#I also have extensive playlists for each of the colors + shadow but this is four as an individual

[astronomodome]

Alright I was asked to make a list of all the The Garages songs I associate with life series things so I have done that

A few notes:

Songs are in no particular order (mostly just sorted by album as I was going through listening to them all)

All song titles (in color) are links to the respective songs, so you can listen to them :3

These songs are all worth listening to but my absolute favorites are marked in orange

Let me know what you think! I’ve been waiting so long to talk extensively about this :)))))) <- going to explode

list is below the cut because this got loooong

Astro Astronomodome’s Garages Life Series Playlist:

Eyes in the Dark- *gestures vaguely* how am I gonna live with these eyes in the dark when they’re following me around and they’re following you around 👍 and there’s nowhere you can go that they’re not there 👍

Jaylen Hotdogfingers Settles The Score- limited life winner martyn in thy little wood I am so normal about you <- lie

Godspeed- TIES sending off Skizz… see you space cowboy

Curse of Crows- third life grian-core, you know, when he was green and couldn’t actually kill but he and scar were going around being vaguely threatening. You could maybe use the crows in this as a metaphor for red life scar. Also birds

Relief Pitcher (Leave It On The Field)- Extremely strong vibes but I’m not sure of what. Maybe last life martyn? In the final battle? Idk. Maybe every martyn. I ljke him. (anyway this song changed my brain chemistry permanently so it deserves a place in the list regardless)

rooting for you- I’m delusional, bdubs is a species of plant, and ethubs is wlw. what is a nature wives

we had a season- ok this is THE desert duo song. No song will ever end of double life we’ve-spent-so-much-time-dancing-around-each-other-and-now-we-have-nothing-left-but-each-other desert duo as hard as this song. I have a very detailed AMV in my head of this so you know I’m right. It’s even a duet… ‘we had a season, we had a year/between when I died and when I reappeared’ (there’s almost exactly a year between grian’s last third life episode and scar’s first double life episode. I checked for this reason specifically and it killed me instantly) PLEASE just listen to this one ‘I had my reasons, I had my fears/I had my pride (I still had tears in my eyes as I died)’

dead ringer- just as the previous song is The desert duo song, this is The red king ren song. It slaps and the vibes are perfect. ‘my skin is made of energy, my blood is made of fire/I am what will happen when your best-made plans backfire’

hexed- very much post-3rd life watcher grian. pretty self-explanatory

The Alternate- ‘I’m new but I’ve seen so much/I’m old but I was not there’ do I even need to say it. Gem-as-Cleo and Lizzie-as-Pearl (‘I’ve done this once before’)

gamer grindset- yeah this is The Life Series Joel Song. you can fight me on this but you don’t have to because I know I’m right

a leap of faith- reminds me of scar. nothing in particular it just has similar vibes

haunted- ok now this is a Real watcher grian kind of song. ‘my body is a temple/for the gods of other men/wielded as a weapon by foes I swore I’d never be again’ ok. edgy bird moment

she’s dead and i’m someone else- this one requires some interpretation but I’ve always seen it was team BEST mourning the loss of bdubs. However it could also be applied to almost every ten in the life series that lost a member early lol

Mike Townsend (feels the shadows call)- specifically last life shadow alliance martyn but any martyn in general fits. he’s having a bad time

INCINERATE- just like. Being on your red life in general and the bloodlust and manic energy that brings. 😛 (edit after the finale: OKAY I KNOW THERES SO MANY LIMITED LIFE MARTYN SONGS BUT THIS IS ALSO ONE OF THEM ‘I know how to win this/I don’t need to play your games/I’m just gonna dance now/I’ll show you how to deal with pain’ ‘every day’s getting worse and we’re starting to choke/‘cause the water in the air is getting stuck in our throats’ LIKE COME ON MAN)

Sidelined- limited life skizz you will always be famous ‘am I just another wash-out/am I damned to go out swinging/I can’t hear you from the dugout/is there anyone else singing for me’ I am singing! I am singing for you skizzleman!!!!!!!!!

Firewalker With Me- the song. The myth. The legend. It’s just such a great song and it’s about life series grian’s curse of killing the people he cares most about. Grian is a parker if you think about it <- mentally ill (special note- ‘nobody deserves to be called a curse/but if you’re gonna resist I’m happy to make things worse’ is grian accidentally getting jimmy final-killed first in limited life btw)

We’ve Got History- not to be that guy but desert duo. Ok

New Year, Same Me- martyn.

The Return- the start of a new life series! Seeing old friends again! Missing friends who couldn’t make it (cough cough martyn missing ren in limited life cough cough)! Playing the game! Living and loving despite the horrors!

A Horrible Mistake We Will Make Again And Again- grian grian grian. Grain. The bird boy. Also easily one of my favorite Garages song titles. ‘If I don’t know the limits, how am I gonna break them?/If you think that we’re kidding well then you’re sorely mistaken’

The First Ain’t The Last- canary curse activated! Honestly the entirety of this album is just the average life series lmao ‘and one day you’ll wake up/and from the ashes a phoenix will rise/and she’ll hit like a champ/and burn out bright before your eyes’

The Ballad of Unremarkable Derrick Krueger- another one that definitely has life series vibes (and is just a really good song) but that I just can’t place. I want to say Tango honestly because he always has been somewhat painfully mediocre and has famously always final-deathed in underwhelming and meaningless ways

Rise- this is the Cleo song. Epic. Thank you Cleo :) Joe can be the monitor in this scenario I think he’d be good at it

RIV- does anyone still remember that part of martyn’s last life lore where the mysterious voice was promising that he would get to see jimmy mumbo and impulse again if he followed its instructions? Well……

Hell’s Game- Blaseball is a death game and this song leans into that so naturally it fits pretty well with the life series as a whole. Would make a great AMV

5am Shift- Ok bear with me here. This doesn’t really fit Pearl other than the song title (lol) and maybe you can make some parallels to cleaning lady Pearl but it gives me her vibes. Plus it’s just a whole jazzy banger and one of my favorite songs so it’s going here anyway :)

Nullified- for the end of limited life. pretty self-explanatory ‘wasted all my minutes/trying to stay alive/and look where it got me/I’m just the last one nullified’ honestly worked better before the actual finale because martyn was more manic about it than this song would imply

STRIKEOUT!- life series mumbo my horrible wet cat. this song is a little weird but it suits him I think

The Tug- they never left the desert.

SUN 2- obligatory flower husbands song for all the flower husbands enjoyers out there. Time to go cry I guess

flooding/drowning- big impdubs moment. Or honestly just any of bdubs’s life series exes reminiscing… ‘and you’re angry when the energy rises to meet you/like the life rafts are disrespectful to the sea’ is the most life series bdubs thing I’ve ever heard

REMEMBERTHEM- very good and classic anti-watcher song. If c!martyn was just a little more aware of his situation I think this would fit better (honestly a lot of good garages songs just don’t fit very well because we haven’t quite reached the ‘let’s kill the watchers’ stage of the lore yet lmaooo)

Nothing Happens Every Day- tfw when no life series 🥺 could also be martyn because he loves to kill <3

historic season nine party time speedrun and associated records- mean gills vibes. a nice quiet evening in the coral isles, reminiscing

Mike Townsend Is A Disappointment- I’m so sorry Jimmy but it fits too well

Bonus! Hermitcraft-adjacent songs:

Storm’s Raging- moon big. the long, slow, inevitable end of the world. Bdubs looking up at the sky as it falls on him. the lyrics kick ass as well: ‘there were days when it all seemed never ending/when all you could hear was the forecasts, the fear/and the sound of the cloudline bending’ (and the way it speeds up at the end……. omg)

howling at twin moons- s8 scar. I will not elaborate

alaynabella hollywood- ariana griande <- wait who said that

golden- rentheking arc I love you :3 viva la revolution

Sincerely, The Collateral- hermitcitizen song tbh

Beep or Bleat- despite the EXTREMELY zedaph-coded song title this is actually end-of-season 8 tango moon landing-core. ‘do we possess a soul/does it exceed the speed of light/can it escape black holes/do we still have a chance to fight’

Nut Economy- another rentheking arc song. You can tell when I started watching HC from this can’t you. Well. Royal emeralds I miss you :(

Morning is Coming- HONESTLY if I had the ability to make AMVs this would be top of my list. It’s just so… so much. Escaping moon big at the end of season 8… I know it’s overdone at this point but it’s rotating around in my head all the time. What does it say about me that there are two moon big songs here and they’re both my favorites…

fourteen days is not enough for my screams to reach your ears- another tango lost in space at the end of season 8 song. it messed me up ok

psychoacoustics- I love convex* *DISCLAIMER: 99% of the convex knowledge I have comes from fan interpretation alone. Alternatively I could just be really trying to manifest a zedaph villain arc

oliver mueller (is a hero)- docm77 for several reasons which will become apparent almost immediately

hello world- grumbot I love you :] (putting in a different version so you can tell what the lyrics are without subtitles and I’m sorry because this version of the song is somewhat worse. they just start singing godspeed in the middle of it for some reason and like I’m not complaining I love that song but also why) (here’s the original version)

the entire kansas city breath mints team failed the bar exam- hermitcraft. no elaboration is necessary

[luminecho]

Hello Echo, question. Do you still have Four brainrot? Follow up question. Do you have any songs that you associate with Four? Thanks bestie <3

Answer 1: Steel, I ALWAYS have Four brainrot <3

Answer 2: I am literally SO FUCKING GLAD you asked, you have no idea how excited I got seeing this holy shit. HELL YEAH I do!! Take a few songs from my playlist

If I include more than 3 Sleeping At Last, Of Monsters And Men, or The Oh Hellos songs on any given playlist or list of songs you may be entitled to financial compensatio-- *looks at this list* oh whoops

1) Crystals - Of Monsters And Men - this might as well be Four’s theme song for all I associate it with him. It’s so good. So so so good.

2) Call Them Brothers - Regina Spektor - Obligatory Call Them Brothers mention. This is not original at all I've seen so many other people talk about this song with Four and-- yeah they're right this song is about Four JKHEHBFDEKF.

3) Bad Blood - Sleeping At Last - I'm biased. If you know me then expect way too many SAL songs from me in any list of songs ever because I will never shut up about SAL and they have a lot of songs I like. So there's 4 SAL songs on this list, deal with it jhkwewjkwjkfh. Anyway Bad Blood gives me so many Four feels. 11/10

3) Soap - The Oh Hellos - THIS SONNGG. Ouugghh. I could probably dissect this song if I wanted to go over every little thing in it that makes me think of Four & why but I already exhausted my song infodumping capacity on the last song on this list so perhaps some other time HDEGJDDEKF. Just. The vibes AND the lyrics. Mannn

4) Forgive Me Friend - Smith & Thell - I have both the original and the acoustic version saved to my Four playlist because I really like both versions hwdfjefke but. There's so many ways this song could be interpreted w/ Four and tbh I'm just gonna leave it up to everyone else because every time I listen to it I think of something else lol.

5) Meteor Shower - Cavetown - I don't have much to say about this one other than thinking about this song gives me a LOT of emotions jhqkdhwbefjk. Just,,, it has a lot of self-acceptance vibes to me when I listen to it in this context and I think I'm drawing those comfort vibes from the melody? Idk but they're there for me lol

6) Glitter & Gold - Barns Courtney - Someone did a mini AMV to this song w/ Four a while back for the LU zine and I've associated the song with him ever since hwdkjgefhkfev. I like the vibes. Reminds me of the forge.

7) Lakehouse - Of Monsters And Men - Idk what it is about this song. It has a mix of homesickness feels and storytelling feels and something about that makes me think of Four. Also there's a line about breaking trust in here somewhere heehee hoohoo Vio go brr.

8) I Dare You - Bea Miller - my brain can't decide if I actually like this song or not for some reason buuuut it has big Four vibes regardless lmao. Mostly in the lyrics. Definitely in the lyrics

9) No Light, No Light - Florence + The Machine - based more off the vibes of the song than the lyrics. i don't really have an explanation for this one, it's just always given me Four vibes for no reason hdwkjfgeh. Shadow too. I have it one both playlists

10) I Have Made Mistakes - The Oh Hellos - probably self-indulgent but this one has the self-acceptance and self-forgiveness vibes than go hand and hand with Four as a character so <3

11) From The Ground Up - Sleeping At Last - something about the line "in an effort to remember what being mended feels like" shakes me to my core. Am I allowed to slap the "self-acceptance" label on this song and call it a day? Cause,,, yeah the self love in this song. Ough. Also the themes of growth and being somewhere that's truly home.

12) Overture III / Awake - Sleeping At Last - Bestie this one's so self-indulgent. This song is pretty new and when I tell you that I latched onto it the DAY I first heard it FTHDGHWJKEFG. I connect so deeply with this song and I can and will project every emotion I experience ever onto Four which means he gets this song too. <3 Also it once again has themes of self-acceptance

13) September 15, 2017: Cassini - The Grand Finale - Sleeping At Last - OH MY GOD *VIBRATES INTO THE FIFTH DIMENSION*

Alright alright alright. Listen. This song is entirely instrumental. So why do I associate it with Four, you may ask?

WELLLLLLLL.

First of all, happy anniversary to the event this song was written about! Or-- well, it was the anniversary when this ask was sent djwhfkhjdewjhke. I took a while to answer it. BUT still. Happy anniversary!

Second of all, strap in cause I’m about to infodump the hell out of this song on my way to explaining my reasoning behind why I associate it with Four. It might seem irrelevant at first but trust me, I’ll get there.

(All the stuff I mention here is all explained in a much better fashion by the artist behind Sleeping At Last on his podcast episode about the song here. I'd absolutely recommend giving it a listen if you're interested!)

Cassini was written about a satellite with the same name that was built with the intention of exploring Saturn. On September 15, 2017, its journey was complete and its course was set to crash into Saturn in a brilliant grand finale. Hence the name of the song.

This song is a medley of four of Sleeping At Last’s songs, written as a mirror of the exact flight path of the Cassini satellite. (SAL has songs about each of the 9 planets + our moon.)

The song starts and ends with Saturn. The beginning is a chorus singing the tune of SAL's "Saturn" and the ending is that the song on the "Astronomy, Vol. 1" album leads straight into SAL’s "Saturn" to symbolize Cassini crashing into the planet. Cool, right?

After the opening the song crescendos with SAL’s "Earth" to represent Cassini’s launch. Cassini passed by Venus twice in its flight, so the part of the song immediately after that is from SAL's "Venus". The next part of the song (and ofc the next part of Cassini’s flight) is Jupiter! It’s very faint and distant since Cassini only passed by the planet. Aaand then finally it reaches Saturn.

Now what does any of this have to do with Four?

Welllllll, it's all a bit of a stretch but LET ME HAVE THIS hdgjhkjdwef.

I mentioned that Cassini is a medley of 4 different SAL songs.

Venus could easily be associated with Red! It’s a love song and love of course comes from the heart and all that. But it’s also a song that reflects wonder and awe and I feel like that’s a very Red feeling.

Jupiter is a song I associate a lot with Green, not only because of the song itself but also because of the planet and Green’s wind element. Jupiter is well-known for its storms! So it seems fitting for Green. Jupiter is one of the songs I have on my separate playlist for Green too. It has vibes of instinct and wanting to make things count and make a difference which I feel like fits him.

I feel like Saturn and Earth are interchangeable with Blue and Vio. I’d probably tentatively assign Blue to Earth and Vio to Saturn for now despite Earth being Vio’s element and me generally associating that song with him a lot more than Blue anyway. Saturn is a song about loss and trying to move on and I think Vio encompasses that feeling and experience. It’s very melancholy and slower-paced too, which fits Vio more. Whereas Earth is a very powerful, somewhat explosive song (which fits Blue’s vibe) about ignorance and possibly arrogance. ALSO if you go with Blue as Earth then it works even nicer because Earth and Venus are woven together very closely in Cassini. Which could represent how Blue & Red are both the "heart" of Four compared to Vio's mind and Green's instinct.

