emmiesoverthemoon - Tumblr blog

emmiesoverthemoon · 4 days ago

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you, me, and your ears

you’ve been interested in learning how to have perfect pitch, but you’re just not getting it. after failing on your own, chan has an… interesting way to help you practice.

pairing: bang chan x reader wc: 2k tags: established relationship. smut. cock warming, orgasm denial, ‘blindfold’, unprotected sex. enjoy

his studio is warm, low-lit and padded with silence, years of experience clinging to the soundproofing panels lining the space.

the only sound comes from the occasional click of the keyboard or the shift of his chair as he rolls across the floor, tapping through files with effortless precision. you, on the other hand, are folded up on the couch—barefoot, pouty, slumped with your legs crossed and a pencil tucked behind one ear like it might help.

“i just don’t get it,” you sigh, tapping the side of your head like you could knock the skill into place. “i swear my ears are broken. everything sounds the same.”

chan does not turn around, but you can hear the grin in his voice. “that’s because you’re overthinking it.”

“i’m not.”

“you are.” he spins halfway in his chair to glance at you, arms crossing loosely. “your brain’s working too hard. recognising notes is muscle memory, not some grand academic puzzle. you hear it, you feel it, you know it.”

you groan dramatically and flop back onto the cushions, one arm draped across your face.

chan hums. “you’re making it harder than it is.”

“maybe you’re just naturally good at it,” you mutter. “some of us mere mortals have to suffer.”

that earns a soft laugh, the kind that curls at the corners of his mouth and lingers in the air. he stands, moves across the studio with that quiet confidence that always gets under your skin—no rush, no fuss, just chan in his element. a little smug. deeply focused. maddeningly gentle about it.

he crouches beside the couch, one hand on the edge of the cushion near your hip.

“do you actually want to learn,” he asks, head tilted, voice lowered like a secret, “or are you just saying that so i’ll keep spending time with you?”

you turn your head to glare at him.

he only smiles, slow and infuriating.

“alright,” he says after a beat, pushing himself up and reaching for his midi keyboard. “let’s play a game.”

“oh no.”

“oh yes.”

he sets the keyboard beside you, powers it on, and starts flicking through grand piano samples until he finds the one he likes. it rings out clean and warm—rich, like real keys, not artificial tones. the first note he plays is gentle. a simple middle c.

you blink. “that one’s easy. c”

“good.” his eyes flick to yours. “i’ll play one note without you looking, and you’ll guess what note i’m playing. if you get it right, you earn a reward.”

you narrow your eyes suspiciously. “what kind of reward?”

he smiles in a way that may as well be drowning in venom.

you do not trust that smile one bit.

however you do want to learn...

“fine,” you say, sitting up straighter. “how many points do i need to win?”

“oh, there’s no winning,” he murmurs, already testing another note. “only discipline.”

you freeze.

he plays a low d and his eyes flick to you without shifting his head from the keyboard.

you hesitate, then answer correctly.

and chan—ever so calmly—reaches for you, draws you gently into his lap so that you’re straddling him, facing away from him. he fiddles with your waistband, and whispers against your skin. “take these off for me.”

the warmth of him beneath you is all-encompassing—solidity spreading you wide, his back against the mixing chair, one hand resting low on your waist, the other poised above the keys.

you’re already wet when you sink onto him.

the stretch is slow and familiar. the way your walls suck him in is downright greedy. your breath catches, and chan—patient as ever—guides you down until he’s buried to the hilt, cock twitching where he sits nestled inside.

he does not move, and neither do you.

“good girl,” he murmurs. “now, you earn what you want.”

your laptop stays folded beside the cushions. there are no screens, no aids, nothing to anchor you but the weight of him inside you and the warm voice that follows.

“ready?”

you nod, biting your lip.

he taps out a single note. an f sharp.

you furrow your brows, humming the note back to yourself a few times. “...f sharp?”

he hums. pleased. you must’ve been correct.

a single rolling thrust—deep, slow, deliberate—punctuates your success, and your mouth falls open around a gasp. he holds you there after, unmoving again, one hand stroking idly up and down your thigh. he presses his free hand onto the keys again.

“what’s next one.”

you hesitate—but only for a moment. “...g?”

chan smiles.

another thrust. more pressure this time. you roll your hips instinctively, but his fingers tighten on your thigh.

“uh uh. not your turn.”

you pant, nodding. you try to focus. but your body pulses around him, all-consuming and twitching, and your clit throbs with every heartbeat. it’s unbearable. addictive. you need more, no matter what he says.

the next few answers come easier than they should.

you name the notes a little too fast. a little too confident.

and chan notices.

he says nothing at first. instead, he just tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly as his hand moves from your thigh to your chin, tilting your head to the side so he can look you in the eye.

“are you peeking?” he asks.

you freeze. “no.” liar.

and he knows it. he plays a b flat. you answer before he’s even fully lifted his hand off the tiles.

“mm.” he hums low. “baby.”

you try to look innocent.

“what did i say about playing by the rules properly?” he murmurs.

you do not answer.

“right,” he says softly. then he shifts beneath you, his cock dragging deliciously inside as he reaches for something on the desk.

instead of anything new, he brings his hand back to your face. and covers your eyes with his palm.

his grip is firm, fingers curling around your face, blocking your vision completely. a warm, temporary blindfold made of his skin.

