Chi touched her screen, nails tracing the text she’d been staring at for an hour.
‘ You have no idea…’
‘that every single word you tell me…has total control over me…’
All she’d done was try to be kind to him in a situation that was…unforeseen. Hindsight was a beautiful thing. But that day he’d contacted her, she would have said yes to anything; she would have done anything.
It was like…he knew.
She clicked reply and tapped the keyboard, words composing on their own
Dear MC, the preorder period (May 17 - July 17) for Jihyun Zine is OFFICIALLY OPEN!!
The Jihyun Journal Zine or Compass zine is a non-profit V-centered fanzine envisioned to show Jihyun’s inner growth after V Route. The zine contains contains a mixture of beautiful illustrations and riveting stories along with additional merch.
All profits generated from the zine will be donated to ChildHelp, a non-profit organization that advocates for the prevention of child abuse. Additional information about the charity of our choice can be found here: jihyunzine(.)tumblr(.)com/post/184946384734/jihyunzine-while-were-all-really-excited-for
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Ever since the porn ban, I've had like barely any traffic on my blog anymore. AFAIK my blog and posts don't show up in tag searches and the rest despite me not having it set to hidden.
Konoha High: A Naruto Fanzine will explore the idea of our favorite ninjas in a modern school setting, whether it be elementary, high school
Hi everyone! I put the Konoha High PDF up on Gumroad in case you missed it! There will be a small number of physical copies available in a few weeks, too.
Chi touched her screen, nails tracing the text she’d been staring at for an hour.
‘ You have no idea…’
‘that every single word you tell me...has total control over me…’
All she’d done was try to be kind to him in a situation that was…unforeseen. Hindsight was a beautiful thing. But that day he’d contacted her, she would have said yes to anything; she would have done anything.
It was like...he knew.
She clicked reply and tapped the keyboard, words composing on their own
‘Come to my room.’
She’d hit send before she’d even finished reading what she wrote. If she had, she might have hesitated. Should she have? Probably.
Did she want to…?
Chi dropped her phone on the bed and stood, approaching the fresh, aromatic bouquet he’d laid on her bed earlier. Bright orange roses, surrounding a single violet lisianthus. Chi reached out to touch its curved petals, but she hesitated, afraid they might break. The delicacy took her breath. She supposed it meant to symbolise her, but she’d never felt delicate in her life. Her beauty paled beside others. But the lisianthus shadowed everything around it.
Day was long gone, but it left behind a shawl of humidity that clung to skin, to hair, to air.
The moon peeked through the gap in her curtains. It had become more a companion than anything, of late. She longed to walk in the garden again beneath the moonlight.
She just longed to walk.
Chi stared at her phone. No message. No call. Nothing.
She touched a rose instead. A petal fell.
Gloved fingers spread across her door, gliding over pristinely painted wood. The black, against white, reminded Ray of him, against her. Unworthy, to worthy. Wrong, to right.
But still, she wanted him here.
She wanted him.
His fingers curled, pushing against the wood as if he tried to siphon her courage to simply knock. He’d been standing here for minutes, echoing the words he’d read on his screen. A request.
No.
A command.
Everything else vanquished, and the only thing that existed, was her. An all consuming control, cast by four simple words. He hadn’t even taken time to put on his jacket. He was thankful, though. The night was so humid it felt hard to breathe. But that wasn’t really the heat.
He knocked.
“Come in.”
Her voice was sweet and light. Ray’s breath fogged the wood as he leant forward, forehead touching the cold door.
He opened.
The click of the lock should have unsettled her. But she just, shivered, written in anticipation. She turned, wanting to watch him approach as she sat in the bay window, bare feet pointed from her crossed legs.
Something was missing. The magenta jacket he always wore, was shed. It was just the white ruffled shirt, nipped in neatly by his tailored waistcoat now. And the gloves. Always, the gloves. He touched them as he walked, tugging on the edge of one, over, and over, as if he tried to pull it on. And on.
“You came,” she said, needlessly.
His last steps slowed, as if to make Chi observe as he approached.
Ray smiled as she tilted her head, up.
He stopped just at the tips of her toes. He felt them brush his trousers. Once. Twice. More, that it had to be deliberate.