And ALL of these songs are packed into Cassini into a convenient little medley. Four songs blending seamlessly into one another creating a whole song that makes me want to throw my hands in the air and weep.

And how perfect that the day Steel sent this ask is coincidentally the anniversary of the day the song is about. jhkqdwfgehf. It was meant to be :>

[tyonfs]

muse

❝ there you go. but, y/n, you’re going to have to take off everything for me. ❞

PAIRING �� kim doyoung x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ fluff, smut, painter au, bridgerton au

WARNINGS ▸ mild profanity, sexual tension ofc, art teacher/duke!doyoung, hyuck cockblocks you guys because he’s annoying, doyoung paints you nude, fingering, smut, unprotected sex (don’t try this at home or anywhere really), overstimulation, but there’s fluff i promise

SUMMARY ▸ shadowed by the success of your siblings, you were determined to find your own worth. you soon discovered that the duke of burgundy could teach you everything you needed to know. somewhere between brushstrokes and lipstick stains, kim doyoung became your muse.

PLAYLIST ▸ malena by ennio morricone • bath by offonoff

WORD COUNT ▸ 7710 words

TAG LIST ▸ @marknolee​ @jenotation​ @yasmini24​ @chanluster​ @strawjaem @notnctu-replies @prettyjaems @kabira @lovesjenmoong @infnteen @hyuckshoney @jaehyvnsvalentine @wownajaemin @czechkpoptrash @ukiyoneo​ @ncttboo​

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello! thank you so much for checking this out !! this is dedicated to my own muse, @chanluster i love you ♡

THERE WAS ALWAYS SOMETHING MISSING FROM YOUR LIFE.

You realized this at the sound of a whip cracking, spurring your stagecoach into motion. The horses trotted down the uneven path from your mansion to the city. Resting your head against the window, you watched the landscape go on by, thinking about its hues and how you could recreate them on a canvas. You had been sneaking out every weekend just for this means of escape from your rigid, cookie-cutter lifestyle of upholding your status in society.

Being the youngest daughter of the Artois family, you were often neglected, lost within the shadow of your siblings, and unable to showcase your talents and desires. The one thing you wanted to do was art, but since one of your elder sisters excelled in it, all of your parents’ care and attention went to her work. Thus, you decided to pursue your hobby on your own, traveling all the way to the city to paint in the minuscule workshop that ironically belonged to the richest man in the country.

The Duke of Burgundy, Kim Doyoung.

The workshop was a little secret between the both of you. You were both runaways from your realities, escaping to the only place you could express yourself without feeling overshadowed by others. Art was a reflection of yourself, and you poured your heart into each piece you created. It was clear that some part of you longed for recognition and appreciation, but that was where Doyoung came in.

You had first met him on a lonely field, paintbrush in hand and a blank canvas on your lap. He told you to paint the colors of the sky, ending up pleasantly surprised when you neglected the blue sky and used hues of pinks and purples. You told him that the colors were at your disposal to do whatever you liked, and it was your job as an artist to express what you truly wanted. Pleased by your answer, he offered to teach you what he knew about art—which was quite an extensive amount—so that was how you ended up going to his workshop every weekend.

Doyoung was the first son, shouldering all the responsibilities of carrying on his lineage. Often, you wondered how he had the free will to escape his burdens and find the time to enjoy the simple pleasures life had to offer.

He was truly a wonderful man—the epitome of what every woman wanted in a partner. He was kind, strong, humble, and filthy rich. He had an air of elegance to him, and although you were of royal blood too, there was something about Doyoung that made him feel like he was set on a higher pedestal than you.

It also didn’t help that he was attractive as hell.

“Thank you for letting me borrow your paints, your Grace. I really appreciate it,” you said as soon as you walked into the workshop.

Doyoung looked up from where he was immersing himself into his easel and canvas, his sleepy smile widening just a touch when he recognized your voice.

“Of course.” He watched with a calculative gaze as you gingerly set the paints on one of the desks. “How did it go?”

“Splendid.” You pulled one of the chairs over to him, plopping down on it and running a hand through your hair. “I have to admit, I was struggling with inspiration at first.”

He hummed in response, putting his paintbrush down so he could devote his full attention to the conversation. You supposed it wasn’t hard for him to find a muse; after all, all of his artwork were masterpieces.

“Did you come up with any ideas?”

“I did,” you said distantly, not sure if you wanted to express it. A flush of shyness exploded in your chest at the thought of actually telling him what went on in your head. “I’ll elaborate when it’s a work in progress”

“Then I’ll look forward to it.”

There was a genuine earnestness in his voice that made you smile. You straightened up, patting down your corset when you felt flustered, and let out the softest sigh. You felt a special connection to Doyoung, one that was only strengthened by your shared passion for the arts. You were always one of the first people to see his pieces or his model of choice when he needed someone as a reference. Despite the light back-and-forth flirting, though, neither of you had ever actually crossed the line.

You wondered if he ever would.

“Actually,” you started, trying not to stutter. “I was thinking of a painting of someone… nude.”

Doyoung laughed a bit at your words, leaning back in his chair with a raised eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m sure whatever you paint would be wonderful. Did you need anatomy references?”

“That’s the thing.” You let out a chuckle, embarrassed by how nervous it sounded. “I wanted you to paint it, actually. Like, um… referencing a real model.”

The both of you sat quietly, ghosts of smiles on your lips.

“Well,” Doyoung started after a moment of silence, “it wouldn't be a problem, but I suppose it would be hard to find someone who would willingly pose nude for it. After all, I can’t go around asking when I’m the—”

“I could.”

The silence was louder this time and the tension was thicker. Doyoung’s eyes grew dark at your words, almost like he was warning you not to wade in the water too deep. Yet, another part of him seemed like he wanted that more than you did.

“Then come to my mansion tonight,” he said. “We’ll sort it out there.”

You nodded, a little elated because the duke didn’t seem entirely repulsed by the prospect of seeing you naked.

You had to admit you always felt different about Kim Doyoung.

He wasn’t flashy or overdone like your sisters’ suitors, nor was he painfully boring and awkward. Doyoung was always so open and easygoing with you, washing away whatever titles the both of you held. When it was just you and him, you felt as if you were floating on a cloud. It was the silly, dizzying crush that was stuck in your head and flashed behind your eyes.

You wondered if Doyoung would keep his word tonight. Even if he did, however, you weren’t sure how you were going to sit still while he painted your bare body, eyes fixed on every curve and blemish. You thought of his dark eyes drinking in your appearance and his tongue flicking across his lips at the sight of you.

Oh, don’t get so carried away, Y/N, you thought, shaking your head as if to get rid of the impure thoughts.

You decided to spend the rest of your afternoon pouring your feelings out into artwork. Since your head was a jumbled mess, you could figure out your desires through your art instead.

Your head wasn’t in your art, though. All you could think about was the handsome duke and looking into his dark and sleepy eyes like they were a Monet painting. As your paint glided across the canvas, you thought of how unfair it was that Doyoung had captured your heart. It was no wonder you fell so fast; his easy smile, kind words, and the way his eyes lit up every time he saw you was enough for you.

You weren’t even participating in being courted this season. How could you let yourself get swayed by a duke of all people?

When you finished your painting, you had to pause for several moments before you realized that you completed it. It wasn’t such a complicated style, but the blend of colors and shading you had created was intricate enough. Your hands gripped the sides of the canvas, jaw going slack at what you had just done.

It was the most beautiful piece you had ever created.

When you arrived at the Burgundy residence, you were overwhelmed, to say the least.

You didn’t have to knock at the door, first of all. Doyoung had personally sent a stagecoach to pick you up, which you were escorted from and brought inside his mansion. The interior rivaled the Queen’s palace herself and made you wonder why Doyoung would ever paint in a tiny workshop when he could be doing his art in such a lavish space.

You walked through the large foyer, heels clicking against the linoleum until the house opened up to a large living room with a ceiling so high that you had to crane your head up all the way to see the glass chandelier above.

“Lady Artois.” You heard Doyoung’s voice loud and clear from the staircase. You turned to see him standing on the higher steps, beckoning you over with his eyes. “Come upstairs to my studio.”

You swallowed thickly and made your way upstairs, hands entwined behind you. Earlier, your mind was conjuring up every possible scenario that could happen, but now you were blanking. You had absolutely no idea what was to come and how you were going to brace yourself.

The room Doyoung led you to was larger than the living room. There were desks and cabinets around the perimeter with various art tools cluttered on them. Although Doyoung preferred good lighting when he did his art, the room was dimly lit with its red velvet curtains drawn. And, in the middle of it all, was your stage: a red cushioned sofa with a gold trim.

“Take a seat.”

Doyoung’s voice sent shivers down your spine so, without a word, you did as he said. You smoothed down your dress behind you before you sat down, looking at the artist expectantly. He busied himself with setting up his paint, not sparing you a word or glance in the process. You understood him all too well; Doyoung got serious when it came to his art, and oftentimes it was just him and the canvas, everything else in the world dissolving out of existence.

He threw you a glance over his shoulder. “Why don’t you undress?”

You knew what you came here for, but somehow, you didn’t expect those words to come from his mouth. Some part of you assumed he would still be keeping his distance as a way to protect you. Now, however, it seemed like he was throwing all that to the wind.

“R-right,” you stammered, hands flying back to undo the strings on your dress. “Um… uh…”

The duke seemed to pick up on your struggle and strode to your side before leaving his paints at the easel. His hand grazed your waist before moving to undo the strings of your gown. He undid them slowly as if he was enjoying the way you held your breath and stilled at his proximity. The dress slid down, pooling at your feet when it was undone, so Doyoung turned his attention to your corset. He tugged at each string one-by-one, relishing how it hugged your curves. The bodice loosened around you and your hands flew up to hold it in place.

“There you go,” Doyoung murmured in your ear, hands grazing down your back, his touch featherlight. “But, Y/N, you’re going to have to take off everything for me.”

You balked, a hot flush exploding in your chest. “Sure.”

“Can’t do it?” Doyoung asked, amused. You nodded, and he hummed in response, saying, “I’ll help you out.”

Doyoung’s touch was still gentle as he removed your corset completely, earning a gasp from you when you felt his hands run down your sides. From the outside, everything about him screamed dominance and power. You weren’t exactly sure why he was being so modest now, especially when this was the perfect time for him to ravish you until you could barely remember your name.

Then you realized.

He was playing with you.

You could hardly breathe as Doyoung’s hands moved up to your chest, ghosting over your bra and tugging at the straps. You let out a shaky, blissful sigh and Doyoung unhooked the lingerie, sliding your bra straps down your arms. Hesitantly, you let your bra fall to the ground, only to press your lips together tightly when you felt Doyoung’s finger trace over the swell of your breasts. He made his way down to your hip, rousing a whimper from your lips that he clearly appreciated.

You were spun around so your back was no longer to him; however, you could barely make eye contact with the duke without shyly averting your gaze. Doyoung moved his hands from your breasts down to your panties, slipping his hand past the fabric.

You gripped his shoulder, wide-eyed. “Your Grace? Oh my—”

“Doyoung,” he corrected.

The softest whine escaped your lips when Doyoung grazed his fingers up your slit, making his lips curl in satisfaction. He snapped the waistband of your underwear and looped both fingers around the hips, tugging it down your thighs until you were able to kick it off yourself.

There you were, standing in front of Doyoung in your full glory.

Doyoung looked you up and down, gaze hungry, and whispered in your ear, “Get comfortable for me.”

You didn’t notice how labored your breathing was until Doyoung returned to his easel and you were left with your heartbeat pounding in your ears. While Doyoung adjusted his stool so he could look at both you and his art, you draped yourself luxuriously on the couch. You were no model, but you wanted to look as good as you could for the duke.

“Y/N,” Doyoung called, dropping all formalities. “I want to see all of you so try not to hide too much.”

Flustered, you nodded quickly and positioned yourself so that your crotch was hidden by the curve of your hip, but your breasts were on full display. Doyoung’s eyes changed. He was no longer hungry for a taste of you but looked at you like you were the most divine creature he had longed to paint. You imagined each stroke of his paintbrush, turning you into a fantasy with each splotch of paint.

You sat for what felt like hours, changing up your position every now and then so you wouldn’t cramp up. You observed Doyoung narrow his eyes at his canvas, figuring out what to do to enhance it. The way he’d pause to brush his hair back or stick his paintbrush behind his ear to examine his progress was driving you crazy.

You pressed your thighs together when you felt wetness starting to gather down there. Your inner thighs were slick and you were downright ashamed with how badly the duke was affecting you.

When Doyoung was done, you were the one to ask first, “Does it look okay?”

You were nervous. You knew Doyoung was the most incredible artist you had ever met, but you wondered how you looked in his eyes. Your fear heightened when you watched Doyoung get up from the stool, stepping back to see his work. He took a shaky breath, straightening out the cuffs of his sleeves.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever made,” Doyoung whispered.

The fire within you was doused with gasoline every passing second. You couldn’t bank on anything happening between the two of you before, but now Doyoung was looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time in a new light. You got up, your forearm over your breasts, and walked over to see what he had made. You felt warm in your chest when you saw the glorified version of yourself on the canvas, untouchable and gorgeous. You weren’t just a mere attraction to him but art.

This was how Doyoung saw you.

“It’s incredible,” you mumbled, eyes flitting from the painting to the duke.

But his eyes were already boring into yours, and you felt desire punch you right in the gut. You felt like you were drowning under his gaze. He walked closer to you, backing you up until the back of your legs hit the sofa. This was so much different from the gentler, restrained Doyoung that taught you to paint in his little workshop. Whatever the case, you had awakened him.

“You’re incredible.”

Something in Doyoung snapped and he grabbed you by the waist, pressing your body flush against his as his lips attached themselves to your neck. You had never felt this way before nor did you know what you were doing, but this foreign feeling made you feel like you were glowing. Doyoung peppered kisses along your neck before intensifying his actions by pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column, sucking and biting at random. As you found some purchase by grabbing his hair, you whimpered louder when he found your nipples and tugged them until they were hard and you were begging for more.

“Fuck, Doyoung,” you murmured. “Please.”

“Please what?” he teased.

Your eyes widened when he pulled away from your neck and let your fingers graze the sore skin. Doyoung simply looked amused as you pressed slightly against the dark hickies he had littered along the side, just dark enough for it to go mostly unrecognizable.

“What’s this?” you asked, experimentally pressing at another and wincing.

“It’s a hickey. All I have to do is kiss you and”—Doyoung demonstrated by grabbing your waist, sucking at the side of your breast until a dark mark bloomed on your skin, stirring a mewl from you—“that happens.”

“Doyoung,” you begged, wrapping your arms around his neck. You knew his hands wanted to roam but he kept them firm on your hips. “I need you.”

Before he could answer, your fantasy shattered when a knock came at the door.

“Duke Kim Doyoung!” the voice called, exasperated. “Enough locking yourself up in your studio and help me fend off your sister’s suitors!”

Doyoung lowered his head and groaned against your neck. “My god, Donghyuck, do you not have the balls to send away your own fiancé’s suitors?”

“Please,” Donghyuck begged from the other side of the door. “You’re her brother and we aren’t ready to announce that I’ve successfully courted her yet.”

Doyoung sighed in defeat, moving off of you reluctantly. He looked down at you and helped you up from the sofa, taking off his coat and putting it around your shoulders. He kissed your head and glanced from the door and back to you.

“I have to go, Y/N,” he said, sounding apologetic. “Get dressed and my stagecoach will take you home, okay?”

You nodded, dazed, as Doyoung rushed out of his studio and you were left with a pile of your clothes, the most breathtaking work of art you had ever seen, and a racing heart.

