, desperate for more.
His kiss was hungry, a deep, consuming heat that stole the air from your lungs. You could taste yourself on his tongue, a heady, intimate reminder of the pleasure he’d just given you. The raw need in his movements was exhilarating—his hands roamed your body, mapping every curve like he was trying to commit you to memory. But as he pressed against you, a new urgency took hold. You wanted more. You wanted to give him the same mind-shattering pleasure he had just given you.
Breaking the kiss, you pushed gently on his chest. He went willingly, a look of confused desire in his eyes as you maneuvered him to sit back on the sofa. You knelt before him, the plush carpet a soft cushion beneath your knees. His eyes widened, his breath catching as he realized your intent. "You don't have to—" he started, his voice raspy.
"Shh," you whispered, your hands tracing the strong muscles of his thighs. "I want to." Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, and you slowly, deliberately, pulled them down, along with his boxers. His erection sprang free, hard and heavy, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip. The sight of him, so vulnerable and so wanting, sent a fresh wave of arousal through you.
You leaned in, your breath ghosting over the sensitive head. He shuddered, a low groan escaping his lips. You took your time, exploring him with your hands first, learning his shape, his heat. Then, you flicked your tongue out, tasting the salty drop on his tip. His hips jerked, and his hand came up to tangle in your hair, not guiding, just holding on.
Encouraged, you took him into your mouth, slowly, inch by inch, until he hit the back of your throat. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking gently as you began to move, your hand stroking the part of him you couldn't take. His breathing grew ragged, his grip on your hair tightening as you set a rhythm. You looked up at him, meeting his dark, lust-filled gaze. The raw, unadulterated need you saw there was your undoing. You increased your pace, taking him deeper, your tongue swirling around him, tasting every inch.
"Fuck, Yn," he groaned, his head falling back against the sofa. "Just like that." His praise spurred you on, and you worked him with a renewed fervor, your mouth and hand moving in perfect sync. You could feel his body tensing, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his peak. Just as you felt he was about to lose control, you pulled back, releasing him with a soft pop.
He looked down at you, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and desperate need. "Why did you stop?" he asked, his voice strained.
You gave him a sly smile, crawling back onto his lap. "Because I want you to come inside me," you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear. He growled, a low, primal sound, and in one fluid motion, he stood, lifting you with him as if you weighed nothing. He laid you back down on the sofa, his body covering yours, his mouth crashing down on yours in a bruising, demanding kiss.
He fumbled with the condom he’d pulled from his wallet, his fingers shaking with a desperation that mirrored your own. Once he was ready, he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locking with yours, searching for any last trace of hesitation.
Finding none, he pushed forward slowly, the stretch a sweet, burning pleasure that had you gasping. He paused, letting you adjust, his gaze never leaving yours. "You okay?" he asked, his voice strained. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, a silent plea for more. He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours, as he began to move.
His thrusts were slow at first, deliberate, each one a testament to the years of unspoken longing between you. The build was maddening, a slow burn that fanned the flames of your desire until you were writhing beneath him, begging for more. "Faster," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Jiseok, faster." He obliged, his movements becoming more urgent, more erratic, as he lost himself in the rhythm, in the feel of you, in the moment he’d dreamed of for so long.
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a primal beat that matched the frantic tempo of your heart. He angled his hips, hitting that spot deep inside you that made you see stars. Your orgasm built quickly, a tidal wave of pleasure that crested and crashed, leaving you screaming his name as your body convulsed around him. He followed you over the edge a moment later, his own release a powerful, shuddering wave that left him collapsing on top of you, his body slick with sweat, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your chest.
For a long moment, you just lay there, tangled together, the only sound your ragged breaths slowly returning to normal. He shifted, rolling to the side but keeping you close, his arm draped possessively over your waist. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering against your skin.
"I meant what I said," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "This isn't over."
You turned in his arms, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, your thumb stroking the stubble there. "I know," you replied, your voice soft but certain.
He smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. "Good," he said, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip. "Because I'm not letting you go. Not now. Not ever."
You leaned in, capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss—a promise, a sealing of a new beginning, built on the ashes of a friendship that had always been destined to be something more.
You lay in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, his heartbeat a steady, reassuring thud against your back. A soft, rhythmic chime broke the quiet. It was faint, coming from across the room. "Is that your phone?" he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep and satisfaction.
"I guess," you sighed, not wanting to move. But the chime kept going, a persistent reminder of the world outside this little bubble. With a reluctant groan, you carefully extricated yourself from his embrace, grabbing his discarded hoodie to wrap around your naked body as you padded over to your discarded jeans. Your phone was face down in the pocket.
You picked it up and the screen lit up, displaying a notification that made your blood run cold.
Voice Memo - Recording - 47:32
Forty-seven minutes. The app was still running. The red recording bar pulsed mockingly at the bottom of the screen. You remembered now—you’d been humming a melody earlier, a new idea for a song, and had quickly hit record to capture it before you forgot. You’d thrown the phone onto your clothes and never thought about it again.
Until now.
Your heart slammed against your ribs, a frantic, panicked rhythm that had nothing to do with pleasure. It had recorded everything. Every whispered confession, every ragged breath, every desperate plea. It had recorded him saying, "I can't open that door yet." It had recorded you begging, "Please, Jiseok, faster." It had recorded the sound of skin slapping against skin, the sound of him groaning your name as he came.
"Yn? Everything okay?" Gaon's voice, soft and concerned, cut through your horror.
You couldn't speak. You could only turn around, your face ashen, the phone held limply in your hand. He saw your expression and sat up instantly, the lazy contentment in his eyes replaced with sharp alarm. "What? What is it?"
You couldn't form the words. You just walked back to the sofa and sat down heavily, turning the screen to face him. His eyes scanned the notification, and you watched in real-time as the color drained from his face. He stared at the phone, then at you, his mouth slightly agape as the horrifying realization dawned on him.
"Oh," he breathed out, the sound barely a whisper. "Oh, god."
Silence descended, heavier and more suffocating than before. This wasn't the comfortable afterglow; this was the raw, exposed nerve endings of a catastrophic mistake. Every intimate, vulnerable thing you had just shared was now a permanent digital file.
"We…" he started, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, running a hand through his already messy hair. "We have to delete it."
You just nodded numbly, your thumb hovering over the screen. But as you looked at the running time, a new, terrifying thought struck you. This wasn't just a mistake. It was evidence. It was a choice. A raw, unfiltered document of the moment your friendship had irrevocably shattered and been reborn.
He reached out, his hand gently covering yours, stilling your thumb. "Hey," he said softly, his gaze intense and serious. "We'll delete it. Together."
But you didn't move. You looked from his panicked eyes to the phone, and a strange, hysterical laugh bubbled up in your throat. "Three years of 'we're just friends'," you whispered cupping his face. "And it took a 47 minutes voice memo to prove we were lying the whole time."
He watched you, his expression shifting from panicked face to a soft expression, placing a kiss on the palm of your hand. "And it was the best ever."