tunnel vision got my eyes on you

What is meant to be his living room lies a single chair displayed in front of the large window that faces the front of your home. On the occasion of movement, J might bring his binoculars to his eyes and gulp, aching to see more of you. He sits there for hours at a time, hyperfocusing, waiting for signs of you. 

Jisung has been watching you long enough to know your daily routine. He’s watched you from directly outside of your bedroom window. He knows the time you wake up; that it takes you approximately fifteen minutes to fully awaken from your precious slumber. He knows that after you awaken, you move directly to the bathroom for a good five to seven minutes or an hour depending on the day. And once you exit, you make your way to the kitchen—but your breakfast choices vary on the day. Sometimes you treat yourself with a big, balanced breakfast. Other days, especially if you’re in a rush due to sleeping in late, you have fruit, cereal, or you skip the meal altogether. 

By 6:23 AM this morning, Jisung makes his way over to your home. A short stroll, as he’s not worried about being seen. Jisung follows his normal path to the left of your home, making his way to the far back to peer into your bedroom window. You’re stirring in your sleep. Probably plagued by a vivid dream, Jisung thinks. The hour flies by, and he remains unfazed, eyes fixed on your sleeping form. 

Jisung remains in his same position for the next two hours; his watch reads fifteen til nine. You’re sleeping in today, unwilling to release yourself from the clutches of your bed. A brief moment goes by where you lift your head to check your phone; tossing it aside to snuggle into your comforter. For a second, Jisung imagines that you see him staring at you through your window. He feels as though he knows you enough to gauge your reaction—craves to watch your eyes widen in terror, mouth agape, all color drained from your face the moment you notice him. Then you would run. That’s no use, though, Jisung knows the layout of your home as if it were his. There aren’t many places you can hide. 

You wake up slowly. Unable to fully shake the sleep from your eyes, you stare up towards the ceiling. Another day you’ve woken up feeling sick, uneasy even. It’s a struggle to get out of bed, the room is hot, and despite being tangled into your comforter, you feel sticky. Jisung watches as you slowly peel yourself from your bed, walking out of the door. 

You’re going into your bathroom, Jisung knows that. Judging by the expression on your face, he assumes you’re going to take a moderately long shower. You’ll probably be spending most of the time thinking, Jisung assumes. And from the shower, you return to your room to get dressed. Initially, Jisung would leave whenever you’re naked—he wanted to give you privacy. Yet things change, progressing over time, and Jisung has been interested in every single aspect of you for a long time.

He watches as you slip the towel off, walking around your room; from your closet to your dresser and back, trying to find a suitable outfit for the day. You pick out an outfit, aligning the shirt up against the pair of pants you’ve picked. Jisung shakes his head. Soon after, as do you. He knows you. Judging by your progress this morning, it’s likely you’ll pick an all black ensemble. He’s right, of course, after an additional eight minutes you choose a black t-shirt and leggings.

You check the time on your phone. Late as usual, Jisung thinks, he can’t help but laugh at how common it is for you to be running late. Even when things are within your control, somehow even when you’re on time, you’re late. Jisung watches how you nearly trip over yourself in effort to collect all your things and rush out of the door. 

You return home later than usual, around 5:34 PM. Jisung has long since returned to his home, following his off-hour routine in preparation of your return. While his day has been mediocre at best, stressful must be the word that describes your day. You’re holding your bag in your hand, unusual as it’s typically strung over your shoulder. You seem tense, shoulders slightly raised, fidgeting with your keys for a few seconds too long. 

Jisung sets his coffee mug down beside him. He stretches, throwing his sweatshirt over his head. Without another thought, Jisung is heading to his front door, one foot in front of the other. He stops in his tracks, making sure to grab something important. Like this morning, Jisung is back with a sly stroll to your home. He’s got tunnel vision, making no effort to see if any neighbors are around; Jisung finds that, if you don’t notice them, often, they don’t notice you. He slips into your backyard undetected. 