When you returned to your home, you were still feeling a bit upset that Doyoung had left you amid everything that was happening. You still felt an immense amount of longing for him and nothing you could do about it. However, all of that dissolved into the background when you walked into your foyer and saw your parents holding your canvas in the living room.

It was the one you made about Doyoung.

“Y/N, what is this?” came your mother’s voice.

For a moment, you thought she was angry with you, and you wondered if she had any right to be cross when she was the one who found your art. You assumed she was infuriated that you were wasting your time painting instead of doing something to increase the number of suitors lining up for your hand in marriage. However, there was no trace of anger on her face; there was only awe.

You blinked. “That’s… that’s something I painted, mother.”

“Painted,” she echoed.

“With oil paints,” you added in a small voice, gauging her reaction with trepidation.

“It’s beautiful,” your father said proudly, getting up to embrace you. You were overwhelmed by the sudden burst of love coming from your parents and accepted the hug. “Your mother and I would like to feature your piece in our gallery.”

You felt winded for the umpteenth time tonight, but this time, it wasn’t because of Doyoung. You weren’t sure how to reply at first because you felt like the ground was breaking underneath your feet. Being featured in a gallery was something you had always wanted. Even if it was hosted by your parents, you needed the exposure. The thought of seeing your work being hung up for hundreds to see made you feel like you were starting to become yourself, not the shadows of your sisters.

“Thank you,” you gushed, nearly choking on your words as you closed your eyes and willed yourself not to tear up.

“We just need a title for your piece and we can have it hung up in the showroom,” your mother said with a smile.

Somehow, a title came to mind so effortlessly, like it had always been there in the back of your head.

Word that you were being featured at your parent’s gallery spread like wildfire, and by the end of the week, scores of people had congratulated you, even if you didn’t know them. From your sisters’ suitors to neighboring families, you received all sorts of praise. The genuine excitement and sincerity behind their words made your heart swell even more. You had finally felt like the daughter you always wanted to be to make your parents proud. Your sisters had told you that it was only a matter of time until your talent had been recognized, but what warmed your heart most was Doyoung gushing over how much you deserved it.

“I told you, Y/N, you had it in you all along,” Doyoung said, smiling at you from where he was perched on a stool behind his easel.

Despite your sensual encounter with the duke earlier in the week, you decided to act as casual as possible about what happened, even if it meant continuing to go to his workshop every week. He hadn’t mentioned much of it either, only telling you that he had saved the artwork in his personal gallery for only his eyes (and yours, if you wanted). Besides, you concluded that ignoring Doyoung would only lead him to ask questions that you weren’t sure you were ready to answer.

“You’re just saying that for an invite,” you teased, shooting the duke a faux-accusatory glance. Either way, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t get an invite; he was the duke, after all.

“You caught me. I’m not one to turn down free food, Lady Artois.”

You barked out a laugh, which you realized was quite improper for a lady to do. “Free food? You’re the richest man in the country!”

“Can a man not indulge in low-cost living?” he asked with a playful grin. “Food sounds far more appetizing when you don’t have to pay for it.”

You scoffed lightly, but proposed, “Then shall we go together?”

Doyoung balked, and you had to fight the laugh that threatened to escape your throat. The man was accomplished—a duke and a “master of the arts,” as you liked to put it—yet he appeared completely intimidated by your invitation to be his date. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to form a sentence with no words clicking in his head, when you started to wonder whether he was flustered or trying to reject you.

You started, “Sorry, you don’t have—”

“No!” Doyoung exclaimed. You blinked a few times before he collected himself and continued, “I’d love to.”

“Doyoung, you do realize I’m asking you on a date, right?” you asked, trying to clarify your intentions. “Not… as a simple friend.”

You didn’t realize how terrified you were of being rejected, but the last thing you wanted was to get excited over Doyoung agreeing to go with you, only to later realize that he accepted your proposal as a friend. You certainly didn’t want to push him, but it was clear that the lines between you were blurred and you had no intentions of ignoring the clear attraction between the both of you.

“Yeah—yeah, of course.” Doyoung cleared his throat between his words. “You just caught me by surprise. I didn’t expect you to mention anything after what happened that night.”

“I presumed you wouldn’t either,” you said, more than thrilled by his reaction. “It always felt like we were on different planets, but last week, I’ve never felt so close to someone.”

A smile crossed Doyoung’s lips. He took your hand in his and rubbed small circles on your palm with his thumb. “Does that mean I’ve successfully courted you?”

Your eyes bulged and you nearly leaped out of your seat. “What?” you spluttered.

Doyoung simply leaned in and kissed the top of your head. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Doyoung was at your door exactly on time, fitted in an immaculately-pressed red waistcoat with a black coat over it. Despite his reputation, he was standing with his hands in his pockets and eyes trained on his shoes, like he was mentally preparing himself to see you. Like you were some silly little maiden in love, you looked at him from your window, waiting for him to knock at your door. It felt like ages before he got the courage to knock, but when he did, you jumped to your feet immediately, bounding down the stairs to get to the door.

You had told yourself thousands of times not to be nervous, that it was just Doyoung, but that was exactly your problem; it was Doyoung.

When you opened the door, it took a minute for the duke to process it. You knew Doyoung was never one to swoon over cliches, but you supposed he was eating his words now as he looked at you. Maybe it was because you weren’t dressed in your usual dress with a paint-stained smock over it, and maybe it was the fact that you were draped in a floor-sweeping gown, but Doyoung looked at a loss for words. You were nervous yourself, never having seen him like this before. Putting his own appearance aside, you didn’t expect him to look so blown away at the sight of you.

“Doyoung?” you called softly.

“Yeah?”

“Do I have something on my face?”

There was feigned innocence in your tone, but nothing was innocent about the way you were looking at him. The same went for the duke himself because his eyes were darkening as he checked you out. All you could think was how glad you were that your parents and siblings had left for the gallery earlier.

“Not at all, Lady Artois,” Doyoung said coolly. “You just look really good.”

Doyoung didn’t hesitate but you didn’t mind. He swooped in and kissed his living work of art. It wasn’t proper etiquette to kiss at the beginning of a date rather than the end, but you had been anticipating this for a week and couldn’t hold back any longer. His lips were soft and molded perfectly with yours, making your head go fuzzy and your legs go weak under you. You only grew weaker when Doyoung bit down softly on your lower lip, sliding his tongue into your mouth with a groan.

Your hands clutched the lapels of his jacket, pulling him unbearably close before you wrapped your arms around his neck. You were surprised your brain was hardly functioning at all when you had half a mind to skip the whole event and let Doyoung take you inside your own house.

But he pulled away first.

His smile was a little pained because the both of you knew you had to control yourselves, but your heart was still thundering against your ribcage. Doyoung straightened out his jacket and held his arm out for you to take, and you did so with grace.

People are going to see us together, you remembered, and your heart soared.

Doyoung didn’t let go of you inside of the stagecoach. Instead, he laced your fingers together and intermittently pressed kisses onto your palm and knuckles. You almost wished you could stay in the stagecoach with him, driving around town with your hand enveloped in his. Unfortunately, the drive came to an end and you found yourself walking into the gallery with him amidst a sea of visitors.

A lot of people immediately recognized Doyoung, pointing and whispering excitedly, like they were clinging to the newest, freshest gossip. To your surprise, the duke didn’t pull away but his grip on your hand tightened as the two of you wove through the crowd. You had told him in the stagecoach that the first people you had to see were your parents.

You wondered what they would think of you and Doyoung together. The thought made you feel a little giddy, but the excitement soon faded into nerves once you saw them. You wondered if you were supposed to let go of him and how you were going to introduce him. You had only kissed Doyoung before, neither of you putting any label on your relationship, so you weren’t sure what you were supposed to address him as.

“Mother, Father, this is the Duke of Burgundy, um—”

“It’s nice to meet the both of you.” Doyoung cut you off, bowing to your parents. While your parents looked completely taken with him already, your expression had morphed into mild shock when he said, “I happen to be completely taken with your daughter. With your permission, I would be honored to be able to stay by her side.”

“Oh my,” your mother gushed. “So that’s why you sneak out—”

“Mother!” you squeaked out but you couldn’t find it in yourself to register the embarrassment.

Doyoung had fallen for you. He wanted to court you. He liked you just as much as you liked him.

You reached for his hand, interlocking your fingers with his, and it felt so right.

“I can tell she’s fond of you,” your father told Doyoung as he sipped on his flute of champagne.

You were a little away from them, chatting with another artist about their piece. However, you were feeling a bit nosy so you couldn’t help but eavesdrop on your father’s conversation with Doyoung. Something about how slow your relationship had been with him until you both fell in all at once still made you feel a bit timid, so you were anxious to know about the duke’s inner thoughts.

“I’m glad. She’s fantastic,” Doyoung replied, and you could see your father smile and pat his shoulder. Doyoung was a bit pink in the face, and it amused you because you didn’t normally see him like this.

“Now that painting of hers makes sense,” your father said, taking another sip of his drink.

Your mouth went dry. You hadn’t regretted your decision of bringing Doyoung, but you didn’t expect your father to figure out the painting represented the both of you. Though, you were shocked at the nerve he had to tell Doyoung about it. You originally planned to take the meaning behind it to your grave.

“What?” Doyoung asked.

“This picture right here,” your father said, gesturing to your painting hanging in the main room. “I assume that’s for you.”

You swallowed hard.

You never wanted it to look too obvious, so you made the painting as abstract as you could. In essence, it was you and Doyoung embracing each other in his little workshop. The colors were vibrant, bouncing off the canvas and dancing when they caught the light. Each brush stroke seemed to breathe life into the scene as if you and Doyoung were in that workshop right now.

You were no longer paying attention to the artist you were talking to, eyes transfixed on Doyoung’s reaction. A bubble of worry rose in your throat when you saw him stiffen and take a shaky breath. You debated over whether that was a positive or negative reaction, but then you saw his eyes shift to the plaque below it that bore a few printed words.

Your name. The date. And then, in italics, the title.

Muse.

Doyoung looked so lost in his own emotions that you couldn’t exactly pinpoint his thoughts. You were searching his face for an answer, but he was too unreadable, his eyes harboring a faraway look. Thankfully, his exchange with your father had diminished your concerns.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” your father asked, beaming with pride.

“Absolutely,” Doyoung breathed out. “She’s my world.”

The rest of the night went by smoothly.

Doyoung was attached to your hip ever since his conversation with your father, and you didn’t dare ask him what happened, not wanting him to find out you eavesdropped. Although, you were sure he had already caught on that you knew. His eyes held a startling amount of affection and you knew it wasn’t heightened emotions due to alcohol consumption because you both declared you wouldn’t be drinking tonight.

When the stagecoach neared the town, you asked, “Doyoung, are you alright?”

“Of course. Why?”

“You professed your fondness for me to my parents without giving me any warning,” you replied shyly, looking down at your heels.

Doyoung smiled, reaching over to bring your face back to look at him. “It shouldn’t be a surprise that I adore you. I have for quite a while now.” He took your hands in his. You noticed his expression growing intense. “I want to be with you, Y/N, if you’ll have me.”

A few sparks of fondness flared up in your chest. “Of course,” you breathed out.

Doyoung leaned in close and you met him halfway, lips pressing against one another almost desperately. You held the front of his coat as you scooted closer, tempted to just get up from your seat and straddle his lap. He quickly took the lead, moving his hand to the small of your back while his tongue flicked across your bottom lip. You let him in without hesitation, allowing his hot, wet muscle to slide against yours.

The duke groaned at the taste of you, and it was a sound that made you press your thighs together and stir an unfamiliar feeling in your chest. The very fact that his kisses were doing this to you alone made you feel wary of what he was capable of, but fuck, you wanted to find out. You slid your hands from his chest to get lost in his hair, tugging when you felt his hand move to grip your thigh through your dress.

However, he pulled away too soon, leaving you chasing his lips for a brief second, and then retracing in embarrassment when you realized how desperate you probably looked.

“Stay the night with me?” Doyoung asked, reaching over to grip your hand.

You couldn’t exactly refuse. Doyoung had a strong influence over you, and kissing him already had you under his spell. At this point, you would have gone all the way with him in the stagecoach if he asked. You were completely enamored.

But the stagecoach was nowhere near Doyoung’s mansion.

“Yes,” you whispered and your eyebrows furrowed. “But where?”

“My workshop.”

“How does someone like you exist?”

You hummed pleasantly, skimming your fingers down Doyoung’s bare chest. He hissed when you traced his abs, admiring each groove in his perfectly sculpted body. Once you reached the top of his trousers, you wrapped your hands around him, skimming your nails down his back. Doyoung sighed reverently, allowing you to pull him closer for another searing kiss.

Your dress and corset had been abandoned somewhere on the floor, accompanied by the rest of Doyoung’s attire. He had turned the workshop into a private sanctuary just for the two of you. The makeshift bed wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but it was everything you could ask for. The curtains were drawn at each window, the only illumination coming from the candles Doyoung had lit in various areas of the studio.

It was the perfect place to have your first time because this place and Doyoung were your safe haven. You felt the most comfort in Doyoung’s workshop than you did anywhere else. He must have thought the same and had planned this because you were shocked to see everything relatively clean and set up for a passionate night solely for the two of you.

“I mean it. You’re perfect.” Doyoung murmured, one of his hands skimming your thigh.

He stopped at the crook behind your knee and wrapped around, pulling your leg up so that he could press his hips into yours, the growing tent in his boxers grinding against your clothed clit with just the right amount of pressure. The smallest whimper from you had him smiling, though it wasn’t the typical smile he wore; it was something more focused, more primal, like a predator that had finally cornered its prey.

“Can I touch you?” he asked.

You huffed at him. “You already are.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Doyoung’s lip as he let go of your leg, letting it fall back onto the bed. He hooked a finger around your underwear, shifting so that he could slide them down your legs. You assisted him when it got to your ankles, kicking them off and discarding them to the side. Whatever playfulness you thought would be between you two was instantly gone when you saw the look he was giving you.

“You’re pretty wet.” His tone was blunt and not at all seductive, but the way he leered at your exposed slit was turning you on.

Doyoung’s hand skimmed up your thigh, cupping his hand over your apex experimentally and then pulling away to trace his fingers around the opening. Without any verbal warning, he used his thumb and forefinger to spread your folds, your arousal quite obvious.

His eyes found yours as he said, “Tell me whenever you want to stop.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything without breaking apart in front of him. Doyoung brought his other hand to his mouth, lips wrapping around his middle and ring finger for a brief moment to supply them with extra lubrication. He brought his fingers to your opening and slowly slid them in, eyes trained on where they disappeared inside of you.

You inhaled sharply, grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets for leverage. Doyoung’s fingers started to slowly slide in and out of you, letting out shaky sighs as your walls clenched and unclenched around him. He had that look in his eyes, the same one he had when he saw your painting in the gallery, like he was seeing the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Y/N, you’re so vocal,” he crooned, admiring the way your hips bucked into his touch. He moved his thumb to glide along your clit and press down firmly, making you squeal. You could tell you were stroking his ego too much by the way he swelled with pride when your thighs twitched from the stimulation.

Doyoung continued this for a while, starting to alternate between pumping his fingers in and out of you and scissoring them inside of you. His thumb, however, remained fixed on your clit, working on it in such a torturous, delicious way. You were so aroused you couldn’t think straight, and Doyoung enjoyed depriving you like this. His intention wasn’t to get you off but to make you feel so good that you would start begging for more.

“Doyoung,” you moaned brokenly after spending way too long at the mercy of his fingers. “Finish me off, Doyoung. Please.”

“Please what?”

Ah, that question again. Initially, Doyoung never struck you as the type to tease, but right now, he was ruthless.

“Please let me cum,” you begged. Your voice was almost pitiful with the way you pleaded, but it was everything for Doyoung.