“no peeking,” he whispers.

then—another note. a soft one, high and clear.

“go on.”

you tremble in his lap, dripping, mind blank with heat. somehow, the loss of your sense of sight makes you need him more. you hum the note, biting your lip.

“...e?”

he thrusts. rolling slow. thick. unforgiving.

“good girl.”

you moan.

“you’re gonna to learn properly now, sweetheart,” chan murmurs against your ear, holding you steady with one hand over your eyes and the other splayed across your hip. “no shortcuts. no tricks. no cheating.”

“just me,” he adds, cock twitching deep inside you, “and your ears.”

“please, chan—can i have more,” you whisper, hips shifting restlessly—trying to move, trying to feel something more than this aching, pulsing and unbearable stretch.

but his hands keep you still. if you weren’t so frustrated you’d be so turned on by how he’s basically manhandling you to stay still.

“ah—what’s wrong, baby?” he asks, softly, tilting his head like he isn’t already aware. his tone is light. amused. gently patronising. “getting a little pent up?”

you nod, breath catching.

“mm. is that why you were cheating earlier? peeking like a naughty little girl, pretending you could do it all on your own?”

his palm still rests over your eyes, keeping the world dark—keeping your senses narrowed down to only the weight of him inside you, the heat of his mouth at your neck, the steady rhythm of his breath.

you nod again, smaller this time. embarrassed. aching.

he hums, low and pleased. “you know i would have helped you, sweetheart. you didn’t have to lie to me.”

you whisper something—an apology, maybe—but it dies in your throat as he thrusts his hips up just slightly, one slow inch, a reminder.

“come on,” chan drawls, brushing his lips across your cheek. “prove you can be good for me now.”

he plays the next note.

it is sharp—quick—disorienting in your haze of need.

you hesitate.

he waits.

you whisper, “...f?”

a pause. your heart stutters.

and then—

a soft, mocking sound from the back of his throat. a tut. a sigh. the faintest shake of his head.

“wrong,” he says gently, yet a little condescending. like a teacher disappointed—but not surprised.

you whimper. your head tips forward. “chan, please—”

“what’s the rush, love?” he asks, cock twitching where it rests deep inside you. “you wanted to learn, remember? practice takes time.”

he releases your eyes just enough for you to glimpse him: calm, confident, glowing with satisfaction. so sure of his place between your legs, inside your body, inside your head.

“you really thought you could cheat your way through this?” he asks, stroking a slow hand up your trembling thigh. “you think i wouldn’t notice?”

you shake your head quickly, eyes wide.

“no,” he says, grinning. “i don’t think you really want it that badly.”

you whine—actually whine—hips jerking down onto him before you can stop yourself.

his grip tightens instantly.

“uh-uh,” he warns. “not yet.”

then—quiet. a soft piano note, clean and low.

he leans in.

“get this one right,” he murmurs, brushing his mouth over yours, “and maybe—maybe—i’ll let you cum.”

your whole body is trembling. you feel like you are being held together by the smallest thread—sensitive, desperate, stuffed full and stretched tight with need.

it’s been what felt like eons—in reality chan has not moved in only a few minutes. not properly at least. you keep getting these notes wrong, and he’s just being so mean by denying you what you need.

he’s content being just sat there with you cockwarming him like it is a study exercise, like he is being so patient letting you sit on his lap when you are the one falling apart.

he plays a note.

you moan.

“focus,” he murmurs against your skin. “you want to cum, don’t you?”

you nod—well, you try to. his makeshift blindfold gives your head little room for movement.

“then tell me the note.”

his hand slips from your eyes, you pause. on instinct, your eyes close. whether that be the sudden light change, or the ghost of his palm on your face is still pushing you blind. the ghost of shame, of failure. you want to do this right.

“...a,” you say, shaky and small.

a beat of silence. then:

“good girl.”

as a reward, he grips your hips enough to bruise and fucks up into you hard.

you cry out—loud, unrestrained, your hands flying to the armrests of the chair just to hold on as he thrusts again, deeper now, rougher than he has this whole time. it’s overwhelming, blinding, so much after being denied for so long.

he does not let up.

“you wanted it so badly, yeah?” he growls, voice thick with lust and triumph, hand gripping your waist as he drives up into you again. “couldn’t sit still, couldn’t wait. had to cheat—had to beg.”

you nod frantically, mouth open, no words.

“go on, then. cum. show me how well you learn.”

you fall apart as if your body acts purely off of command. it hits fast—sharp and shattering, your cunt pulsing around him as your thighs twitch and your eyes roll back, moaning so loud it echoes off the soundproof walls. chan does not slow down. he fucks you through it, through every twitch and sob, fucking you straight into overstimulation until you are whimpering, broken, wrecked in his lap.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “ruined little baby. dripping all over me.”

you slump forward against him, barely conscious, body shaking.

he kisses your cheek.

“mm. i’m not done with this game yet, i don’t think.”

you blink. try to focus. “w–what?”

“one more note,” he whispers, drawing slow circles over your thigh. “one more. and this time—”

he taps a key. a clear, lingering tone.

“—you’re going to sing it.”

you freeze.

“go on,” chan grins, all lazy dominance, fingertips stroking between your thighs again, making you shudder. “let’s see if that pretty mouth of yours can hit the right key… or if you need another lesson.”

the catalogue

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