You’re exactly where Jisung figured you would be. In your room, displayed across your bed as if only for him. Jisung exhales, a weight lifts off his shoulders when he sees you. You’re laying on your back, almost swallowed into the mess of sheets you didn’t smooth out this morning. Your shirt is thrown across the room, and the contents of the bag you were holding are spilling out on the floor. Not to mention, the creme dela creme, your pants are bunched around your ankles—you gave up at the last moment, fiending to scratch that itch. 

Jisung licks his lips. What a beauty on display for his special viewing. He can’t see too much, only the side of you, but it’s just enough for him. Jisung watches as your breasts move with every movement you make, it’s only slightly, but he notices it. He believes he can see the seconds in which your nipples grow harder, only imagining how they would feel on his tongue.

You work between your legs, head thrown back in ecstasy, fingers guided in fast circles over your clit. Oh, how much easier this would be if you had a toy to play with. Jisung thinks something similar: it would be so much easier if he were in the room with you. To touch you, kiss you. To hold you through the night and promise you that everything is going to be alright as long as he’s by your side. But it’s all too early for that. You’re not ready yet. 

Click! Jisung captures the moment. Picture after picture, varying in stages of ecstasy. With each picture, you get closer and closer to your orgasm. Your free hand glides upward to tug at your nipple, fingers slipping into your cunt, palm of your hand grinding against your clit. It takes a moment, but the build up is all too electrifying. Your orgasm hits you in waves, rippling across your body with heat, body shaking, fingers refusing removal from your clit. You cum with a loud moan, and Jisung wishes he could hear it. Click!

Jisung’s breathing is just as heavy as yours. He’s squeezing at the bulge in his pants, though it doesn’t stop him from leaking into them. He’s caught in a fantasy—you’re riding him from behind, eyes trained on your ass. You’re moaning his name, cunt slurping, sucking in his cock. You’re doing all the work, Jisung is just taking everything in. How smooth and soft your skin is, how you react to the sharp sting of his palm coming down against your skin. When Jisung re-enters reality, he finds that you’ve fallen asleep. He waits a few minutes to make sure, watching how your breathing evens out. Now is his time to act.

It’s 6:35 now. Jisung walks around the house, scouting until he reaches your roommates window. He pops it open with no trouble, lifting himself up into the room. He barely takes a second look at things in the room, your roommate is of no concern to him. Jisung takes slow, careful steps. This isn’t the first time he’s been inside of your home; it is, however, the first time you’ve both been under the same roof. 

He steps out of your roommates room and carefully steps across the hardwood floors towards your door. He opens the door slowly, stepping in, one foot after the other. He’s practiced this, over and over, while you and your roommate are at work or elsewhere. How he’d sneak into your room while you’re sleeping to watch over you. 

You are absolutely perfect. Your chest rises slowly as you inhale, exhaling just as calmly. You kicked off your pants and underwear; and Jisung steps up to receive his trophy, picking your panties off of the floor. Red cotton panties. Without hesitation, he brings the panties to his nose, inhaling deeply. His eyes roll back into his head, he’s feeling lightweight; unstoppable. There’s something in your scent that drives him mad. He snatches the item away, trying to stay level headed. 

Jisung turns towards you. He wants to touch you, he craves it—but it can’t be like this. He tucks the panties into his pocket and takes out his camera. He captures pictures of your delicate body, so unaware of his presence. He wonders, would you wake if he touched you? He can’t. He won’t. Jisung chooses only to admire. Pointing the camera to your face, he snaps another picture. You rest so angelically, you must’ve really needed it, he thinks. 

“Angel.” He whispers to himself. His voice is brittle, he hasn’t spoken in days. 

He takes his final few pictures. Jisung hovers his hand just a few centimeters above your face, as if to gently caress you. He makes his way out of the door, looking back towards you before he closes the door behind him. “See you when you wake, angel.” 