He sped up his fingers, already elated by your begging that he was more than willing to get you off to see the fucked-out expression on your face. It didn’t take very long. Doyoung’s fingers were long and hit all the right places inside of you.

“Cum for me,” he snarled.

You obliged.

It was mind-blowing, really, like you were seeing a new world for the first time. Doyoung continued to work on your clit through your high, insistent on riding it out for you as much as he could. You were a moaning mess under him, though, only calming down when Doyoung pulled away to suck the juices off of his fingers.

You were dazed when you came down from your high. The white flashes behind your eyes started to fade, and you could see Doyoung drinking in your appearance. Your eyes were half-lidded and your lips were parted in a depraved way that bordered on being wrecked. By the way Doyoung was looking at you, however, you were made aware that you were far from being done.

Taking advantage of your fucked-out and breathless post-orgasm state, Doyoung followed your line of sight and smirked, scoffing playfully.

“Curious?” he asked, tugging at the waistband of his boxers. He yanked down his underwear before you could protest, and you wondered why his cock was the most impressive one you had ever seen, flushed and hard with a large vein running along the side.

“Doyoung,” you started slowly, “enough teasing me already.”

“Why, of course, my lady,” he mused, and although his tone was playful, you could detect a sort of desperate undercurrent to his tone.

Doyoung settled on his knees instead of suspending himself over you with his forearms. He grabbed your hips and raised them for better access, one hip being higher than the other. You allowed him, unsure of the position, but he slid into you so suddenly that you couldn’t think of anything but being lost in him.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he growled, leaning down to peck your lips once. “Fuck.”

Doyoung stayed inside of you for a moment, allowing your walls to adjust around him while he started removing your bra. His mouth traveled to your erect nipple, tracing it with his tongue as his hips started to thrust experimentally. You hadn’t ever felt anything this incredible before, and it was making you start to lose yourself.

“Doyoung!” you gasped, raising an arm to clutch your pillow for leverage.

There was something different about him right now but it was even more alluring. His hair was messier, his eyes were glazed over, and his lips were swollen. There was a desperate hunger in his eyes, licking his lips when he knew you were at his mercy. He liked it that way, liked seeing the dazed look on your face as he fucked you as hard as he possibly could.

Then, he pulled out, relishing the distraught look on your face. You panicked, wondering if he was just going to stop and leave it at that, but then he had a new order for you.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

You practically scrambled onto all fours, not quite knowing what to expect. But Doyoung mumbled out a “good girl,” and that was enough to set you on fire. He lined himself up with your core again and pushed himself inside of you, the sounds of your choked moans being music to his ears. His hands found purchase on your hips again and he began his brutal pace inside of you again.

“You like that?” he asked, and it was a ridiculous question because you were crying out in pleasure. His voice was raspy and a little gone, but it somehow aroused you even more. “Come on, Y/N, I asked if you liked it.”

“Yes!” you cried out. “Yes, I love it!”

Your head was going fuzzy at this point. Doyoung went back to fucking you into the mattress but this time, his fingers were working on your clit at the same time. You clenched around him, still sensitive from your previous orgasm but here he was, overstimulating you until you were crying for mercy.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tilting your head back so he could see your face as he fucked you. You whined in response, nodding as best as you could because you were already starting to crumble.

You were racing towards your second orgasm at a blinding pace, drowning in how much you loved this. You loved him. Loved the way he was being so dominant with you. Loved how your bodies fit together so perfectly and that he knew all the spots that made you feel good.

You were glad that the duke decided to take you to his workshop rather than your house because you cried out his name so loud that anyone in a close radius could hear. You fell apart harder than your first orgasm, but Doyoung was relentless, moving inside of you even as you were unraveling in front of him.

And then he pulled out when his rush of euphoria came. You were too spent and exhausted to whine about how quickly he pulled out, arms wobbling before you fell forward onto the bed. Doyoung laughed, a little breathless, and laid down next to you, panting and sweating. He looked about as wrecked as you did, but worked up the energy to pull the covers over the both of you.

“That felt good,” you warbled out, gasping for words. “Really good.”

Doyoung nodded, absolutely winded. He reached for your hand and gripped it tight.

“I saw your painting—saw the title,” he said all of a sudden. “I feel the same way.”

“Really?”

Doyoung nodded, reaching over to fix your hair. You smiled wide, reaching over to peck his lips to tell him you were all his. The two of you fell asleep in his workshop, holding each other in your arms. Doyoung pecked your forehead before you drifted into the unconscious, mumbling something against your hair.

“You’re my muse too.”

[lovenona]

ON THE SACRED BONDS OF BROTHERHOOD.

synopsis; choso may be their beloved frat brother, but he’ll always be your brother first. (for the frat au collab.) 

pairing; frat boy! choso x f! reader

contains; stepcest, dubcon (reader is under the influence but having a good time), extensive descriptions of knife play and blood play, marking (choso carves his name into you), oral (f! receiving), borderline yandere/possessive choso (he loves you A Lot), choso goes from mean to Soft, consumption and romanticization of drugs and alcohol, (1) use of ‘angel’, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, this is essentially all foreplay and ends before the fucking because i got tired, minors do not interact or perish

word count; 6.5k

the yard outside is clean, well-kept. there’s talk that the house’s landlord is a retired gardener who receives great joy from keeping up the hydrangeas and peonies along the sidewalk. it’s certainly award-winning, that front yard, with its colorful blossoms and plush bees circling the mailbox. 

they’re so lucky, students bemoan on their way to and from class. i can’t believe the frat boys get to live there. i bet they don’t even know how lucky they are.

it’s a seemingly kind house from the outside – recently renovated with navy blue paint and white trimming, a large front porch and a few inviting windows. the place that omega lambda now calls home is, simply put, a dream. it sits just a few minutes from campus and it tells the street proudly, fondly, that there is no better place to be than here.

it’s true, in some respects, that omega lambda likes to see themselves as above the sweat and grime of their fellow frat brothers. they don’t spend their weekends “fucking and drinking” and tracking dirt across the carpet like animals. their fun is calm, refined: to be invited to a night with omega lambda means a night of smoke curling into the air, of gossip over olive-colored couches, of pills under tongues, of ease and relaxation.

it’s slower than the others, they say in the back of monday morning lectures, but no less extreme, no matter what those boys try and tell you.

i think i was tripping for days, the girl from psychology 101 boasted. whatever the fuck yuuji gets is strong. 

such stories amaze you: and even as you stand on the sidewalk outside the perfect blue house, petunias curling inward with the evening breeze, you cannot believe they are real. it’s hard to imagine the face of your beloved stepbrother tied to these antics. it’s hard to imagine that the boy who used to come home every winter and summer with bloodshot eyes and a beat-up skateboard also swore a loyal, unbreakable oath of brotherhood to a band of boys you’ve never met. 

it’s hard to imagine that your own stepbrother, choso, the one who taught you how to ride a bike and how to apply eyeliner and how to kiss without teeth, quite literally runs what has been dubbed the chillest fraternity on campus.

but yet, here you are, new to university, fresh-faced and eager, cowering outside the door of the omega lambda residence. your favorite skirt hovers around your thighs and you tug at the collar of your shirt, fiddle with the charm of the necklace choso gave you for your birthday a few years ago. 

he’d invited you here almost immediately after learning that you and your roommate had tried your hand at partying with beta pi epsilon. naoya is trash, choso’s fervent texts read the next morning. absolute dick – don’t trust him. come hang out with us instead. he’d attached the address of the blue house along with a reminder to have a snack and take some medicine for your godforsaken hangover. 

the message had taken you a little by surprise. choso’s always been sweet to you – doting, even, if you wanted a better word for it – but you hadn’t been sure how he’d handle attending the same university. your other friends all complain that they’d rather die than see their families; twins separate after orientation, brothers and sisters look the other way if they pass each other in the quad. you feared choso would be the same, that the omnipotent attention he gave you at home would completely dissipate the moment you moved into your dorm.

but his text reaffirms you, if anything. and although your roommate had opted to be wined and dined by the boy from calculus this evening, you don’t mind attending alone. her absence from your side only means you will be able to see your stepbrother without a distraction.

the music buzzes through the door as you knock and wring your fingers on the doorstep. should you just walk in? should you text choso and wait for him to fetch you? the ins-and-outs of frat etiquette cloud your mind until the door swings open and you’re met, face-to-face, with a young pink-haired man dangling a blunt from one hand and his phone, opened to his spotify playlist, from the other.

“hi,” you say, words foreign in your throat. “choso invited me?”

“oh, cool,” itadori yuuji says, shrugging his shoulders like he never would have questioned it. “come on in. you can put your shoes over there.” 

while omega lambda is not packed from wall to wall as your night at beta pi epsilon had been, the various couches propped against the walls and surrounding the living room coffee table are nearly packed to the brim with the frat brothers and their guests. the air, hazy with smoke and desire and drinking, shifts and swirls as it curls around purple LED lights before fogging up the windows and disappearing up the stairs. it is warm here, easy, like dropping into the depths of a pleasurable dream.

“there’s drinks in the kitchen,” yuuji is saying, voice thick with his high, “and we’ve got some other stuff on the table, although you’ll have to pay yuuta for those–” 

yuuji’s narration is cut off as a familiar figure crashes into yours, sweeping you into a hug so tight you fear your bones will snap from the pressure. choso smells like the cologne you bought him for his birthday, like fresh laundry and comfort; you breathe him in, deeply, and let yourself relax into the soft cotton of his black t-shirt.

“glad you could make it,” choso mumbles into your skin. he draws back slightly, drinks you in, your little skirt and your dainty socks that he’s always been partial to. he looks from you to yuuji, still vibing to the side with his playlist, and his eyes crinkle in what must be mirth.

“it’s good to see you,” you say. 

“you saw me at lunch with mom last week.” choso smiles, the black line across his nose crinkling when his eyes light up. 

“you get what i mean.” you tap his shoulder, lightly, as emphasis. the anxiety dissolves; it’s you, and him, like it’s always been. it’s your stepbrother choso who watches your shadow and wraps you up to keep the rest of the world at bay. 

but the tender moment is broken when someone, a tall blonde girl with the aura of a lioness, calls out to choso to ask him for assistance. he looks at you, a bit forlorn, before telling yuuji to help you get settled in and making his way to the other end of the living room.

“yes, this way!” yuuji grabs your arm and drags you across the floor like you’ve known each other forever. “i make some fucking good drinks if i do say so myself.” 

which, consequently enough, is how you find yourself losing your mind within the walls of omega lambda. 

it’s not that you’re a virgin to the world of cocktails and lime and pills: it’s that you’re too sweet to know when to stop. it’s hard to tell yuuji no more, thanks when his face is so bright, when he and the strange, blue-haired frat brother mahito are asking you to try this and try that and to let us know what you think. 

so you let yourself sway through the house, from couch to couch, listening to this mahito boy tell you about his latest philosophy courses as he dances cold fingers across your shoulders, listening to yuuji explain the very serious business of pulling an all-nighter without coffee, watching the LED lights shift from purple to blue and back again.

(you’re not sure where choso is. perhaps, in your altered state, he’s sitting just across from you and you don’t even know it. but you don’t mind, because his brothers get along with you just as well. you don’t mind, because you’re too drunk or too high to know any better.) 

“and how are you doing?” a dark-haired man slides into the empty couch space next to you. arms littered with various tattoos and dark hair pulled back into a casual half-bun, he could have been your beloved choso had he not exuded such finesse, such arrogance, which choso could never be capable of doing.

“i’m alright,” you say, but you’re more than alright. the room is so warm and your brain is so fuzzy that you might melt into the couch if someone looked away for even a minute. “i don’t think we’ve met before? i’m choso’s stepsister.” 

he simpers, a humid thing, one that coils around your eyelids and sets your insides alight. “ah! i’ve heard a lot about you. it’s nice to meet you.” he holds out a manicured hand; black nail polish glimmers in the dim light. “geto. i’m one of choso’s frat brothers.” 

his handshake might take your soul with it. his hands are smooth, refined. you swear he can feel your quickening pulse as you introduce yourself. he watches you like you might be the only person in the room, like you might be the sweetest thing to have ever crossed the threshold. and filled with rum and liqueur and confidence you take it, gladly, because you’re young and the thought of university still puts stars in your eyes. 

“so what are you studying?” geto is saying, prying you apart, picking through your history. he’s in his final year and you’re in your first and he knows all there is to know while you still have nothing. you latch onto him because he gets it, because he’s handsome, because you’re silly and desperate and drunk. somewhere along the way your thighs touch and his hand greets your shoulder and you think that you finally made it into his lap because mahito complained that the couch was too full. 

geto smells like expensive cologne. you smell vaguely of lemons and shampoo. yuuji jokes with you from across the table and you like it, the way these brothers’ eyes fall on you. 

so you spiral, further and further, into a daze you cannot escape from. you barely react to geto’s firm hand snaking up your bare thigh because you are too busy trying yuuji’s latest creation and asking mahito for more of whatever he gave you. it’s fun, it’s weightless; you feel beautiful, supreme, like the kind of college girl you’re supposed to be. you’re desirable, cute. you’re the girl to be in love with, the one who sets the scene.

those rumors were right. the party is certainly slower than the other frats you’ve visited, with more emphasis on sitting and vibing than on dancing and drinking games, but no less extreme. you’re so far out of your brain that you wonder briefly if it will ever be possible to come back down. maybe you’ll be her, on monday morning, the girl who’s still tripping.

“you know,” geto is saying, his breath eerily close to your pulse, a moment away from pressing a kiss to your cheek, your neck, “you should stop by more often.” 

“yeah?” you hope you sound sexier than you are. “i’d love to–”

“excuse me,” choso’s voice cuts through your lazy fantasy like the sharp fall of a guillotine. “i’d prefer if you didn’t hit on my sister, geto.” 

geto’s laugh reverberates against your back, your ears. his grip on you lightens immediately, and whatever words he’d saved for you die away. “i’m not,” he says, but his voice is too easy to be honest. “just keeping her company. right, sweetheart?”

you’re finding it hard to see straight. caught in this game of cat and mouse you find you can do nothing but sit lamely in geto’s lap and watch choso’s favorite necklace reflect the purple light. it’s only after a revolution around the sun you realize you haven’t spoken, that you’ve done nothing but hover, a lot of drunk and a little high and a little nervous, between one man and the other. you mumble a yes in affirmation but it’s clear from the tension that choso doesn’t believe it. 

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” choso sighs. “come on, then. you’ve had enough for one night.” familiar arms lift you off the couch and you stumble, much like a baby gazelle, into the safety of choso’s chest. the room spins with the sudden change; you cling to him like a lifeline as you abandon the party to head upstairs. 

of course, bedazzled out of your mind, you do not question when choso leads you to the end of the hallway and over the threshold of his bedroom. it feels expected in a way, safe, as if the party had always been meaning to end here. as if there was no other place you should be.

“so?” choso asks, casually, shutting the door behind him with a damning click. “did you enjoy being a little whore with my brothers?”

his words take a long moment to settle in your ears. you’re caught in the swirl of euphoria in your brain, the black t-shirts scattered across the floor, the small houseplant you once bought him seated on the windowsill. it warms your heart to see it there, after all this time.

“well?” choso demands your attention. he takes your jaw in his hand and lifts your eyes to meet his gaze. his silver rings, imposing and cool on slender fingers, burn into your heated flesh like embers. his eyes swim with distaste and you know it’s your fault, somehow, but when the walls tilt and your rationality fogs over, you can’t quite pinpoint why.

“i–” your words catch in your throat. it’s clear, from the darkness in his eyes, from the way his nails dig into the soft flesh of your jawline, that anything you say to defend yourself will be futile. it’s choso’s world, you’ve always known, and even now, you’re merely living in it. 