“You willed,” he said, clutching his hands to his chest to still their restlessness. “I obeyed.”
She couldn’t stop the shudder of a gasp, barely a whisper, at his words. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She knew what she did. Every nuance of touch, every word, slipped delicately past her lips, or touched by her hands - she knew.
But it was a thread pulled thin that could snap any moment, and then she would be the one completely under control. But...wasn’t that what made, this?
Chi lifted a hand, lithe fingers wrapping around his, stilling the agitation. She’d never touched his gloves before. The material was exquisite. Silk. There had to be silk, there. Her skin glided across onyx as she pried his hands apart to claim them as her own.
For a moment, she touched Ray’s chest, feigning a mistake, but no motion was wasted. They never had long together. Now would be no different. His heart raced to a rhythm she’d never felt. So loudly, she could hear. So hard, it hurt.
She began to pull away, but he stopped her, pressing hand to chest, letting her-
- feel.
The tremor in his hands was gone, replaced not with a confidence, but a need, that also narrowed his eyes, shadowed beneath his hair, beneath the veil of night as the moon dipped behind a cloud.
Chi dragged her foot along his leg.
Ray sighed, low, and long, pushing against her hand.
“Don’t you want to know why I asked you here?” she said, the words turning to a whisper when she realised how close they’d become.
“It doesn’t matter.” Ray lifted her to her feet, slowly, carefully. Fingers slipped by fingers, black gloves holding her right, and ready, before he placed her hand to his lips, letting her feel his words, carried by a breath.. “Whatever you command, I am yours.”
She tried to speak, but everything she had left was to stop her legs buckling, and falling to her knees. Nails scratched against the ruffles of his shirt, thumb hooking a button of his waistcoat as she held. Fingers slid from his lips to shoulder, pressing, searing, as she held on, tight. Something dark flicked beneath her left hand, pushing through the crisp white shirt.
Chi paused, recognising the thick ink of a tattoo.
Curious, she tilted her head. Curious, she traced the indistinguishable lines with a finger, before Ray stopped her, with a - “ No.”
The thread, frayed.
“Why?” she asked, trying to pull her hand free. But he wouldn’t let her.
“In time,” was all he said, spreading their hands against his flushed cheek. Silk tipped fingers glided down her arm, crowning her elbow.
“But you,” she began, touching his lower lip with a finger, “said you would do anything….for me.”
Ray let slip a muted whine as he tasted her finger.
What did she taste like, elsewhere?
Her back met the wall. His body met hers, the ruffles of his shirt tickling her neck, where threads of her hair caught.
“Why-why do you test me,” Ray said against her cheek, his lips ghosting the words in echo. His voice hitched almost an octave, threatening to break free, to shatter the windows, the walls. “Don’t I please you?” Ray touched her neck, before he dragged his fingers along her lips, wiping away her answer. “I just want to please you.”
She ran a hand through his pink tipped hair, shuddering at how feather soft it was beneath her touch. “Then please me .”
His phone rang.
Ray’s eyes widened as he tensed against her body, a strained whimper brushing his lips.
“Stay.” She paused, trying to hold back her next word. “Please.”
“I can’t,” he said against her cheek, so close, so close to her lips.
They’d never kissed before.
“When?”
Ray stepped back, drawing his hand down, down her body, from the curve of her neck, to the rise of her chest, to stomach. He simply, smiled, stepping back, back, away, as the phone rang again. “Later.”
“Later,” she echoed, breathless, as she watched him leave. But before he did, he turned and pulled off a single glove with his teeth, and set it in her palm, closing hers over, finger, by finger
She turns her back to Ray, to the beautiful bouquet, wilted by her words. But it was nothing to the wane she saw in his eyes, painted by her frustration. She doesn’t really mean it. The flowers made her room feel more alive. And the gesture was...kind.
But no matter what he gave her, he still took.
“Don’t you like them?” he asks, the quaver in his voice nearly making his words, break.
She says nothing and just touches the edge of the curtain that masks the window she’d thought about breaking before. How hard would she have to hit it? Would she survive the three floor fall?
The thought had always been fleeting. All she had to do was play his dubious ‘game’ inside the phone, and out, and wait.