Jisung makes his way back into the darkness he calls his home shortly after. Taking no rest, he plops down into his chair, reaching down to seat his laptop on his lap. His hands move fast, with no hesitation, hooking his camera up to his laptop for a better look at the images he’s captured. He works robotically. Reanalyzing each picture he’s taken tonight. He still remembers your scent: cocoa butter and the stained cum left between your legs. 

His hands dip into his pocket, bringing the red fabric to his nose. He inhales your scent until he’s lightheaded, staring at all of your pictures until they’re burned into his retinas. Jisung is breathless. He thinks he’s going to lose his mind. He can’t tolerate not being close to you. He has to have you, he needs to hold you. 

He gathers all of today's photos and places them into a folder titled Skin. At that moment, he made up his mind. He can’t go on like this, not being able to have you in his possession. He’s taken his time up until now, moving slowly, progressing with his plan. Jisung desires to have you for safekeeping. His lover. His property. His angel. Only his. 

It’s time to move onto the next phase of his plan. Luckily for Jisung, the lights in your house just turned on. 

“Happy anniversary, Dad, Mom,” your daughter Regina hugs you. “Take notes, Chris. This is the standard for celebration.”

When normal people get infatuated with someone, they ask them out, get to know them, and if there’s chemistry, they start seeing each other. If the lights are dim in the basement of your conscience, being single is more of a suggestion than a requirement to date them. Then there are some basements where light just cannot breathe—no windows, no electricity, too damp for fire, and nothing battery-powered works inside. 

Which is why the process works a little differently if you are Chris Bang.

You fall so fantastically, over-the-top, wanna-slit-my-own-throat in love with a woman, insert yourself into her life by becoming her neighbor, charm her socks off with acceptably shameless flirting, earn her trust with long vulnerable talks into the night, listen to her, study her, become the world’s number one expert on her, let your interest be obvious to her, come dangerously close to crossing lines with her but NEV—VER do anything she will consider “a mistake” the next morning unless you hear it directly from her that she’s filing for divorce.

And if she’s still not doing it years into relentlessly pursuing her, marry her daughter and insert yourself directly into her house.

You let your fuckass husband touch you in front of him? He’ll finger Regina under the table during a Thanksgiving dinner for fifteen people. You let your waste of oxygen husband kiss you in front of him? He’ll fuck Regina in the hallway and make sure you walk in on them. How’s that for misery?

You can’t reason with a maniac. Anything you can do, he can do worse. He can do anything worse than you. Until you accept you’re as down bad for him as he is for you. Until you admit you are so fantastically, over-the-top, wanna-slit-my-own-throat in love with him. 

He never expected that day would come, but one of these days, you actually do. 

So begins the most wicked games you just can’t stop playing,

“Hosting a party for a hundred people on the day we get married? I think that’s called a wedding, and we’ve already had one,” Chris teases and hands you the bottle of wine he has spent months to find. “Happy anniversary.” 

You take the 2002 Romanée-Conti from him in total and utter disbelief. You’ve mentioned it once in passing, and this man actually…

“Oh, wow, you… really shouldn’t have,” you accept the gesture way too grand for an in-law wedding anniversary. 

“My absolute pleasure,” Chris serenely smiles. “Hope you enjoy.” 

“You’re the man, Chris,” his father-in-law playfully thanks him with a pat on his back, and while Chris responds with a slight dip of his head, he intently watches your reaction. Your slightly curled lips that whispered, “You’re fucking crazy.” 

Because he is. 

“Gigi, could you greet our guests with your father?” you request, then excuse yourself. “I’ll check how things are in the kitchen.”

You’ve only taken a few steps before you felt a presence right behind you. You haven’t seen him, but you just know he’s following you to that kitchen. As you’re passing by the staff restroom, the steps behind you suddenly quicken, and you find yourself getting dragged inside it, surprised gasp instantly hushed with a pair of full lips pressed hard against yours.

“Miss me?” he grins big.

“Chris, stop it!” you hiss in a whisper.

