I got a lot of new followers since my daddy series, and many people are expecting a second part (it’s coming!) I typically post updates within a week, if I dont have it preplanned, however
This week is my birthday week and I’m going out of town to see our guys at the governors ball 😜 so the update is getting pushed back another week .
I did schedule oneshots to be posted throughout this week though butttt In the meantime, check out my Hyunjin series (sirensong) which is already completed.
I also tried to keep it gender neutral (minus the picture) so mwah ♡
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
It’s a kind of role play, don’t be nervous now
It had started with a look.
One of those looks he gave you when he knew exactly what he was doing, chin tilted slightly, mouth curved like he had already planned the whole thing and was only waiting for you to catch up.
“You said you wanted to try something,” he reminded you.
You shifted where you stood, suddenly very aware of your own hands, your own breathing, and the quiet music threading through the room.
“I said maybe.”
Changbin’s smile widened, slow and warm. “Maybe is still an opening.”
You huffed a small and nervous laugh, but it came out softer than intended.
He noticed immediately.
The teasing slipped from his face just enough for something gentler to show through. He stepped closer, not crowding you, only closing the distance until the air between you felt warmer.
“We don’t have to,” he said.
That should have made it easier to back out. Instead, it made you want him more.
Because there was no pressure in his voice. No impatience. Just that quiet certainty that he would follow wherever you led, even if all you managed was a shaky step forward.
You looked up at him. “I’m not backing out.”
“No?” His voice dipped, playful again, but softer now. Careful around the edges.
“No.”
His hand lifted, pausing near your waist before touching you. Waiting.
You nodded.
Only then did his palm settle against you, warm through the fabric, steady enough to make your breath hitch.
“There you go,” he murmured.
The words sent heat crawling up your neck.
It was ridiculous, really. You had talked about this. Laughed about it. Let the idea grow between you in little teasing pieces until it felt safe enough to want out loud. But now that he was here, looking at you with that slow patience, the fantasy felt less like a joke and more like a door you were both standing in front of.
And he knew you were nervous.
Not because you wanted to stop, because you wanted to keep going.
Because being wanted this openly made your confidence flicker.
His thumb brushed lightly over your side. “Look at me.”
You did.
His expression softened at whatever he found there, and then he leaned in, close enough that his mouth hovered near your ear.
“Good,” he whispered. “Just like that.”
The role play had started as something playful.
A little bold.
A little reckless.
But with him this close, with his eyes steady on yours and his touch careful despite the heat simmering beneath it, it became something else.
A way to let go.
A way to be wanted without having to be perfectly brave.
A way to step into the scene together and trust that he would still see you underneath it.
When he leaned in again, his lips barely grazing yours, he whispered, “We can stop whenever you want.”
You swallowed.
Then, softer than you meant to, you replied, “I don’t want to.”
His eyes darkened, but his smile stayed gentle.
“Good,” he murmured. “Then play with me.”
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
I want to get closer, baby until thе gap disappears
The gap between you had become unbearable.
It was barely there anymore, only a sliver of warm air separating your mouth from his, your chest from his, your body from the steady pull of his hands. But he still looked down at it like it offended him.
Like even that much distance was asking too much.
His fingers tightened at your waist. “You’re too far,” he murmured.
You almost laughed, but the sound tangled in your throat when he pulled you closer, dragging you fully into his lap until there was no graceful way to pretend this was innocent. You straddled his hips, your hands landing around his shoulders as his breath warmed the side of your neck.
“This close?” you whispered.
His mouth brushed your skin. “Not close enough.”
The music moved around you, slow and sinful, the honeyed vocals and bass that seemed to settle directly beneath your ribs. Every beat made the room feel smaller. Every breath made his grip feel more deliberate.
He kissed along your jaw, unhurried, like he had already decided that the night belonged to him. Like he had no intention of leaving any part of you untouched by his attention. His hands slid over your back, down your sides, pulling you against him until your body answered before your mouth could.
A quiet moan slipped out of you.
He paused.
Your felt your body heat up out of embarrassment, but he only tilted his head, eyes dark and soft at once.
Then his mouth found yours again, deeper this time, less careful. The kiss stole whatever space was left between you. Your fingers curled into his hair at his neck, and his hand pressed firmly at the small of your back, guiding you closer until the distance disappeared in every way that mattered.
No room for either of you to pretend the slow roll of your bodies was anything but want finally finding somewhere to go.
His forehead dropped against yours, breath uneven, lips brushing yours between words.
“Closer,” he said again, rougher now.
And you gave it to him.
Your arms around his shoulders.
Your body melting into his.
Your mouth open above his.
Until the music blurred, the room softened, and the only thing left was the heat of him beneath your hands and the way he held you like he was trying to erase every inch of air that had ever dared come between you.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
When I hear your voice cracking more, our love grows more intense
The music had faded into the background by then, low and smooth beneath the quiet heat of the room.
You barely knew where the song ended and the sound of him began. His breathing was close to your ear, uneven in a way that made your fingers curl tighter against his back, and every slow movement between you seemed to drag another shaky breath out of your chest.
He kept his forehead near yours, close enough that you could feel the almost-kiss of his mouth each time he breathed your name. It was soft at first. Careful. Like he was trying to keep you grounded in the middle of all that warmth.
You wanted to answer him.
You meant to.
But when you tried to say his name, your voice broke around it, thin and trembling, slipping out before you could catch yourself.