A rustle behind tells her he’s set down the flowers. The gentle pat of his steps tells her he’s here.
Wait, for what?
“I picked every single one for you,” he says, the words so close they touch the back of her neck.
She shivers.
“I just want you to be happy. Don’t-don’t I make you happy? Isn’t-“
He falters. She feels a hand brush her arm, gloved fingers restlessly seeking a hold on her as if he doesn’t know how to touch.
“Isn’t this how you make people happy?” His voice is slightly higher, strained. Fingers pressing harder against her arm. “No. Not people. You. You.”
She shrugs his hand off. But that was a mistake.
“What. Wait. No-no-no-“ Palms spread across her back. Shaking. “I can make it right. Just - just tell me what to do.” They move, they edge, clawing down her back with him. “Please-“
The night black window reflects Ray. His wide, starry eyes, wet with fear; his pink tipped hair, almost shaking with him; his shoulders, rolling, as he moves. Down. And down, until he disappears at her back, and onto his-
-knees.
He exhales softly, longing, as he rests his head against her thigh, needy fingers clinging onto her hips. Eyes close, lost beneath the curled mess of his hair. But he doesn’t need to see anymore. Touch is his eyes, her mercy his commander.
“I beg you,” he whispers between her legs. “Teach me, tell me, what I must do.” He pauses, a shuddering gasp breaking his words, the hitch of his voice. “Command me to make you happy.”
She looks at his cloying hand, scratching, scrambling at her soft hip. She bites her lip. “Anything?”
“In my power,” he breathes against her thigh. His breath is hot. Erratic. Lips damp. “Anything.”
The tip of his glove is pushed off from his fervour. She touches the edge, and pushes it back on, firmly.
707 <3 606 is a zine in the form of Saeyoung’s personal journal. It chronicles the happenings in the Choi household after his good ending.
We’ve already got the beginnings of a great and powerful mod team put together, and we’re looking for two more skilled agents to join our ranks!
Graphic Artist - This mod’s duties will be designing the banners and graphics that we will be using throughout the project. This can include (but may not be limited to): watermarks for artists to use, application announcement headers, guest/contributor reveal announcements, pre-order graphics, and other miscellaneous graphics as needed.
Lead Design/Print Designer - This position will involve designing the layout of the journal and preparing everything for print. They will create templates for artists to use and ensure they answer artistic questions in a timely manner.
Despite this being 707′s journal, anyone applying should be organized, work well with others, and able to meet deadlines. We will make all decisions concerning the project together, and we encourage every mod involved to share their thoughts, ideas, or concerns as equals!
Applications close May 20th, 2019!
Mod Application Form
In the meantime, we are still taking submissions on our interest check form so please keep spreading the word!
Another mug hit the floor as he pushed Nia onto the counter, slipping her thighs from his hands. She’d fit so well. No-one ever had before - or had he never given them the chance? Despite her petite frame, her thighs has spilled over and around his fingers as they’d dug into her thick flesh.
He’d just pressed his fingers in harder, imagining what they’d be like to kiss.
To bite.
Luciel rolled a tongue over his teeth as he watched her pull off her underwear. Neither of them spoke. If they did, this would stop. Words tucked beneath their tongue, held away for later, or never.
Their bodies said enough.
Luciel paused, spreading his hands across her knees, a pair of devouring claws, watching. Watching, as if waiting.
But for what?
Someone to stop him? His sense to return? Nia to say no?
It was silent in that breath. But Nia broke it with a whimper, a beg, the smallest noise falling past her lips as she watched.
A beg. A beg.
What are you waiting for?
The words sang unison in their heads, but to different keys. Who would press the first note?
Nia arched her back, the tip of her tattoo peeking beneath her top. Her lips moved, but she made no sound. It was his name. Luciel. Her tongue licked it away. Luciel. Teeth scored the letters.
Luciel.
He pressed his thumbs against her thighs, and pushed. He pushed her legs apart roughly, as far as the counter would let him. He enjoyed the way her flesh moved against the granite, soft, malleable. It mimicked against his fingers as he slid his hands along her inner thighs, slipping, along her hot flesh, nudging apart a little, little more as he leaned down, the tips of his red hair kissing her skin.
He breathed in deeply. She smelled needy.