“Not happening. You should have thought about that when you didn’t return any of my calls,” his playful smile vanishes right away. “Do you even know how long it’s been?”

“It’s just two weeks, and don’t expect me to be sorry for not responding to your thirst traps when I couldn’t get a minute to myself,” you scold him, then turn towards the sink to splash some cold water on your face.

“Not even a minute?” he knowingly smirks, sneakily wrapping his arms around you. “Am I not in your shower thoughts, baby?”  

The effects of the cold water promptly evaporate when he places a soft kiss on your neck. It was just one kiss, but you can already feel him growing harder on your hips by the second.

Can we get an ETA on when you’ll stop getting a huge kick out of this?

“Did you forget the night of five times? I ate your pussy good, you almost passed out in my mouth,” he jogs your memory with the red-hot memories of an illicit night whispered against your skin, breaking goosebumps everywhere. “I fucking know it makes you wet just thinking about it.”

You absolutely despise how right he is because everything about this is wrong. It’s wrong, but it feels so right.

It makes no sense, but GOD it feels so fucking right.

“You do know this is our anniversary, too, right?” he pouts. “No presents for me?”

“Weird way to celebrate it when you got an expensive bottle of wine for me and my husband,” you scoff, holding his gaze in the mirror.

“The 2002? Please, I got a 1945 just for us,” he chuckles, genuinely amused and not at all upset, and slowly turns you towards himself again, “and you best believe I’m drinking it straight from your pussy when we go to Cabo.”

He pulls you closer by your waist and melts into your lips. You’re immediately disarmed, having absolutely no willpower or willingness to tell him to stop. You moan into his mouth when his hand gets under the skirt of your dress and he starts caressing your pussy. 

“You starved me for two… entire… weeks,” he heaves a deep sigh, somewhere between extreme annoyance and crushing longing. “I’ve missed you like fucking crazy.”

“Chris, w–we have to go b—“

“Two weeks! Are you trying to kill me?” he snaps at you. “Spread your legs. I want my present.”

You don’t know why his sheer existence cripples you so. Your half-assed protests are always stillborn—you just can’t say no to him. You can’t think. You can’t move. You just watch him drag his tongue all over your pussy, jaw slack, basking in the ecstasy only he can make you feel. The more he moans into your cunt, the harder you bite into your fist. The harder you bite, the faster he licks.

“Mm, excellent choice of menu. Loving the appetizers so far,” he smacks his lips and gets up on his feet, turning you towards the mirror again. “I think I’ll have a few side dishes for now to last me until the main course. Bend over for me.”

He slides your dress up and drags the lace underwear all the way down. He openly drools at the sight of your bare ass, so delicious that he can’t decide if he wants to grope it, slap it, or bite it first. All he does is press his tip against your soaked folds, smearing his precum all over, but Chris wasn’t the only one who spent the past two weeks alone. You’re so on edge that just him prodding your entrance less than a knuckle deep makes your eyes roll back.

“Shh, don’t close your eyes now. I want you to see who truly owns you.” 

He holds your chin up to have a look at him in the mirror. Then spreads his thumb and index fingers and rests that curve in between your lips like a mouthguard. 

"Your body, your heart, your soul…” he quietly speaks, his jaw clenched like he’s mad at something. “All of you—is mine.”

Your teeth almost fully sink into that piece of skin when he rams himself into you. The strange move muffles what would otherwise be a piercing scream of pleasure. Fuck, you’ve missed this. You’ve missed him stuffing you full. You’ve missed having him pant down your neck, calling you the filthiest names like the most affectionate terms of endearment, getting your pussy dripping for him with mere words. He’s missed watching your face twist in excess pleasure, clinging to him to have him sink deeper inside you. God, it has to be illegal for a woman to be this captivating, this tempting, so unbelievably sexy that you’re gonna fucking kill him one of these days.

“Say it,” he sinks his fingers into your hips, relentless thrusts getting sharper and more precise. “Who owns you?”