“i invite my sister to see me, because i miss her,” choso’s words nestle themselves deep into your bloodstream, settling amongst the brandy and wine, “and she chooses to spend the night bending over for my brothers. how do you think that makes me feel?” 

it’s a look you know: a look that has haunted you for hours and days, a look that you know better than any other. it’s the look that guides the hand between your legs at night and the look you recreate in your mind’s eye when your vibrator just isn’t enough. you’re crumbling already, like sand beneath his touch.

“i’m sorry,” you say to him, but the words are soft and whispered things, shy beneath the weight of your own guilt and disappointment. “i didn’t mean to–” 

“no,” choso admonishes. he steps closer, guiding you backwards until his bedsheets brush the backs of your knees. “of course you didn’t. you’re still too dumb to know what you’re doing.” his voice, evenly condescending, hardly matches the gentle brush of his fingers as he moves to cup your cheeks. you close your eyes against it, savoring the shivers he sends across you body with every heartbeat, every movement. “still need your big brother to keep you in check.” 

you do not respond: he does not intend for you too. instead choso presses you back until you fall onto his bed, crawling over you to cage your body beneath him like a predator and its prey. your brain falters with the sudden movement, with the lateness of the hour and the depravity of your position, but you can do nothing but look at him with your helpless doe-eyes while something saccharine pools in your belly. 

“look at you,” choso says. “high out of your damn mind. good thing i caught you when i did. who knows what would have happened.” 

you believe him, you do, especially when choso dips his head to kiss you and demands your subservience. his tongue licks the aftermath of your cocktails from your lips and claims the expanse of your mouth, your teeth, your sanity. you let him take you, body and soul, even when you’re clamoring for air and freedom. there is no safety but choso’s lips, flavored with his cinnamon chapstick, no sacred home but the warmth of his mouth. 

“there’s my girl,” choso breathes, nose brushing against yours as he pulls back for air. “going to be good for me now? going to make it up to your big brother?” 

he doesn’t wait for a response; fingers dance along the silk of your blouse as he undoes each button, one by one, letting his fingers dip slyly against the newly exposed expanse of your collarbone and your chest and your stomach. you make no move to stop him, caught somewhere between choso’s aura and reality and time. 

(and maybe in another life you would have stopped him. maybe in another life you would have been ashamed. but it’s choso, your sworn protector and god among men, and you would be a fool to try and stop the one who knows best. he is safety, protection. who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t taken you away when he did.) 

“is this new?” choso asks, studying the curve of your bra as he rests against your hips. “who are you trying to impress?” 

it’s thin lavender lace, choso’s favorite. your face warms at the observation and you turn your head away, nestling among the sheets, as if you could escape choso’s eyes: but his fingers still trace the material and you can still hear him breathing and you know he will never look away. 

“i just got it,” you answer, humbled and mildly humiliated and certainly a little fucked up. the words are slow and imprecise as you stumble over your own tongue. “i wanted to…treat myself.” 

choso’s exploratory hands move from your bra to the waistband of your skirt. “could’ve just asked me,” he says earnestly, intently. “i would’ve gotten it for you.” 

your affirmative hum is lost when choso mindfully pulls your skirt down your legs and discards it somewhere in the shadows of the room. he says nothing of it, of the thin fabric or the way it flattered you just right. perhaps he is jealous of it. perhaps he does not want to remember the way his brothers looked at you when you wore it, the way geto’s hands caressed the places no other man should go.

“they match, i see,” choso gestures towards your underwear. terrified and knowing and aware that you’re growing damper with each passing minute, you press your thighs together. “they’re cute.” 

“t-thank you,” you whisper. “i… i got them for you. your favorite color.” 

he smiles, a precious and glorious thing, a smile that causes flowers to grow and birds to sing. you electrify at the sight of it, blissful only when he is. 

“i’d hope so,” choso says, “because i don’t think i could take it if this was meant for someone else.” 

he reaches over to the nightstand while his words claw through you. choso smells like cinnamon and safety and pleasure; your heartbeat quickens as his t-shirt brushes against you, as your world collapses into nothing but choso’s profile, his butterfly hair-clips and his glowing skin and his power. 

when choso settles back over you, resting against your thighs until you think you might die of it, something silver and shiny rests in his palm. you’d recognize it even if your eyes were closed, if the room were so dark that you couldn’t see if you tried. a searing and insatiable sensation lodges itself in your veins; it is fear personified, it is anticipation of a behavior you cannot even name. 

choso twirls his beloved switchblade deftly between his well-manicured fingertips. it reflects the low-light of the room. it calls out to you, the beautiful and dangerous thing, a siren’s song that promises both your misery and your fortune. choso’s face is relaxed, serene, as the envy and the fury seemingly melts away from him and leaves only a disinterested vessel behind. 

he lets you study it, lets you study him, and you know he’s pleased when he can feel your thighs tense, when you try so damn hard not to let choso know just how affected you really are. he shifts, grinding gently against your pelvis as he moves, causing you to bite your lip in a desperate attempt to surpress the gentlest of moans. 

“well,” choso says, disregarding the state he’s slowly working you into. he shifts down your body and runs a lackluster hand across the lacy expanse of your underwear. shivers pierce your navel, silver rings poison your skin. it’s all you can do to watch him, his heartless eyes and his casual form, as his thumb prods at the place where you underwear crosses your hip. “let’s get these off. i’d hate to have anyone else see you in them.” 

you feel the blade before you see it. cold, unfriendly, it rests against the gentle skin of your hip, a killer ready to take a life. a humiliatingly choked whine is out of your mouth before you can swallow it; your gasp reverberates throughout the room, the sound of one who knows they’ve lost a fight. 

“choso–” you breathe, but you don’t know quite what it is you’re asking him for. 

he doesn’t answer immediately, opting instead to tease you further with the blade as he presses it against you until goosebumps rise in chorus. your fingers curl in on themselves, desperate for purchase, while fear and longing hum everywhere in your being. 

“don’t worry,” choso says. “i’ll buy you more. now be good and stay still.” 

you want to writhe, to lash out and squirm beneath the intensity of the moment, but you fear choso’s disappointment more than you crave such release. your big brother choso has never been afraid to hurt you: to pierce the skin where it hurts, to draw blood where he means it. if you move, the blade will move with you. you know this as you know every scar choso has left behind. 

it’s agonizing, this pace. choso’s tongue peeks out from between his teeth as he works with the ease of a great master. it’s like watching paint dry, like waiting for grass to grow or continents to shift. he cuts away at the expensive lingerie you bought just last weekend like he has all the time in the world, like he does not care if the sun rises and you are still crying beneath him.

(and he does it, you know, because you’ve never been one to be patient.) 

“choso,” you whine, drawing his name out, long and frustrated, as if in song. “go faster.” your legs twitch in protest and the blade comes ever closer. 

“no.” choso does not even spare the kindness to look at you, his beloved little sister. “stop whining.” 

the rest of your complaints lodge in your throat. you fear disobeying him, so you grip the comforter like a lifeline, exasperated tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as the blade cuts through your clothes and ghosts across the bare skin beneath. it’s embarrassing, really, the way you can feel yourself becoming more and more desperate the further choso drifts away from you, the more he refuses to indulge. 

you wonder if he can sense the arousal on you, feel it, smell it, even, like you’re nothing but his own little plaything in heat. 

after an eternity, the blade finally cuts through your panties with a satisfying rip. the torn fabric sits pitifully against your hips, a reminder of your own subservience, until choso peels it away from you with enough condescension to move you to tears. the cool air of the room hits your thighs, your cunt, like a ghost who’s taken up residence beside you. 

blissfully unaware of your feelings, choso studies the remains of your ruined underwear, the thin fabric and the obvious stain of your arousal. locking eyes with you, he bring it to his nose for a brief and pleasurable inhale before he discards it somewhere on the other side of the room.

“there we are,” he says, as if he hadn’t just smelled yourself in front of you. “now no one will ever know about it but me.”

“choso,” you whimper, hot. it’s a gift and a humiliation to be beneath him like this, to shake with need and yet to be denied it, to ask for something, for anything, in a voice so unabashedly loud that anyone who passes by the door might hear it.

he ignores you, again, and turns his attention to your bra as it flutters against your fervent chest. you watch with wide eyes as the blade comes closer, closer, dancing against your ribcage and sending ice into your lungs until it slices through the front of your bra, down the center of your chest, like the thin fabric was made of nothing but water. 

“get rid of this,” he says; you listen. with quick and quivering fingertips you shimmy your way out of the delicate material and toss it over the side of the bed faster than the speed of sound. choso, pleased with your obedience, intently traces the curve of your breasts, thumbing your nipples until you find yourself arching into his touch. 

(choso, you mumble, eyes falling shut at the feeling. still, as always, he does not listen. he draws his hands away.) 

it kills you, the way choso’s eyes possess you, own you, dictate the movement in your bloodstream. it’s akin to being pulled along on marionette strings, a puppet of choso’s own design, made to dance for him and him alone. 

it’s the prize he deserves, your big brother, to own you and protect you, body and soul.

it’s that very intensity which moves you to misty tears, which causes your hands to fly out to meet him against your better judgement. choso lets you pleasure yourself for a moment with the texture of his t-shirt and the outline of his shoulders before brushing your hands away like unnecessary flies. 

“did you whore yourself out like this when you went to naoya’s?” choso prods. the patronization lies beneath feigned and genuine curiosity. there are no inflections, no signs of anger. this is how your big brother gets you, every time: it’s the neglect, the disinterest, that breeds your guilt. “are you really so easy for every boy that comes your way?” 

you shake your head and wish you could bury yourself further into the bedsheets. no, never. try as you might the first-year college boys here just haven’t been enough, the older ones too preoccupied with better cunts to look your way. 

“just because those guys are my brothers,” choso continues, shifting further and further down your body, spreading your legs until he can fit himself comfortably between them, “doesn’t mean i have to share everything with them.” 

“i’m sorry, choso,” you try again, “i’m sorry. i don’t want anyone else–” 

“that’s right,” choso interrupts. “you don’t need anyone else. no one is ever going to love you the way i do.” 

the way your big brother does, his eyes say, but he doesn’t have to voice it. you already know. it’s true that no one knows you better than choso does. no one understands your limits and your desires the way your brother has for as long as you’ve known him. no one knows how to caress you when you cry, how to run their tongue across your lips to silence you when you’re too eager. it’s always choso. it’s always been choso; but sometimes you’re just too much of a fool to see it. 

the blade, cool and demanding, presses against the soft flesh of your thigh, just below the hip. you twitch in surprise at the sensation and curl your toes to quell the ache in your cunt. it’s slick, weeping; you can feel it, the arousal, as it pools and pools and drips quietly onto the comforter. 

“choso, what are you–” you ask, breathily, pitifully, but choso’s quick glare reduces you into obedient silence. 

he licks the cinnamon chapstick on his lips. a stray hair falls across his eyes and kisses the dark line across his nose. he is love and danger, a cocktail of possession and surrender. “i think,” choso says, the words slow and thoughtful, “you need a reminder of who loves you the most.” 

a strangled cry escapes your lips when the blade pierces your skin just enough to draw blood. the sting travels up through your spine and fogs up your senses, causes your cunt to weep in horrible anticipation. it hurts, it does, the first cut, but still you find yourself waiting for more of it, more, in terror and lust and love. 

“choso–” you cry, a misty tear escaping out of the corner of your eye, but the call is met by another stroke, longer this time, drawn out, until your knuckles clutch the bedsheets so tensely they might as well turn to stone. 

“stay still,” choso admonishes amidst the burn of it. “you’ll hurt yourself.” 

as if you were the one in control. but you listen, obediently as always, and the alcohol from earlier combined with the need in your chest mixes together until your body is as taut as a desperate wire, until you no longer have control of yourself or your limbs. the knife cuts easily, choso’s hands as steady and precise as ever. you can feel the blood dripping onto his sheets like a series of hot tears.

it’s too much, all at once. it is a fire which destroys you, which renders every coherent thought into ash and causes you to sob nothing but drawn-out cries and pleads of choso’s name into the dark bedroom. he has you just where he wants you: pliant, dumb, obedient. if he asked you to fetch him a star, you would have asked him which one he needed.

choso’s tongue darts between his teeth as a steady hand continues its masterpiece. you sob unabashedly in reply with every stroke, with every flex of his fingers as he works his blade against your tender skin. and yet, as the pain grows, so does your need for something, for anything, for release; with every aching minute your cunt grows hotter and lonelier and emptier between your thighs. 

you crave something, anything, choso, perhaps even more than you wish for air.

“there you go,” choso says, just as you release another cry so piercing there’s no way even yuuji wouldn’t have heard it. “all done.” 

you sit up on your elbows to peer down at the masterpiece below your hip. smeared with blood, aching and raw from the blade, the word CHOSO spreads across your upper thigh in an uneven but heartfelt script. it makes you dizzy, this marking, this sign that no one owns you better than your sacred brother does. you wonder if it will leave a scar, if it will heal; and even more so, you wonder if choso will merely rewrite it, again and again, until every cell in your body knows that you are nothing without him.

you say nothing; a whine escapes your lips as your eyes flit from the mark to choso’s eyes, dark and possessive, as he looks back at you.

“you like it?” he asks, once again the sweet thing, the doting one.

“yes,” you whisper back, never one to lie to your perfect big brother. 

but you cannot hide the insatiability. choso notices the way your thighs twitch from the intensity, the way your cunt drools and your eyebrows furrow because you cannot relieve this ache on your own. you’re helpless, entirely at his mercy. choso tilts his head with a soft and unreadable simper at the sight.

“you’re really worked up, huh?” he pretends your distress is not blatantly obvious. he twirls the bloodstained knife between his fingertips for a moment before bringing the flat edge of the blade against his lips in a somber kiss. “this little thing’s got you down bad, i see.” he flashes the switchblade at you like a diamond. you watch, entranced, as choso slides his tongue across the metal until any traces of your blood disappear into his mouth. 

your belly’s on fire. the switchblade shines with choso’s spit and he smiles, your blood on his tongue, while he prods your legs apart, further, until you’re entirely open for him with nothing to hide. you whine lowly as choso’s eyes flicker between your eyes, dazed and helpless, and the slick on the bedsheets. 

“choso,” you repeat. “please, help me.” your eyes are wide and your voice is small and you crumble beneath the weight of your own needing, of your own body working of its own volition, of the high that collapses all over you. 

perhaps it’s the way you call for him, your big brother, in your time of need. perhaps it’s the way choso can never really deny you, even when he feigns disappointment or rage or neglect. he’s bound to you, your protector, and you can see in the way his eyes soften ever so slightly that choso will not deny you this request.

“sure thing, angel. let me clean this up for you.” choso’s voice is generous as he bows his face towards your hips with the reverence of one before the altar. he leaves no room for your answer. an eager tongue swipes across your thigh and laps at the blood which pools there. his movements are indulgent, refined, as he holds your legs open with intimidating palms and drinks you in like medicine.

“choso–” you gasp, unable to look away. his eyes flit back to meet yours in reply but he continues his ministrations, slow, teasing, as he ignores your cunt entirely and licks at the fresh wound until it’s finally, sacredly, clean. your newly beloved CHOSO glimmers with his spit when he pulls away. he smiles at you then, praying over your hips, lips stained red with your blood, with your being. 

“i may be their brother,” choso gestures towards the door, to the party which must still rage below, “but i’m your brother first, and now you’ll never forget it.”  

the words are followed by his tongue on your inner thigh, fervent this time, as he travels downwards, downwards from his name on your leg until his nose is a breath away from your clit. you thrust your hips towards him impatiently and he accepts it, gratefully, burying his face deep into your cunt like he’s searching for gold. choso lavishes your clit with plump lips and an eager tongue, drawing the bud into his mouth and kissing it until you cry, until your legs tremble as they ensnare him in your garden.