Luciel glanced up once, drinking in the desire that had consumed her. It painted her skin, pink; shining her eyes, bright; catching her breath, until it had almost formed words.
Then he moved forward, thumbs pulling her lips apart, and licked.
All hesitation left him. Smothered by her trill of pleasure as it hit the tile walls, meeting his ears, muffled by the brush of her thighs - twitching, touching, with every lick and lap of his tongue.
God, she was so wet. His fingers slipped along her lips, soaked in her juices as he tried to hold her steady. But she moved a lot. Was this what she was always like, sunk in ecstasy? Or was this just for him?
Fingers found his hair, twisting through his waves. He shivered as her nails scratched against his scalp, erratically. A particularly rough nip of her bud got a fistful of hair pulled. He tried it again, smirking against her folds as she pulled.
Nia spoke. Luciel looked up. “Did you say something?” he drawled, then licked his lips, thumbs picking up where he left off.
“Shut up and get back down.”
Before her last word, he was already there, pressing his lips, to lips. He hooked arms beneath knees, dragging her closer. Nails scratched him again, finding traction from the sudden motion. Feet pointed neatly at his back, toes curling the faster his tongue moved.
Nia had imagined this, dreamed this, more than once. She’d touched herself thinking about what he might be like. But none of it led to this - this raw intensity that was barely even fit for words. But it was okay. It was more than okay.
She moaned. She writhed. Her heels hit his back. Her back arched away. Her thighs rubbed his ears, raw.
He heard his name.
She’d stopped calling him Seven. Luciel touched her lips now.
He smiled, drawing a long, languid lick along her swollen clit, feeling her shudder, hearing her cry.
In more ways than one.
The cabinet clattered as her arm hit it, her hand latching onto the handle, her knuckles searing white as she held on tight.
Luciel rolled his tongue again, and again, feeling the peak of her ecstasy he’d given, begging to take over. Her hand seared his hair, threatening to pull it from his head, root and stem. He resisted, snarling against her pull.
In truth, it just made him harder.
He heard his name again. And again.
And then, with a last roll of his tongue, nothing.
Nia’s breath caught as her body shook, her bliss trembling from toe to top, painting her skin, composing her heartbeat. Luciel looked up, peering over the rim of his steamed glasses. A blurred, moonlit visage, crowned in a wreath of messy hair, breathless, smiling, laughing.
Before he leaned back, Luciel gave her one last lick, relishing in the way she shivered, in the way she giggled, feeling her shaking hands fumble along his arms.
“Not bad.” Her voice was hoarse, the words lazy and broken.
He blinked lazily, kissing the inside of her thigh with a wry smile.
Luciel stood and shrugged off his hoodie, letting it drop to the floor. He began to walk away, drawing a hand along Nia’s bare leg. She frowned, trying to catch his arm, but was too slow.
He began to undo his uncomfortably tight jeans. “I’m going for a shower.” He continued to walk, until he paused by the sofa and turned. “You coming?”
Did people always move this much, or was it just her?
The padding of her feet across the laminate; pat, pat.
Wear shoes. Your feet are so small.
The shuffle of her legs as she shifted, restlessly, on the sofa, unable to commit to a single seated position for more than - at last average count -3.32 minutes. He glanced at her when the average shifted, granting himself the excuse his eyes needed a break.
Then look at the wall. Or the window.
Her legs were basically bare, for all she wore. Pyjamas. Sure. Shorts so short he wondered why bother.
Luciel turned back to his screen, seeing nothing but a blur of numbers and chaos. She’d caught him looking again. He scolded himself. For looking, for thinking. None of it was within his right. This was a job, now.
That was it. She was a client he needed to protect, and he had work to do.
Clack.
Luciel spun around in her desk chair, jumping sharply. “What-“
“I just dropped my pen.” Nia was bent over the sofa, stretching lazily out to grab her fallen pen, a bare leg poised behind her languid body.
You did that on purpose.
Luciel watched, chewing his lip. The purple heather tattoo on her thigh was clearly visible from this angle, the crawling foliage stretching with her skin with her body as she moved, each which way. He had wanted to ask her about it. And the others, too. He could see another tattoo peek beneath her top every so often. But all he saw was a black point. Nothing more.