“Y–You…”

“Say—it,” he holds your chin with one hand. “Full sentence. With your man’s name in it.”

“You… You ow— Fuck, Y–YOU own me, Chris.”

“Goood girl. Don’t make me remind you, you won’t like it,” he warns. 

You have fully stopped thinking at this point, completely forfeiting control over your own body to Chris. He makes you turn around again and wraps one leg around his waist, reaching a dangerously deep spot inside you. You cling to his shoulders as your high fast approaches, and he can see the buildup second by second with each muscle that tenses on your beautiful face. 

“I love you, baby,” you hold his face out of nowhere and pull him in for a deep kiss.

Chris fucking dies.

You feel so full, so satisfied as he unloads himself inside you, and if he could physically be any closer to you than this, he really would. Sometimes he thinks it’s just a waste of space living in two separate bodies; why can’t you just merge within one anyway? He drowns your face with kisses all over, each one with a stupid cute ‘I love you’ note tucked beneath it.

“Mm, you changed your cologne,” you observe with a faded voice, still floating in the air in pure bliss.

“It’s the one you said smelled really sexy on me. Do you like it?” he mischievously smiles. “Does it make you wet?”

“Meet me here in an hour and you’ll get your answer,” you land a smack on his peach-shaped ass, and Chris is already hard enough to rip through his slacks.

❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to disown Regina.

「© 2026, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

📋 Permanent taglist (Form here if you wish to join): @straywrds @lee-omens-fics @skzfelixlove @surreallyst-void @krayzieestay @tirena1 @idiotmaterial @hwangjoanna @vvamp3 @tsunderelino @stayjinnie @dessianna1 @palindrome969 @unimportantweirdo @vixensss @homelessmeowmeow @birdiebangsworld @burntbang @biribarabiribbaem @compersian @wobblewobble822 @pixie-felix @deaddovesandstraykids @wanna-plan-world-domination @ariaaleelynn @littlestcheese @91dreams91things @whatifthisaintreal @akindaflora @ebnabi @hyunjinsicecream @lenfilms @lvnanazz @mylovchris @honeebee1318 @pinkflowerdream @binniewalrus

“Happy anniversary, Dad, Mom,” your daughter Regina hugs you. “Take notes, Chris. This is the standard for celebration.”

When normal people get infatuated with someone, they ask them out, get to know them, and if there’s chemistry, they start seeing each other. If the lights are dim in the basement of your conscience, being single is more of a suggestion than a requirement to date them. Then there are some basements where light just cannot breathe—no windows, no electricity, too damp for fire, and nothing battery-powered works inside. 

Which is why the process works a little differently if you are Chris Bang.

You fall so fantastically, over-the-top, wanna-slit-my-own-throat in love with a woman, insert yourself into her life by becoming her neighbor, charm her socks off with acceptably shameless flirting, earn her trust with long vulnerable talks into the night, listen to her, study her, become the world’s number one expert on her, let your interest be obvious to her, come dangerously close to crossing lines with her but NEV—VER do anything she will consider “a mistake” the next morning unless you hear it directly from her that she’s filing for divorce.

And if she’s still not doing it years into relentlessly pursuing her, marry her daughter and insert yourself directly into her house.

You let your fuckass husband touch you in front of him? He’ll finger Regina under the table during a Thanksgiving dinner for fifteen people. You let your waste of oxygen husband kiss you in front of him? He’ll fuck Regina in the hallway and make sure you walk in on them. How’s that for misery?

You can’t reason with a maniac. Anything you can do, he can do worse. He can do anything worse than you. Until you accept you’re as down bad for him as he is for you. Until you admit you are so fantastically, over-the-top, wanna-slit-my-own-throat in love with him. 

He never expected that day would come, but one of these days, you actually do. 

So begins the most wicked games you just can’t stop playing,

“Hosting a party for a hundred people on the day we get married? I think that’s called a wedding, and we’ve already had one,” Chris teases and hands you the bottle of wine he has spent months to find. “Happy anniversary.” 