“choso–” you’re crying, voice transcendent throughout the frat house, his favorite song. there’s a tongue prodding against your hole and a silver ring on your clit and you lose yourself within it, within choso’s breath on your folds and the fire which erupts into chaos. 

when it comes to pleasing you, choso does not require air. he refuses to resurface as his tongue explores every inch, as he laps away at you with the passionate abandon only an older brother can provide. what you need, he needs, and what you desire most, choso is always willing to provide. he holds you steady as he works so you cannot escape him. he forces you into stillness as he abuses every sacred inch of your cunt, as he works you into a frenzy with his fingers and his tongue until you can think of nothing but wanting to cum. 

and then, then, at the precipice of pleasure, choso pulls away. you pause as you catch your breath, heartbeat like an earthquake, and recollect your shock. why has he stopped? where has he gone? you’re about to sit up, to feign sobriety, to demand what the matter is, when something cool and smooth presses against your clit.

choso’s cheek rests against your inner thigh as he presses the flat edge of the switchblade against your cunt. it’s cold and dangerous and sublime and you cannot help but think of the way it could ruin you, that if you shifted or choso wanted it everything could end here, now, forever. and it is this fear, coupled with the coolness of the blade suffocating your clit, with the alcohol in your bloodstream, that sends you into a place from which you may never return. 

the orgasm is as violent as a hurricane. the moment you tense and begin to quake with a strangled sob choso replaces the blade with his tongue and rides you through it, coating his lips with your cum and swallowing the vibrations and heightening the sensation until you are tortured by it, by the sting of pleasure and overstimulation and want. 

(“that’s it,” you think he says into your skin, but your ears ring too loudly to know. “cum for me, just like that.”) 

it takes some time for the waves to recede and for your body to become still again. with a head comprised of of jelly and limbs made of water you lie still, panting, as choso nonchalantly licks your slick from the switchblade with a hum and gingerly sets it back down on his dresser. you watch as he slides the belt out of his jeans and tosses it into the dark room, as he hovers above you like an angel and its lover. 

“better now?” he asks against your parted lips. you nod. he kisses you, deeply, a kiss made of iron and cum and blood, tongue swiping across your teeth before he draws the air from your lungs. your vision swims when he plants a kiss on the tip of your nose, your cheeks, your forehead, between your eyebrows. he plants his love until there is nowhere left untouched, until you are buzzing with the security only your brother choso can give you. 

“yeah,” you mumble back to him, content, satisfied. even the sting of his name on your body is a pleasantry now. 

“good.” choso wipes the perspiration from your brow. his jeans scratch against your pelvis, and it is only then that you finally register his cock, hard and eager, waiting patiently for its turn. it is only then that you realize choso’s lesson is not yet over, that your brother’s desperate need has only begun. 

“now,” he purrs, gently, lovingly, “can you show me how much you love me?”

(as always, forever, you do. you show him your love, endlessly, even when the party ends and the house falls eerily silent. you show choso everything, all of it, loyally, just as he asks, with an only you, choso, and a no one else loves me like you.

because although choso offers his love to the brothers downstairs, he will always, forever, be your brother first, til death do you part.)

[littlemisslipbalm]

Little Border Town Pt. II

Summary: Harry starts to find himself more and more drawn to the bookshop owner. She’s maybe not as annoying as he first thought. And maybe Harry isn’t the worst like she thought either. A little notebook, drinks, shoes, and a boat begin to show each other that. 

AKA: Harry and Y/N are neighbors that fight all the time, the whole town wants to know when they’ll just fuck. 

ello loves,  part 2 is finally here pls let me know what you think!! barely proofread sorry... also i think theres gonna be quite a few parts to this because i keep not getting all i want to say said in each part. and im trying to keep the chunks relatively short. — also I made one direction lowkey exist bahaha

Word Count: 9.2k | Warnings: flirty fighting/banter, slowburn 

Part 1

-

The next day Harry found himself walking into the bookshop next door without really thinking about it. He hadn’t seen Y/N again for his early morning run and he had his list for her of the Paul Simon albums he already had. They hadn’t had their windows or shades open last night either so it was the first night he didn’t give her a salute and she didn’t flip him off. The jostle in routine seemed a little weird to him so as he walked through the shop's door and the bell sounded, he thought the smile on his face was because he was well rested and unbothered by anything.

Y/N had slept in this morning. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the beginning of Fall always put her in a cozy sleepy mood. She wanted to go to a pumpkin patch and watch a fire burn out in a fireplace. She wanted to listen to her halloween playlist and plan out an intricate costume with her friends. All of this was a wistful dream though. She had quickly learned that the little border town didn’t celebrate Halloween how they did in the States or any major cities. It was okay, at the end of the day, even if she was a little bummed about it. This was her new life and she would have to adapt to the new customs.

After she walked downstairs and unlocked the door, she went back over to her front counter. Yesterday, right when Harry had come in, she had found a booklet of Marie’s. It was leafed over to the point that all the pages were crinkled and dirtied from hand debris. Each page was filled with her loopy handwriting, all of it in French. She must have only liked blue pens because even if the type changed over different pages, the color was always blue. Each page was headed with a name, a customer’s name Y/N was starting to realize as she leafed through the pages. She sat back on the wooden stool she had gotten for behind the counter and propped the book in her hand. After the name of the customer there were extensive details on them. Not their purchases specifically, but their preferences, their personality, and just tidbits about any quirks they had or interesting things Marie had decided were of note.

She found many names that were now familiar to her after her few months of living in the little border town. There really weren't that many people to get to know and the tourists were starting to die down now that the school year was getting back in. After a few minutes of pouring over Monsieur Friedfrickson’s page, who lives across the street from her and runs the flower and gardening supplies shop, she flips to an even more familiar name’s page.

“Harry Styles.” The page had the name written out in strong tall letters. Marie had used a blue inky pen for his page, not a ballpoint. “Likes Music. Poetry. Love stories. Romance with a happy ending, but also likes the practical love too.” The interests are laid out plain and she purses her lips at the idea that Harry is interested in romance novels. She wondered what type of poetry he liked since Marie didn’t seem to think that had to be elaborated on. “He’s a special one,” it reads and Y/N scoffs to herself, really Marie? She reads on, “His heart is in the right place, but he’s got a mouth on him. Quick-witted and charming, but kind-hearted and sincere.” She pauses, and flicks the page back and forth, checking that it still reads Harry’s name when she gets back to it. Was she really the only one who found Harry vapid and annoying? Sure she had softened a little towards him since she had arrived, but they were by no means friends. “While seemingly perfect in every way, Harry is actually-” it reads and she mutters to herself, “Ok, now we’re getting somewhere.” “While seemingly perfect in every way, Harry is actually scared of his own shadow.” “This can’t be real!” She once again scoffs at the book and looks up to the ceiling like Marie is going to talk back to her from beyond. “His exterior persona is very strong, both physically and in his personality, but it seems like he’s just waiting for that right person that he can really be vulnerable with and let them into what he’s really thinking. He’s looking for his Angie.” Now she’s just confused. Who the fuck is Angie? She almost doesn’t finish reading the page because honestly it’s just making her mad, but there’s only a few more lines. “Lots of tattoos, why so many tattoos? Thinks he’s funnier than he is. Flamboyant Harry is best.” And beside that last sentence is a star. She tries to hold in her laughter. At least it wasn’t a complete page of praise for Harry.

Thinking back to her knowledge of Harry, she realizes that Marie must have known him for about three years. Maybe more if he had come to visit before moving there officially. She agreed with Marie that Harry had a lot of tattoos and that he thinks he’s funnier than he truly is, but she was yet to see flamboyant Harry. She knew he painted his nails and wore rings, as well as interesting clothes, but she wouldn’t say he was particularly flamboyant for any of that. That comment definitely piqued her interest. When would Marie have seen Harry where he was being flamboyant?

Her eyes scan over the page once more and realize that this book is only for the most current year. Marie re-did the customers' outlines every year. So this was this past year before Marie died. She wondered where the other books might be and if Harry’s outline had changed over time and also if her name was in the one from when she had visited. That would be interesting to read. It’s strange to read a dead person’s private musings. To her knowledge, no one else alive knew the contents of these pages and these pages seemed especially personal since they spoke of people’s lives and who they were at their core. Maybe that’s why she didn’t hear the chime of the door this morning when the first customer arrived.

Her eyes don’t shoot up from the page until two ringed hands enter her eye line on the counter. The tanned skin, with the gold and silver dazzling rings on each finger and the cross tattoo all register in her mind as her eyes go wide. She snaps the book shut when her eyes meet Harry’s almost ivy green eyes - they’re darker in the foggy fall light streaming through the window today. She hadn’t even turned on the lights yet in the store, the natural light being enough for her this morning. The book is clutched in her hands as Harry’s smile widens to a grin of amusement.

“What have you got there?”

There’s no cover on the book so he can’t make anything out about it. He assumes it’s some novel she’s embarrassed of and has chosen to slip the cover off of to keep anonymity of it. This assumption is why his tone is so teasing and why she grimaces at him in response. Her cheeks have also tinted themselves, she’s flustered that the man she had just been conversing about with the book was now in the store.

“None of your business.”

“I guess not.” He replies easily when she responds curtly and places the book out of sight somewhere under the countertop.

“Why are you here again?” She’s avoiding his eye contact now, feeling like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been even though it was perfectly within her right to read something that now belonged to her.

Harry’s smile falters with her followed curt reply. Annoyance settling in, Harry straightens up and removes his hands from the counter. The familiar feeling doesn’t exactly feel nice, but familiarity is better than discomfort. “You wanted a list of my Paul Simon records? So you could order me one I didn’t already have?”

She looks at him curiously as the conversation comes back to her from yesterday morning and she nods. That conversation was real. “Oh yeah, I said that.” She replies, still not looking at him. “Okay,” she says when he doesn’t move or do anything. Her eyes widen, silently asking him to get on with it.

His hands shove into his pockets, searching around for a list he apparently had made. They come out empty. He pats over his jacket pockets and feels nothing but his phone and wallet, no list. “Fuck,” he mutters beneath his breath. She scratches at her eyebrow and sits back on her stool, seeming like she might be waiting awhile. After a few more minutes and no produced list, she sighs. “Do you just want to go next door and grab it since you obviously forgot it?”

“I didn’t forget it…” His voice is low and he shoots a glare at her, the annoyance that had come back had now doubled.

“You did, but it’s okay if you can’t admit that-”

“It must have fallen out of my pocket!” He insists.

She rolls her eyes and stands up. Walking to the front door, she looks on the ground and then a little ways outside. “I don’t see it, just go back and get it. You probably left it in your boudoir, it’s fine.” Her tone is a little less condescending now and more understanding. She forgets stuff all the time and she really wasn’t trying to be rude when he first came in. He had just startled her is all.

He turns around to face her. Her body is now completely out in the open area of the front of the store. His head tilts and one of his loose curls flops over his forehead while he takes in her appearance. “Why do you do that?”

She wets her lips and steps closer to him, more on her way back to the counter than anything. “Do what?” She’s oblivious to what he’s taken note of.

“When you have a conversation in English you’ll swap in some words that are French. They’re easy words to figure out and you don’t do it a lot, but you’ve done it enough times for me to notice.”

“Oh...I don’t know. I prefer French to English. It’s so much sexier.” She walks closer to him and utters her next sentence as she brushes past his shoulder. His gaze follows her every movement. “Would you prefer a girl to whisper in your ear, “let’s go back to my bedroom” or “let’s go back to my boudoir.”?” Her French accent hangs in the air with the word and compared to the hard American accent she had employed for ‘bedroom’, ‘boudoir’ sounds far more dirty this time than before.

A shiver rolls down Harry’s spine, but he doesn’t let it show. She shrugs her shoulders, “I think the answer is clear.” He clears his throat in response and a smile grows on her face. “Don’t you agree, monsieur?” She leans her head into her hand now that she’s behind the counter and looks up at him sweetly. He knows she’s teasing him now, her smile more of a sultry smirk.

“Piccola diavola,” his Italian rolls off his tongue and she squints at his words. She knows “devil” but the first word troubles her - it just means little. Her Italian really wasn’t strong and it hadn’t improved that much since she’d been in the little border town. But she also wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking what he had said. Harry chuckles at her confusion and relaxes now that he feels the playing field has leveled once again.

“So your list… Do you want to go grab it? Or if you can just list it off the top of your head? As enthralling as your conversation skills are, I actually don’t have all day.” She trails off again, her questions lilting from her mouth after regaining some composure.

“I wasn’t the one teasing about taking someone up to their bedroom,” he huffs. Her face colors with crimson. While she had been teasing him, she didn’t want to be called out for it.

“Wasn’t teasing…”

“So it was a serious offer?” He inquires with a lop-sided grin, changing the meaning behind her words in one fellow swoop.

“That’s not what I was saying! Shut up and give me your list.” Now her blush was all over her face and neck, and she was totally and completely flustered by Harry.  She glanced down at her hands that were fiddling with a pen and paper, ready to write his words down.

“I can either shut up or tell you my list. But it’s sadly one or the other, love.”

She groans and takes her free hand to run it over her face. “Just tell me what you already have, Harry. Please.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles and spreads out his hands in front of them both. He crosses back to the counter and leans on it once more. They are in close proximity once again, only the counter between them now and she can feel his hot breath fan over her softly. Smells of wintergreen gum, her favorite.

She glances up at him and their eyes hook together for a moment before she tears hers away to look back at the paper. He rattles off a good amount of Paul Simon’s albums and she nods approvingly as she scribbles the names down. She would have to look through his discography to find the ones Harry didn’t have and she probably could’ve made Harry do that and then give her that list, but she didn’t. It was too late now to do that as well, so she’d just have to live with her decision.

When he finishes, she glances at him once again. His eyes are very large. A detail that isn’t really important about him is seared in her mind. They’re big and they’re staring right at her. His pupils are almost as big as his irises, it was interesting. Her eyes shift under his gaze after a beat and she straightens up again. While they went over his list, she had indulged in the close proximity, the mingling of warm breath and brushed hands as she scribbled and he pondered. She nods a farewell, “I’ll let you know when I order next, but I won’t say what album you’ll get. It will be a surprise.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” his smile snaps back to his face and he scratches absentmindedly at his side. He hesitates before exiting the store. “I have a question.”

“Don’t need my permission.”

He emits a half-laugh, half-scoff from his parted lips. “Wasn’t asking for it...How come you never go out?”

She stares at him curiously, her head tilting to the right. “How would you know I don’t get out?” She challenges him.

“There’s only one pub in this little town and I’m your next door neighbor. I know.” He’s insistent on being right.

She scoffs, but only in an attempt to cover up her embarrassment. Her skin had finally cooled from all the excitement that had happened earlier and she wasn’t in the mood to grow red once again. Today was the first day she had ever felt flustered by Harry. It was annoying, it made her feel out of control. She liked to go out well enough, maybe more than the average person. But she’d only been in the little border town for a few months and going out hadn’t been on the top of her list of things to do. Sure, it would be nice to go get a drink out in the town, but she didn’t really have anyone to go with. Meeting people wasn’t hard in the town, but there weren't many people who were her age and she hadn’t particularly clicked with anyone where she would want to go out on the town with them. It was embarrassing to face the fact that she wasn’t flourishing as much as she had hoped. She was happy, but being confronted with the truth that she hadn’t gone out yet dampened her belief in her success in the little border town.

“I - It’s not at the top of my list of priorities,” she stutters, her chin raising a little in indignance.

One of his shoulders shrugs and Harry makes a little face as if he was indifferent to her answer, even though she knew much better than that. Harry always wanted to get a reaction out of her, maybe that was all he gained from their interactions - entertainment. She didn’t know, but she didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction and left it at that. His eyes meet hers again, his stare far more intense now. “Ciao, diavola.” He simpers, repeating the little nickname. It was far more sultry of a nickname than ‘Shrimp’ but she wasn’t going to complain. She rolls her eyes in response, the only correct one at that.