He knew all he had to do was ask and he’d see it all.
But he deserved nothing.
Nia flopped back onto the sofa, lying on her stomach as she chewed the end of her dropped pen.
He had wanted to ask what she was writing.
Luciel looked away.
“Why don’t you use your laptop to write?” He asked, rubbing his temple. The words on his screen were still blurred, indistinguishable. “It’s quicker.”
“I like the feel of pen to paper sometimes. Especially for my poems. Helps me feel the emotion of the words better.” She sat upright, slamming her notebook. “But, not today.”
Nia caught his tired gaze. Luciel held her eyes. They stared, the silence more poignant than any words either had said today.
Luciel was the first to look away, slipping his headphones back on.
He feigned work for a little longer. Maybe if he pretended to know what he was looking at, it would come into focus. Instead, it didn’t take long for Nia to come.
Again.
“What?” he bit over the clatter of his headphones to keyboard.
“Coffee?” It was more a statement than a request. Her arm outstretched against his. Bare skin brushed his forearm as she reached for the cold cup that had barely been touched.
He flinched against her skin.
Was everyone so warm, or was it just her.
“Leave it. I’ll get it myself.”
Light fingers tapped against the handle. “I’m making one for myself anyway.“
“And can’t you put on a hoodie or something? Or some proper pyjamas?” He cut her off, eyes staring at her bare forearm, twinned with his. It didn’t move at his words.
It resisted. She persisted.
“I’ll do what I want in my own home,” she said, fingers latching onto the mug, one by one.
“It’s not your home though, is it?” he snapped, trying to take the mug back. But the small struggle sent both the contents and mug to the floor, shattering.
Nia stepped back, staring at the droplets of coffee stain her legs. “No. But this body is. And no-one will tell me what the hell to wear.” She brushed past him, loudly clattering the kitchen cupboards.
Luciel stared at the mug, watching the cold coffee spread, lapping at the shards, devouring all that remained.
He blinked, and saw Nia there instead, devoured by his lies, his truths, by the cold bile of what he’d become. She couldn’t see what she’d become if he let her in. And a part of him was glad she would never know. There was a sadness that lingered beneath those green eyes; through her words, penned, and not; in her smile - a smile practiced and automatic, because it was his too.
She deserved anything, but him.
Luciel lifted his head. “Nia?”
The clattering in the kitchen had stopped. But it wasn’t silent.
“Leave me alone. Isn’t that you favourite catchphrase?” The words stumbled through a sob, one that made her clutch the worktop so hard she bent a nail.
For a moment, he almost did. Luciel hovered between kitchen and living room, toes curling over the line as he watched her cry. As tears rolled over her flushed cheeks, as red hair stuck to skin, wet and messy, as arms shook, unsure of what to do.
“Full disclosure, I’m not good at this,” he mumbled as he took the first step.
“We’re on full disclosure now?” said Nia as she watched him approach, tentative, but willing.
Luciel smiled. And it was genuine. “Just this once.”
Nia couldn’t help an awkward, messy laugh. “I hate you.”
He reached out, waiting for her acceptance. She dipped her head.
“It’s cool, I hate me too.” His words were close, closer, as was his touch, as the back of his hand slid up, up, and down, her arm. A shiver reverberated through his fingers, echoing the beat of her heart.
He stepped closer.
Nia watched, the tears still falling as she watched, watched.
“Pick a side, Luciel.”
Closer.
“I can’t...yet,” he breathed against her head, the words whispering through the strands of her hair, sticking to his lips. Careful, he pried her hands from the counter, one by one. He could feel the tremble in them still, and just held both in one of his. They were so small, fragile, unblemished, unlike his marred touch. He watched her small fingers curl against his palm. A small gesture he was unworthy of. But yet, he felt it. He held it. He’d remember it.
Nia looked up. It was only then did he realise their intimacy. Back to counter, chest, to chest.
Another tear fell. He brushed it away with a thumb.
“What is this?” challenged Nia. Her hands had fallen, and steadied themselves elsewhere, skin to skin.
“Does it have to be something?” whispered Luciel, his fingers gliding along the strap of her top, until it wasn’t there. “Can’t it just…”
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