You take the 2002 Romanée-Conti from him in total and utter disbelief. You’ve mentioned it once in passing, and this man actually…

“Oh, wow, you… really shouldn’t have,” you accept the gesture way too grand for an in-law wedding anniversary. 

“My absolute pleasure,” Chris serenely smiles. “Hope you enjoy.” 

“You’re the man, Chris,” his father-in-law playfully thanks him with a pat on his back, and while Chris responds with a slight dip of his head, he intently watches your reaction. Your slightly curled lips that whispered, “You’re fucking crazy.” 

Because he is. 

“Gigi, could you greet our guests with your father?” you request, then excuse yourself. “I’ll check how things are in the kitchen.”

You’ve only taken a few steps before you felt a presence right behind you. You haven’t seen him, but you just know he’s following you to that kitchen. As you’re passing by the staff restroom, the steps behind you suddenly quicken, and you find yourself getting dragged inside it, surprised gasp instantly hushed with a pair of full lips pressed hard against yours.

“Miss me?” he grins big.

“Chris, stop it!” you hiss in a whisper.

“Not happening. You should have thought about that when you didn’t return any of my calls,” his playful smile vanishes right away. “Do you even know how long it’s been?”

“It’s just two weeks, and don’t expect me to be sorry for not responding to your thirst traps when I couldn’t get a minute to myself,” you scold him, then turn towards the sink to splash some cold water on your face.

“Not even a minute?” he knowingly smirks, sneakily wrapping his arms around you. “Am I not in your shower thoughts, baby?”  

The effects of the cold water promptly evaporate when he places a soft kiss on your neck. It was just one kiss, but you can already feel him growing harder on your hips by the second.

Can we get an ETA on when you’ll stop getting a huge kick out of this?

“Did you forget the night of five times? I ate your pussy good, you almost passed out in my mouth,” he jogs your memory with the red-hot memories of an illicit night whispered against your skin, breaking goosebumps everywhere. “I fucking know it makes you wet just thinking about it.”

You absolutely despise how right he is because everything about this is wrong. It’s wrong, but it feels so right.

It makes no sense, but GOD it feels so fucking right.

“You do know this is our anniversary, too, right?” he pouts. “No presents for me?”

“Weird way to celebrate it when you got an expensive bottle of wine for me and my husband,” you scoff, holding his gaze in the mirror.

“The 2002? Please, I got a 1945 just for us,” he chuckles, genuinely amused and not at all upset, and slowly turns you towards himself again, “and you best believe I’m drinking it straight from your pussy when we go to Cabo.”

He pulls you closer by your waist and melts into your lips. You’re immediately disarmed, having absolutely no willpower or willingness to tell him to stop. You moan into his mouth when his hand gets under the skirt of your dress and he starts caressing your pussy. 

“You starved me for two… entire… weeks,” he heaves a deep sigh, somewhere between extreme annoyance and crushing longing. “I’ve missed you like fucking crazy.”

“Chris, w–we have to go b—“

“Two weeks! Are you trying to kill me?” he snaps at you. “Spread your legs. I want my present.”

You don’t know why his sheer existence cripples you so. Your half-assed protests are always stillborn—you just can’t say no to him. You can’t think. You can’t move. You just watch him drag his tongue all over your pussy, jaw slack, basking in the ecstasy only he can make you feel. The more he moans into your cunt, the harder you bite into your fist. The harder you bite, the faster he licks.

“Mm, excellent choice of menu. Loving the appetizers so far,” he smacks his lips and gets up on his feet, turning you towards the mirror again. “I think I’ll have a few side dishes for now to last me until the main course. Bend over for me.”

He slides your dress up and drags the lace underwear all the way down. He openly drools at the sight of your bare ass, so delicious that he can’t decide if he wants to grope it, slap it, or bite it first. All he does is press his tip against your soaked folds, smearing his precum all over, but Chris wasn’t the only one who spent the past two weeks alone. You’re so on edge that just him prodding your entrance less than a knuckle deep makes your eyes roll back.