-

That night, she found herself feeling pulled to journey down to the pub. It was on the Italian side and like she had acknowledged to Harry, she hadn’t been. She wouldn’t admit to anyone, especially not Harry, that his question had been what had pushed her towards the establishment when night fell. Yet, here she was. Her pants were dark red silk that matched the black tank top with red embellishments that she wore over her chest - the only part of her it really covered. Her boots were a matching black with gold metal bits, they were knock-off horsebit Gucci shoes, the closest she could get to the real thing with her modest budget. She was having to be more frugal lately, after buying her car here in September, she had really seen how little money she truly had.

The heels of her boots clicked against the cobblestones as she stalked up to the front of the bar. There was happy chatter seeping out the open door, the warm but dimmed light also flooding out along with the sounds of people within. Taking a deep breath and fiddling with the waistband of her pants for a second, she made her way into the bar. Stepping off the deep end and making the plunge. She knew there was nothing to be afraid of, but after months of not going there, she felt a little sense of apprehension now.

The warmth was the most surprising bit of the bar that she felt when she stepped past the threshold. Some Italian song was buzzing below the words of the patrons and she smiled at the automatic welcome she felt upon entering.

At the tables, there was a mix of younger and older patrons. At the bar, there wasn’t much of anyone. The young bartender leans across the bar to talk to another man, who had dark brown wavy hair and a dark linen shirt on. He’s seated at the bar and his back is to her so she can’t make out anymore than that. She doesn’t notice the myriad of tattoos gracing the patron’s arm that rests casually on the bar as he laughs at something the bartender had said, just for him.

She smiles, thinking it’s a cute little flirtation between the two and hates that she has to go over to break it up. Her movement gets the bartender’s attention easily and has the patron glancing her way as well. The smile she had once had falters off of her face and her eyes go wide at the realization of who she has settled herself beside. She had left a seat open between her and the man, but now she wished she had chosen a spot across the bar and simply flagged down the bartender. Better yet, she wished she had stayed home. As her smile falls away, Harry’s only grows wider. He’s grinning down at her as he moves his whole body to face her.

“Ciao!” The bartender starters, not noticing her discomfort at seeing Harry. He begins to ask what she would like in Italian, but her eyes widen even further. He’s speaking far too fast for her and she blushed in embarrassment. In her fluster, she forgets to even try French and she just stares dumbfoundedly at the handsome man behind the bar, who’s now looking at her with great curiosity. Harry has watched the entire thing and chuckles behind his glass. She has no attention span left to allow her to even try and guess what he’s drinking.

He interjects for her, actually saving her any more embarrassment, surprisingly. “She doesn’t speak Italian. She’s from the French side and new in town, so she hasn’t been able to refine her Italian.” The bartender gives a smile and nod of understanding in her way and she wishes she knew what Harry had just said. Whatever it is makes the bartender switch to French for her and her jaw goes from being dropped back into a normal position.

“What can I get for you, mademoiselle?” He transitions smoothly and she smiles, his French accent sounding practically perfect. She’s recomposed herself, but Harry is still watching her intently, like a reality television show that he can’t wait for the trainwreck finale to occur on.

After she orders, the bartender gives her a wink and then walks off to get what he needs to begin preparing her drink. Harry slides over, eliminating the courteous one seat between them. Her eyes watch the movement and she refrains from the letting out the sigh festering in her chest. She really had hoped he would not be here tonight, at least that’s what she believed. She truly felt embarrassed that the night after Harry had accused her of never going out, he had seen her out. But it also was nice not to be sitting in the bar alone. It seemed that Harry had been sitting alone at the bar before she had come in,  but she also wasn’t Harry and didn’t know how much enjoyment she would have  gotten out of being alone.

“I see my words had some effect on you.” He says out of the corner of his mouth after running his tongue over the bottom of his lip. Her scoff once again dies in her throat because she knows he’s right and he knows it too. There is no being proud right now. He essentially caught her red handed.

“Thought I’d come out and see what all the fuss was about. I see you’re alone tonight, but I assume that’s how most nights go.”

“You should know by now that is simply not true.”

“Just because you leave with someone doesn’t mean you come with someone.”

“I guess…” He trails off.

She picks up when he doesn’t seem to have any more of a response. “How do you even meet people here? Isn’t it all locals?”

“Not always. Not all of the people here are locals tonight,” He scans the crowd. “She’s visiting...So is she...that whole group actually. Look French. So we’ve got a group from Nice tonight…” He looks a bit more. “Eh, that looks like it tonight, but still. It’s plenty.” He finishes with a smirk and she grimaces, understanding the meaning behind his words.

The bartender returns with her White Russian, which Harry had cocked his head at, but had kept his opinion to himself for once. Expecting Roman to return to their conversation, Harry turns his attention back to him, but he is only greeted with the side of his head because Roman is still staring at Y/N. He coos something to her in French, that Harry can’t pick up and his nostrils flare when she emits a giggle following their exchange. The two people he was last talking to were now ignoring him to talk to each other. How rude.

After another moment without their attention, he huffs loudly. Roman seems too entranced in Y/N to notice, but her eyes slide over to him. “Yes?” She inquires, albeit disdainfully.

Harry isn’t sure what to say to her now that he’s gained her attention. He was on his second drink and her stare has made his mind go blank. All he had wanted was for her to stop flirting with Roman so that she’d pay attention to him. But he hadn’t thought of his next step yet. He takes a sip of his beer to grant him a little more time and she rolls her eyes at his action. His mind rattles through possible things to say, but every single one is coming up as not good enough.

“I used to be in a band.”

Her head tilts and she swivels more to Harry. His comment is unexpected and rather intriguing. She had expected something annoying or rude. Truly she had just expected him to say “Nothing” once he had swallowed his drink so he could distract her from enjoying her night.

“You were in a band?” She asks incredulously, her voice pitching slightly higher than normal. While Harry was many things, including handsome, she just didn’t think he had the right persona to be in a band. He dressed like a grandfather most days and he tended to a little shoe shop, he didn’t come off as a guy who would enjoy traveling around performing. The constant praise would be on brand though, she conceded.

Harry nods and bites back his smile, knowing he had struck the perfect chord. “I was...it only took off in the UK but we were pretty popular.” He boasts.

“So what do you play?”

Harry’s eyes widen, expecting more of a question about the name of the band or something. “Well, it was, like, a boy band…” He says.

She was taking a sip of her drink and she contained her little laugh behind her glass. Another hum as she swallows the liquid that burns her throat a bit. “Oh. Interesting. So no instruments.”

“Well I can play a bit of guitar and piano!” He adds quickly, seeing her eyes shift away from him, like she thinks the conversation is over. “I was thinking of trying a solo thing, but then plans changed...”

“And now you’re here?”

He echoes her, affirming the question. “Now I’m here and I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t miss it then?”

“Didn’t say that. I miss it at times, but this is where my life took me and I’m happy to be here. Maybe happier than I ever was in the band.” His eyes stare at the liquid in his glass and he swirls it lightly, determined to study the way it moves as he ponders something quite personal to him. He never really talked about his past with anyone here. Saying he was in a band and retrospecting that time are two very different things to share with someone. She’s just watching him now, not trying to make a quip or bug him. His demeanor shows that’s not something he’s very interested in hearing right now.

She experimentally puts a finger on his knee when it seems that he’ll never raise his gaze from his glass. His eyes move down to the tiny pressure he feels and sees her painted nail poking in to him. His tongue darts across his lower lip as he raises his head to meet her eyes. He notices the sparkle in them, she finds amusement in the childish gesture and so does he.

“I do miss the stage though,” he admits, smiling more now. “Performing. It was like nothing else.” Instead of a sad state of mind, his look is far more wistful now and she actually feels the smile growing on her face.

“You’ll have to sing for me sometime, then.” She says resolutely after taking the last bit of her drink and then pushing the glass across the bar. Roman had wandered off, much to Harry’s pleasure, but now they both needed another round so she was looking for him.

Harry slides over a chair so that they’re sat side by side. He had originally done it to reach across her for a napkin, but then hadn’t retreated to his original seat after he was successful. They talk as they drink, but most of it seems to be flirtatious teasing even if neither of them recognize that fully. Harry just wanted her attention earlier and now he found that he wanted to keep talking to her all night. It was a Friday and usually he would be looking for someone to take home. The group of women at a table that he had observed were visitors would be a perfect place to start his quest, but that wasn’t on his mind. He liked watching the different shades of blush Y/N’s face kept turning as she drank more and how silly she was getting with each passing drink.

She was enjoying her time out, she had only gotten wine drunk in the confines of her little home since she’d been in the little border town. And that endeavour was all by herself. It was much more fun when you had someone to talk to, so joking around with Harry was a nice surprise. She no longer felt embarrassed about showing up after he had teased her for never going out earlier today. Now she felt empowered, like she could come to the bar whenever she pleased. He was nicer than she had realized. His hand was quick to encircle her back respectfully when she laughed a little too hard at a joke and began to tip off her stool. His smile was genuine and his eyes didn’t flit over her body more than once. His jokes were funnier than she had first thought or maybe that was just the alcohol clouding her mind, that one she wasn’t sure about. But, truthfully, Harry was exceeding expectations tonight and being a stand up human being for once, in her eyes.

A couple at the end of the bar, locals, watched on as the shoemaker and the bookkeeper threw back their heads in boisterous laughter and placed their hands on each other chastely. The older women smiled to themselves as Y/N smacked Harry’s bicep after an especially cheeky joke he told her. They were going to have a field day with this interaction once they told their friends tomorrow morning.

After drink three, she definitely felt drunk. Not completely out of it and can’t walk drunk, but I haven’t drank anything stronger than wine in months so three cocktails are kind of hitting me drunk. And because of that buzz that’s enclosed her mind and body, it makes perfect sense to her that Harry’s hand is resting casually on her knee as they talk. It also makes perfect sense to her to cross her legs, causing two things to happen. Harry’s hand shifts up further on her thigh and her boot is now dangling right next to Harry’s shin. The fabric of his cream linen trousers look especially soft and so the next logical move in her mind is to rub her foot against the fabric. She hooks around her foot easily and the patent leather of her shoe slips softly against the pant leg that flows over Harry’s calf.

He hums lowly at the feeling, but makes no other notion to acknowledge what she is doing. After the hum he gets back to the story he’s telling her about his boat. She had been extremely interested in the boat initially, but not she was transfixed on the feeling of the fabric slipping past her boot. When he shifts his leg, absentmindedly or not, she almost squeaks because this movement has Harry’s foot brushing around her ankle. The footsy was occurring without any acknowledgement of it besides small sounds the two had made in their chests. No knowing looks, just the presence of each other’s bodies against one another.

He had switched to a Manhattan after his second beer for some reason that she didn’t ask, but he was enjoying it nonetheless. When she slipped her foot against his calf, it had sent a spark of electricity from the point of contact up to his alcohol muddled head. It felt nice so he went with it.

Around midnight the two of them were practically in each other’s laps, nursing their fourth round. Brains a million miles away while their glassy eyes stared at each other. Harry’s arm nestled around her waist while hers played with the stir stick in his glass. Their heads inches away, closer than they’d ever been before.

Somehow they decided they should walk home about then. Maybe Harry had checked his phone and decided he was done. Maybe she had glanced at the clock above the bar and realized she needed to go to bed. Either way, they slammed down the last bits of their drinks and stumbled into the street. With only each other to hold them up, they had some trouble gaining their balance. They could walk just fine if they wanted to be serious, but Harry kept trying to step literally on her toes and she kept throwing all her weight into his side. Both of their actions would cause them to stumble one way or another along the empty streets. Their blurred minds thankfully didn’t get them lost, but the travel time back to their places was far greater than the travel time to the bar initially.

Finally arriving at the border of Italy and France, their shops and homes, she stared up at Harry under the glow of the streetlamp across the street. His hair looked more dark brown than his usual caramel chestnut in the light. His linen outfit billowed across his pectorals that were exposed. A tan golden color that he seemed to maintain from his frequent runs and trips on his boat. His jaw had a bit more stubble on it now, his morning shave no longer sleek on his skin. His mustache was still the most prominent bit of facial hair he had and she wondered what he might look like without it. She also thought if she’d ever kissed a man with a mustache, her mind was pretty sure she hadn’t.

As she stared, she moved from his side and took a step closer to her door. His hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her and bringing her attention to his eyes. He dropped her hand and stepped closer to her. They had been laughing about some weird encounter she had in Nice the other week. But now their laughter had faded out, the conversation all but forgotten.

“Hi.” She says meekly.

“Hi,” Harry laughs.

“I had fun tonight,” she muses and takes a step forward. She began swinging her arms back and forth, rocking on her feet. She felt antsy now that it was so quiet. The silence made her realize it was really just her and Harry together right now. Which wasn’t unusual, they had been alone together plenty of times. Maybe it was the time of night, but it felt far more intimate to her this time which made her squirm a little. Why was she nervous with Harry right now?

Harry nods and laughs again at her actions. “Yeah, you’re not so bad.”

Neither of them realized the proximity of their bodies until her hand swung a little higher and hit Harry’s hip bone. “Oh! Sorry!” She moves to take a step back, but Harry grabs her hand once again and tugs her even closer. Bringing them chest to chest under the lamp light. Her eyes flicker between where their bodies touch and Harry’s face. He’s looking down at her sweetly, gently. She feels safe with the way he’s looking at her. The warmth radiating from him was a nice contrast to the dark cold of night. The open expanse of skin that lived between the two sides of his mostly unbuttoned shirt seemed to have the most heat coming off of it. He had a jade cross that hung between the two muscles and she almost reached out to play with it. If it hadn’t been so dark and she hadn’t been so inebriated she would have realized the color matched his eyes almost exactly.

He’s not quite sure what he’s doing, but for some reason it feels like he might kiss her. The mood that was set by their surroundings made it sound right. Romantic even. Her lips look precious too, plump and puckered, flushed from alcohol and the brisk night air. They look a little glossy too from the last time she had wet them. He wanted to feel them for himself. His head ducks to move his lips to touch hers.

Upon registering his movement, she moves her hand from his grasp and places it on his chest, causing him to take a small step back.

“I think...I think this should be goodnight, Harry.” She breathes out. She’s trying to clear her mind enough to have conviction in her decision.

After a little intake of air, less than a gasp, Harry agrees, running a hand through his hair, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Her hand slips from his warm chest, immediately curling in on itself to maintain the warmth his body had just provided. She watches her tendons in her hand ripple before looking back at Harry with heavy eyes. He doesn’t seem to want to make eye contact with her, but she’s determined to leave on a good note.

“Thank you, Harry.” He looks up from beneath his lashes at his name, like a shy toddler. “You gave me the push to face a fear of mine.” With her final words she crosses the little distance between them once again and places a chaste kiss to his cheek. Immediately, his cheek flushes and she can feel the heat beneath her lips, as well as the light prickle of his stubble. Harry swallows, causing his Adam's apple to bob quickly, at the contact. His senses get overloaded with the sweet kiss and the smell of her perfume. It all swims through his consciousness.

She smiles as she pulls away and then turns to let herself into her place without another word. Once unlocked, she gives one last glance to Harry who’s also busying himself with opening his door. She doesn’t see that his free hand is caressing over his cheek where her lips had just been.

-

The next day, she woke up and groaned feeling the stiffness in her body. Especially her head. Oh god, her head. It was like she was back in college, but worse because she wasn’t as young. At least she didn’t have to roll out of bed for an 8 am lecture. For that, she was thankful. Still, the pounding needed to stop or subside at least. Grumbling, she threw her legs off the side of her bed, the fuzzy socks she had slipped on in her drunken stupor settled on the hardwood. She dragged her body to her window and raised the shade. Her window was fogged from the difference in temperature outside and in her room. Kneeling down, she began to pull open the window, in need of the cool fresh air on her clammy skin. Three drinks, or was it four? She couldn’t remember, either way, it was too many.