His eyes opened, and for a second, he didn’t move away or tease you for it. He only looked at you, breath caught, like that fragile little crack in your voice had done something to him.
Like hearing you come undone in such a quiet, honest way had reached deeper than anything you could have said clearly.
Embarrassment fluttered through you, quick and hot, but before you could turn your face aside, his hand came up to cup your cheek.
“Don’t,” he pleaded.
So you stayed there, letting him see you with your breath uneven and your voice no longer steady, letting the room hold every sound you couldn’t smooth over. And when you said his name again, softer this time, it came out breathy.
His expression slowly changed.
Something tender pulled through his face, something almost overwhelmed, and he leaned closer until his mouth brushed the corner of yours.
The song kept moving beneath you, slow and aching, but he seemed to hear only you now. Every broken moan. Every tremble. Every small sound that slipped out when the closeness became too much to carry quietly.
And the more your voice gave way, the more intense everything felt.
Not because it was loud.
Because it was real.
Because there was no performance in it, no polished version of want, only your arm tightening around his shoulders and his lips ghosting over your skin as if he could soothe every part of you that shook.
“Stay with me,” he murmured, voice rough against your cheek.
You nodded, though you were not sure he could see it.
He felt it anyway.
And when you whispered his name one more time, cracked and breathless and barely held together, he kissed you like that was the only answer he needed.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Let’s put on that R&B song, ‘cause I’m ’bout to love you all night long
The song started low.
Just a bassline first, soft enough to make the room feel smaller. Warmer. Like everything outside this moment had been asked to leave.
The lamp beside the bed painted his skin in gold. He looked up at you as his hands rested against your hipbones, thumb moving slowly, finding the rhythm before either of you said a word.
You looked down at him. “What?”
His mouth curved faintly. “Nothing.”
“That’s not a nothing face.”
He laughed under his breath, but even that faded into something quieter when his fingers tightened at your waist and drew you closer. He took his time with it, like he wanted you to feel every inch between distance and closeness disappear.
The song kept playing, all velvet bass and honeyed vocals, filling the silence you both seemed too aware of. His gaze lowered to your mouth, then lifted again, dark and patient.
“You’re staring,” you whispered.
“I know.”
The honesty of it made your breath catch.
His hands slid around you fully then, palms warm against your back, holding you between his knees like he had no intention of letting the night move faster than he wanted it to. When he pressed his mouth just above your waistband, the kiss was slow enough to feel deliberate.
Your fingers slipped into his hair as his eyes closed.
The song swelled softly around you, but after a while, it stopped feeling like background noise and started feeling like instruction.
Move slower.
Come closer.
Hold still.
And when he looked up at you again, all soft eyes and dangerous patience, you understood without him having to say it.
Tonight wasn’t going to be rushed.
It was going to be soft and sensual.
Warm hands and quiet moans.
And him loving you like the music had given him permission.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
All day you wander in my mind, your unique scent spreads through my body
The problem was that you stayed behind.
Not physically. You had left hours ago, slipping out of his room with that soft little smile that made him want to drag you right back into bed. You kissed him at the door like you were being sweet, like you weren’t leaving him with your perfume on his sheets and the shape of your body still pressed into his memory.
Now he was alone, supposedly.
Except you were everywhere.
On his pillow, against his shirt, lingering on his hands from where he had held your waist too long before letting you go.
He tried to ignore it at first. Tried to busy himself with his phone, with water, with anything that did not involve thinking about the way you had looked sitting on the edge of his bed, lips swollen from kissing him and eyes bright with that quiet, dangerous amusement.
But then he turned his face into the pillow by accident, and your scent hit him all at once.
His eyes closed before he could stop them. “Fuck,” he breathed, barely audible.
It was embarrassing how quickly his body remembered you. How easily the memory spread through him, slow and heavy, until his chest felt tight and the room felt too warm. He could still hear your laugh from earlier, low and teasing near his ear. Could still feel the brush of your fingers against his stomach, gentle enough to seem innocent if he didn’t know you better.
You had done it on purpose.
Left him wanting.
Left traces of yourself behind like a trap.
His phone buzzed against the mattress.
A message from you: Miss me yet?
He stared at it for a second, jaw tightening.
Then he laughed under his breath because of course you knew. Of course you had timed it perfectly, catching him right as his self-control started slipping through his fingers.
He typed back: You’re annoying.
Your reply came almost instantly: That’s not a no.
His head fell back against the pillow, as the scent of you rose around him again, curling through every thought he tried to keep clean. His hand dragged slowly over his stomach, not giving in completely yet, just testing the edge of it. Teasing himself with the memory of your mouth, your voice, the way you had looked at him when you knew he was holding back.
Another message: Be honest. What are you doing?
He swallowed and his hand stilled.
For a moment, he considered lying. Saying he was watching something, or eating, getting ready to sleep. Anything normal. Anything that did not give you the satisfaction of knowing you had him exactly where you wanted him.
But your scent was still on his sheets.
Your name was still caught behind his teeth.
And his body had never been good at pretending when it came to you.
So he typed with one hand, breath already uneven: Thinking about you.
A pause.
Then: Only thinking?
His eyes closed again. How could you be so cruel?
He smiled anyway, slow and helpless, his hand drifting lower as the room filled with nothing but the ghost of you.
Your scent.
Your teasing.
Your voice in his head, daring him to admit how badly he wanted you.
And by the time he finally answered, there was no pride left in it.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
note: should I do more of these? I love analyzing music