“Shh, don’t close your eyes now. I want you to see who truly owns you.” 

He holds your chin up to have a look at him in the mirror. Then spreads his thumb and index fingers and rests that curve in between your lips like a mouthguard. 

"Your body, your heart, your soul…” he quietly speaks, his jaw clenched like he’s mad at something. “All of you—is mine.”

Your teeth almost fully sink into that piece of skin when he rams himself into you. The strange move muffles what would otherwise be a piercing scream of pleasure. Fuck, you’ve missed this. You’ve missed him stuffing you full. You’ve missed having him pant down your neck, calling you the filthiest names like the most affectionate terms of endearment, getting your pussy dripping for him with mere words. He’s missed watching your face twist in excess pleasure, clinging to him to have him sink deeper inside you. God, it has to be illegal for a woman to be this captivating, this tempting, so unbelievably sexy that you’re gonna fucking kill him one of these days.

“Say it,” he sinks his fingers into your hips, relentless thrusts getting sharper and more precise. “Who owns you?”

“Y–You…”

“Say—it,” he holds your chin with one hand. “Full sentence. With your man’s name in it.”

“You… You ow— Fuck, Y–YOU own me, Chris.”

“Goood girl. Don’t make me remind you, you won’t like it,” he warns. 

You have fully stopped thinking at this point, completely forfeiting control over your own body to Chris. He makes you turn around again and wraps one leg around his waist, reaching a dangerously deep spot inside you. You cling to his shoulders as your high fast approaches, and he can see the buildup second by second with each muscle that tenses on your beautiful face. 

“I love you, baby,” you hold his face out of nowhere and pull him in for a deep kiss.

Chris fucking dies.

You feel so full, so satisfied as he unloads himself inside you, and if he could physically be any closer to you than this, he really would. Sometimes he thinks it’s just a waste of space living in two separate bodies; why can’t you just merge within one anyway? He drowns your face with kisses all over, each one with a stupid cute ‘I love you’ note tucked beneath it.

“Mm, you changed your cologne,” you observe with a faded voice, still floating in the air in pure bliss.

“It’s the one you said smelled really sexy on me. Do you like it?” he mischievously smiles. “Does it make you wet?”

“Meet me here in an hour and you’ll get your answer,” you land a smack on his peach-shaped ass, and Chris is already hard enough to rip through his slacks.

❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to disown Regina.

「© 2026, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

📋 Permanent taglist (Form here if you wish to join): @straywrds @lee-omens-fics @skzfelixlove @surreallyst-void @krayzieestay @tirena1 @idiotmaterial @hwangjoanna @vvamp3 @tsunderelino @stayjinnie @dessianna1 @palindrome969 @unimportantweirdo @vixensss @homelessmeowmeow @birdiebangsworld @burntbang @biribarabiribbaem @compersian @wobblewobble822 @pixie-felix @deaddovesandstraykids @wanna-plan-world-domination @ariaaleelynn @littlestcheese @91dreams91things @whatifthisaintreal @akindaflora @ebnabi @hyunjinsicecream @lenfilms @lvnanazz @mylovchris @honeebee1318 @pinkflowerdream @binniewalrus

jisung shouldn't have been surprised at how easy it was to obey you. he'd always been good at following orders; so eager to please. the first time you took him without warning had been on the living room couch. he'd been trapped in a doomscrolling rabbit hole when you came home after work and wordlessly stripped his clothes off. your palms warm against his skin as you tugged the shirt over his head. he'd raised his arms without question. you didn't even have to tell him to stand up so you could pull his joggers off next, phone tumbling onto the couch, his wide-eyed gaze locked onto your face as he waited for your next move.

his boxers were next — he remembers the feeling of your knuckles brushing his hips as you slowly dragged them down to his ankles. he'd already been half-hard by the time he stepped out of them, his shaky moans the only sound in the room when you'd pushed him back against the couch and wrapped your hand around his aching cock.