Her eyes glanced around the view of the window. It wasn’t much since it was so close to the building right next door. Peaking up, she could see the already clouded sky. To the left she could see the street and to the right was more buildings. The scene most easily accessible was the window right across from her. The shade was mostly closed, a little bit of the floor could be seen where Harry hadn’t lowered it completely. It was just the same hardwood as what she sat on staring back at her. She sat there, breathing in the crisp morning air. After a night of drinking, she usually woke up rather early, today was no different.

It dawned on her, far too slowly, that a pair of feet had entered the plain hardwood scene she had been staring at outside her window. A tiny stage now filled with two matching characters. The pair of feet were tanned and large. Little tattoos seemed to be sprinkled both on the toes and the ankles of the feet. She couldn’t read them even if she tried. But upon realizing what these feet might be doing, she had been discouraged from staring any longer. Still, her brain was foggy and her body was not nearly quick enough to hide her from view as the owner of the feet did something to open his shade as well. Then, once again, like deja vu, she was staring at her naked neighbor. Thankfully, this time, he had briefs adorning his hips to keep covering the part of him that would keep her up for weeks trying to forget again. The briefs were, just that. Brief. Low on the hips and barely touching his thighs, it seemed they really only existed to keep that one appendage covered. Still, she had to tear her eyes away from the lower half of his body and let the embarrassment wash over her when she met his eyes.

The knowing smirk of his has him nibbling at the inside of his cheek. She had been checking him out. It was a nice confidence boost after last night. The awkwardness of her stopping him from kissing her had him spiraling in his mind when he went to bed. He didn’t know why he had even tried to kiss her in the first place, probably just because he was drunk. Yeah, he was drunk and feeling needy on a friday night. That’s what it was and she had been there.

He’d have to thank her today for putting a stop to that colossal mistake. They were barely just friends, he hated to think what would happen if he’d done something so reckless as to kiss her out of the blue. Still, he couldn’t shake the thought in the back of his mind that he had gotten the vibe from somewhere. Why else would his drunken mind tell him to kiss her under the glow of the lamp light. He thought back to the bar and what they had talked about. He wouldn’t categorize it as overly flirty. He thought back to their physical interactions at the bar, okay, maybe his hand on her thigh and her playing with his drink was a little flirtatious. But that could be boiled down to him being close to hear her in the bar and her idle fingers wanting something to do while she was drunk. The footsy, though. He wasn’t sure if he could explain that one away. Instead, he would choose to ignore it. If he didn’t think about it, did it actually happen? Was it something he had to worry about? Not in his mind.

Returning his focus to the girl in the window across from him, his smirk was now fully fleshed out on his face. She was still sitting on her knees as Harry looked down at her and if they were in the same room this might have seemed like a rather compromising position. Her cheeks were still red, noticing the difference in height, she clambered to her feet.

“G’morning,” Harry’s voice is groggy and deep. Scratchy almost from the alcohol he had drank last night. It rings through her ears lowly and seems to have her blushing even more. It’s a different feeling than how his voice used to make her feel.

“Hey,” She clears her throat before responding, not wanting her morning voice to crack in front of Harry. Usually she would talk to herself a bit or sing along to her music before going downstairs, not wanting her first customers to hear her as if she just woke up. For some reason, she makes a little wave along with her greeting, feeling especially awkward at this moment. Harry chuckles and repeats her motion. His large hands mimicking the same daunting motion makes her laugh and releases some of the nervous energy she had been holding in her body.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he openly flirts, placing one hand on his naked torso and the other against the frame of the window, leaning towards her. His movement flexes just about every muscle in his body and she keeps her eyes trained on his face, determined not to be caught gawking once more.

A roll of her eyes and she’s back to staring straight into his green ones that he’s still blinking awake. “It’s almost like we’re neighbors.”

He scrunches his nose at her deadpan. “You’re no fun,” he mutters.

She sighs, “I’m fucking hungover after last night…” and runs a hand through her tousled hair.

Her foot rests itself over her other, causing her hip to just out slightly. The movement of her body that accentuated her curves and her words have Harry blushing now. The red flowers at the center of his chest and begins to spread up his neck and cheeks. He’s once again presented with the almost kiss last night.

“Big night out for you,” he laughs, “I’ll admit I don’t usually drink that much, bit of a lightweight myself.”

She only hums in response, her fingers beginning to twiddle with the hem of her t-shirt. It reminds her of what she is precisely dressed in. The big t-shirt and tiny pajama shorts that Harry can’t even see are the only things on her body besides the socks on her feet. She glances down at her legs and takes in the expanse of fleshy skin that is showing just below the shirt. Harry’s eyes follow hers and admires the skin there, wondering what it would feel like underneath his big hands.

“I should probably start getting ready for the day,” She says finally, shaking herself from the random thoughts flitting around her mind about bare thighs and the man across from her. “Are you open today?”

Harry emits a noise from the back of his throat at her question. He draws his arm back from the window and stands up straight. His head tilts as he thinks about her question, his mind still muddled this morning.

“Er..no, actually. I was planning on going out on the boat today, switching my closed day to today instead of tomorrow. Why?”

“I’m in need of shoe repair,” she smiles, her eyes catching the glimmer of the sun starting to peak out. Harry swears it’s her eyes genuinely sparkling on their own accord. “But if you’re out today, it can wait.” She begins to walk away from the window to go to another room in her apartment.

“No!” Harry steps forward, but is restricted by the screen, which keeps him from falling out of his window. She swivels around, looking at him curiously. “I can - you can just come over. I’ll fix it up for you before I head out.”

“Really?” She’s truly surprised that Harry would do such a nice thing for her. She knew they were getting along better, but for him to open shop just for her repair seemed overly nice.

“I mean,” and Harry’s once again blushing under her gaze and he’s hoping she can’t see it. “What are neighbors for?”

“I guess,” she’s still unsure. He seems like he’s nervous, his body tenses and one of his hands twisted in his curls. Harry’s so weird. “Thanks.”

-

She jogs the short distance from her front door to Harry’s once she’s ready. The pair of deep teal almost navy loafers she needed new soles in - she was pretty sure - in hand. A red pinstripe blouse half buttoned falling over her figure perfectly, hugging the right spots and flowing over the others. She’s in white jeans today that are flared slightly but also cropped. As it gets closer to Halloween she keeps having to remind herself not to dress festive and it’s a struggle everyday.

When she reaches the door, it doesn’t open. The cream door doesn’t budge as she tempts the handle with her free hand. She looks between the handle and the inside of the shop. Her eyes search for Harry’s figure. She had been inside his shop only a handful of times, never for a repair before. Maybe less than a handful, once to check it out and once again when she thought she needed a new pair of shoes and then decided against it. Oh, and that one time she went over to yell at him about something. Maybe the planters, maybe the shade, she couldn’t remember anymore.

Now that she thought about it, she had been in the bookshop once more. Two and a half years ago when she had visited the little border town for the first time. It was a little fuzzy for a memory, but she was sure she had at least peaked into the shoe shop after her lengthy visit with Marie the second day there. It looked just as it did now, maybe it used to be a little more vibrant, but she couldn’t be sure. She remembered an older man in the shop greeting her in Italian and her offering her sad ‘Ciao’. Back then she was even worse at Italian. He had looked at her with kind eyes and a sweet smile. It was a similar lopsided grin that she had now grown accustomed to on another man’s face. After beckoning her over to him the old man had turned away from her and shouted into the back of the store in quick Italian. It blew over her head completely. There must have been someone in the back of the shop who he had talked to. She was sure of it, because after she had perused the cute boots and shoes he kept, she saw a swish of hair coming around the counter. It was just as she was turning around to exit the shop, after she had bid farewell to the man she now connected as Joe. Whoever it was had long hair and was tall, slinking out into the main shop floor. The mysterious stranger was whoever Joe had shouted to in the back.

Y/N wasn’t the quickest when it came to timelines and how people could change over time. She didn’t connect the year she had visited with the year of someone else's arrival or the same chestnut waves cascading around someone’s face, just now much shorter. It made perfect sense who would be in the back of the store, but for some reason the idea of time and hair length were standing in this girl’s way. Oh well, maybe Harry would spell it out to her someday.

Harry finally rounds the counter that separated the back room to the front. The shoe shop was set up a little different from the bookstore. Her counter was right when you came in while Harry’s was about halfway through the shop. He shakes his head and laughs at her expression. The sound brings her out of her memory as well as a grimace on her face.

“Sorry, I was a million years away.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘a million miles away’, love.” Harry continues chuckling while correcting the girl in front of him.

She holds up her pair of shoes, ignoring his teasing. “Fix my shoes, shoe man.”  

His smile drops and he walks back from the door. His feet taking back steps as he beckons her into the interior of the shop. When they reach the corner, he takes the shoes from her hands and places them between their bodies. The teal loafers stare up at them. Harry inspects them, a serious expression falling over his features. His brows scrunch together slightly, the wrinkles in his forehead growing more prominent as he examines the shoes. Large hands reach out and begin to finger over the patent leather on the top and the leather soles. After a few minutes of silent deliberation, he places down one of the shoes and then holds the other up as if to showcase it.

“These,” he juts out the shoe in his hand, “need new soles. What did you do to ‘em?”

“I wear them a lot.” She insists while Harry looks on quizzically.

“I’ve never seen you wear these.”

Her brow quirks at his comment. “I wore them a lot before I got here,” she corrects. “They’ve been feeling wonky every time I try to wear them, must be because they need new soles.”

Harry nods, now satisfied with her answer. He hums, regarding the teal shoe in his hand once again. “Alright.”

She looks at him confused once again. “Alright what? Can you fix them?” What does he mean by ‘Alright’? “I’ve honestly missed wearing them these past few months.”  

Harry bites his tongue, a quip ready to be voiced. He’d gotten so used to fighting with her, he was confused how it had slipped away all so easily. His fear of them not talking if they stopped fighting didn’t seem to come to fruition so he could rest easy on that front. But now he was going to have to retrain his brain not to be rude after every comment Y/N made.

“Yeah, of course.” He sighs, placing the shoe next to its mate and then turning his face to her. She had been chewing on her bottom lip, actually worried for her shoes. They really were her favorites. She’d had them forever and it would be heartbreaking if they had to be thrown out. If she couldn’t wear them though she was almost sure she’d just let them collect dust in her closet rather than dispose of them if it really came down to it.

“But it’s like a good amount of my day to replace soles…”

Her face falls, but she tries to hide it. She knew Harry was doing a favor by taking a look right now. If he could fix them it didn’t matter when he did it. What he says next though truly throws her off. No normal enemy-ship turned somewhat friendship overnight would engage in what Harry was about to propose. If any such relationship other than her and Harry actually existed.

“Do you want to come out on my boat today?” His brow arches, his lips in a soft smile, he’s being genuine.

“Why would I do that?” Her brows raise along with her voice, taken off guard by his suggestion.

“More fun waiting for me to fix your shoes on a boat than in your shop.” He says simply before taking the shoes and placing them in a little cubby hole behind the counter for safe keeping. “Trust me, you’ll love it.” Her expression doesn’t change. “Just say yes,” He pleads now.

She sighs, “Fine.” All of the reasons not to go out on Harry’s boat are at the forefront of her mind, but she still finds herself saying yes easily. His pleading really wasn’t necessary to get her to agree. The bookstore could live with being closed today, it wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

[joaquinpacio]

LOONA’s Color Psychology

Colors serve as the extension of our personality and a way to express ourselves to others. For artists, colors can help connect their work to their audience. These can be either subtle elements or even elements which stand out in their outputs. Regardless of medium, proper use of color is important in all aspects of our lives, physical and digital.

K-Pop, at first, I looked down upon this genre of pop culture. Until I inevitably got obsessed with it, but not for the reasons why many people are into the genre. When the rest pay attention to the artist in their music videos, I pay attention to the camera movements, angles, transitions, lighting, and many more details placed in the production. One particular group stands out for such attention to detail in both performance and aesthetic, Blockberry Creative's "Girl of the Month" (kr: 이달의 소녀), or widely known to the world as "LOONA". Thus, for this activity I decided to go over the color psychology in LOONA’s music videos.

Before debuting as the full group, Loona debuted each of it's members with a solo album beginning October of 2016 until December of 2018, giving them a spotlight to showcase their charms and talents. This project was so ambitious that each member has even been assigned a representative color, animal, and even fruits. For this activity we will be looking into only 10 out of the 12 music videos as per required for our activity, but I will leave a link to all of the members' solo albums below.

*Disclaimer - There are some of these shots in which a member is not primarily showcasing their representative color assignments*

Heejin - “Vivid”  - Yellow

In this particular shot we can see the artist, Heejin with a yellow outfit within a yellow painted room with accents of blue in other areas of the room. This gives off a vibe of optimism, positivity, and freshness. Being the first girl to be officially under Loona, delivering a fresh concept to the scene.

Haseul - “Let Me In”  - Grey

We're going to fast forward to the third member Haseul, with her solo music video entitled "Let Me In". This shot is mostly gray and and black colored, giving off the feeling of dullness and bitter cold, and isolation. This music video was actually filmed in Iceland.

Vivi - “Everyday I Love You” - Pink

Winding it back to a 90's themed aesthetic, Vivi's charm can be clearly seen in this shot with accents of bright pink and light blue in this shot are usually common colors used when doing retro concepts. These bright colors help express Vivi's softness, kindess, and love.

Kim Lip - “Eclipse” - Red

With her representative color being Red, Kim Lip seems to express it with ease as the intense color of red associates to confidence, authority and passion. Similar to pink, red can also express feelings of a more passionate and mature form of romance.

Jinsoul - “Singing in the Rain”  - Blue

A music video filled with never ending blue, Jinsoul's serene and cool charms are seen in this shot, delivering calmness and depth. As blue is my personal favorite color, Jinsoul is also actually my bias among the Loona members!

Choerry - “Love, Cherry, Motion”  - Purple

Purple can be associated with ambition, mystery, and magic. This shot from Choerry's music video delivers such eccentric feelings, detaching our thoughts from reality with such abundance of purple in her music video. As one of the youngest members of the group, Purple is indeed the perfect representative color given her cheerful and whimsical nature.

Yves - “new”  - Orange

With the color orange having the energy as passionate as red and as bright as yellow, Yves can be seen in this shot dancing with such enthusiasm you just cannot turn away from her.

Chuu - “Heart Attack”  - Green

While green can mostly be associated with wealth and harmony, it's negative effects give off feelings of envy, greed, and inexperience. Though Chuu wants to gain Yves' attention by offering her a green apple, perhaps it would be better if she tried different methods to gain her attention.

Go Won - “One&Only”  - White

Wearing a white dress which represents purity and innocence, Go Won seems to be scared as two dark shadows approach her. As black can be associated to evil and mystery, perhaps she intends to remain pure.

Olivia Hye - “Egoist”  - Black

Taking place in an abandoned factory, lay Olivia Hye in a black outfit. As mysterious as the shot looks, the abundance of black gives a feeling of mystery, somewhat evil and perhaps death.

________________________________________________________________

Looking back to these shots, the use of color psychology in the production of these videos helped affect the way we see the girls and their individual charms. Though we may not feel it most of the time, colors can and will make us feel things and help connect one another. As a Communications student, regardless of profession I may take up soon, be it photography, videography, perhaps both, understanding color psychology is essential when creating various outputs so that there is a connection between the audience and me when I showcase my work.

Should you want to view these videos for yourself, you may open this Youtube playlist below: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-FCYE87P5L0&list=PLn1GA3tkejwAufhKKo7DDhPIGf1Xeb0V7 STAN LOONA! Video Footage taken from Loona’s Official Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCOJplhB0wGQWv9OuRmMT-4g