jisung can't stand the quiet, needs noise to drown out his thoughts, but in that moment all he could focus on was you. you didn't need words to tell him what to do. for the first time in his life he didn't ask, didn't beg, just laid there and let you take from him. let you use him however you liked. and your praise had tasted so sweet —

such a sweet toy, just a cock for me to ride, my pretty doll.

the second time had been in bed, late at night, when you'd crawled up his drowsy figure and rode him until you were satisfied. then you'd climbed back under the covers and rolled over. you'd left him hard and aching, mind spinning as you ignored him.

that'd been lesson one: he doesn't always get to finish.

"don't touch yourself after i leave," you'd told him the next time you'd touched him. then you'd left for work. jisung could sense the ghost of your fingers trailing along his skin for hours — he'd been so hard, so desperate to cum, but he didn't. he forced himself to sit down behind his laptop and buried himself in some complicated code chan had wanted him to fix for ages.

later, when you'd checked and discovered he didn't touch himself, the look on your face had been so proud it'd made his chest constrict. he'd been flustered and bashful under your praise.

my beautiful, obedient doll.

the rules followed naturally: clothes come off the second you want them off (no matter where you are). his hands stay behind his head or flat at his sides unless you place them somewhere. he doesn't come without permission — and when you deny it, he thanks you.

jisung's shy at first. cheeks burning when you call him "my little doll" in public, or a brief moment of shameful hesitation when you tell him to open his mouth and feed him your fingers to suck them clean of his own cum. but it doesn't take long for him to start leaning into it, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you touch and position him like his mind's already halfway gone.

you touch him whenever and wherever you want: when he's cooking, in the shower, at felix's party, in the car, when he's gaming (and nearly moans into the headset the moment he feels your lips around his cock). every touch serves as a reminder of who he belongs to. the more unexpected the better: the shock melts him into obedience. each time his body yields faster, his mind dipping into that quiet place quicker — that fuzzy, warm space that feels like home now.

you condition his body to your touch: every time your hand curls around the back of his neck he stops whatever he's doing. straightens his spine, lowers his gaze and waits for your instructions.

that night at felix's party you test it in public. your hand slides up mid-conversation, fingers grazing his nape lightly. you watch him struggle to keep listening to whoever's speaking, cock already chubbing up and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. the humiliation of it all nearly makes him cum in his pants.

it becomes a daily occurrence: bending him over the kitchen counter when he's cooking, fingering him open with slow strokes. or pressing him into the warm dryer when he's doing laundry, grinding against him until he's a panting mess, leaving him to finish folding with trembling hands. his brain starts linking chores to the possibility of you using him, making him restless with anticipation whenever you start moving around the house.

at the grocery store you slip a hand in his pocket and wrap your fingers around him, squeezing gently. "think anyone can tell?" you murmur, voice low so only he can hear. his face is bright red but he remains still, letting you stroke him until his breathing turns into quiet pants. "good doll," you whisper, and he twitches in your grip.

when he breaks the rules you punish him. touching himself without your permission? you make him kneel in the corner of the bedroom, his forehead against the wall while you touch yourself. all he can hear is the slick sound of your fingers and your quiet moans. how he wishes he could watch you, feel you… but you don't let him turn around until you're done, leaving his swollen cock untouched.

edging him is your favorite cruelty. dragging him to the brink with your hands, your mouth, your sweet cunt, only to pull away. making him thank you for every orgasm you deny him until his knees are weak and his head fuzzy, cock so swollen it hurts.

and when he's good for you — disciplined, pliant, waiting — you reward him. you sink down onto his cock until his eyes roll back with a broken moan. ride him until his thighs shake and his hands fist into his hair, desperate to hold onto something… waiting for you to lean down and kiss him, give him permission to fill you up.

jisung's mind is blank, his body yours for the taking.