#i am not naming them noir

[monpetitchattriste]

No thoughts just them

My thoughts:

[soullessjack]

oh my god if alternate adrien was like That then what the hell would alternate felix be like

[ranger-danger]

Okay working on the film noir fic. It’s not a whodunnit, it’s a thriller. Kane will be eating Shadowheart out. Have a nice afternoon.

[mervynbunter]

Peter Cheyney, Dance Without Music (1947)

[buggachat]

The change of Shadybug and Claw Noir's costumes at the end makes so much sense, both thematically and lore-wise. The show has told us time and time again that the costumes that the characters wear are a reflection of themselves— how they feel in the moment, how they see themselves, the energy they carry. Of course their costumes would change at such a monumental moment of character growth. Of course Shadybug would want to look more like Ladybug, the version of herself that she wants to be. Of course Claw Noir would want to get rid of his spikes and look more like himself, to seem less intimidating, to let his natural hair color show. Of course they would want to change their names, to shed their association with their previous selves, where they were merely tools being used and disrespected and left to rot by the being they trusted, the being that saw them as nothing more than dispensable cogs in a machine. Of course they'd want to start fresh. This makes so much sense that there really is no alternate ending that would've worked, and if I were a writer on the special, I wouldn't change it.

that being said, FUCK their new designs claw noir and shadybug will always be claw noir and shadybug and he'll always have green hair and spikes and she'll always have space buns i don't care i don't care i don't care. adrien deserves spikes and marinette just looks so good in space buns ok i am on my knees sobbing and punching the floor

[stevesgother]

absolutely obsessed with chalkboard hearts! it’s such a sweet series!

would we perhaps be able to see smth smutty? like maybe the night after their wedding or even their first time together?

love u!!

thanks so much for reading! i decided to go with the latter, so here is steve and reader's first time together <3 steve harrington x fem!reader from the chalkboard hearts au, but can definitely be read as a standalone. cw: SMUT, p in v, oral (f receiving), language

"This is really quiet the bachelor pad you got here, Harrington."

You tease him as you take in the surroundings of your boyfriend's kitchen for the first time. It'd took some convincing to let dinner be at his place this week. He'd just finished cooking you a delicious meal-- salmon with white rice and lemon-- and insisting that you not touch a single thing. Just sit there and look pretty.

"Not really a bachelor pad anymore, is it?" He observes as he takes another sip of his pinot noir. You'd never taken Steve Harrington to be the type of man who knew which wines paired well with fish, but here he'd surprised you again. He seemed to be full of them these days.

"I think we'd have to be married for it not to be," you swear he blushes, "but it's a lot cleaner than I thought it'd be!"

"Ouch," he places a hand over his chest in faux offense, "You saying you thought I'd be a slob?"

"I'm saying, you're a single man in his mid-twenties," you laugh at his dramatics.

"My mom was sort of a neat freak, I guess," he admits, a little more subdued this time as he picks at what's left of his salmon with his fork, "The house barely looked lived in most of the time."

His parents seemed like a consistently sore subject, or at least one that wasn't reminisced on with much joy. You attempt to lighten his mood, "Well, my house always looks like the Tasmanian Devil blew through it-- you know you're always welcome there."

A sense of pride blooms in your chest when Steve cracks a grin, "Yeah, Abbey seems to have that effect everywhere she goes. My classroom isn't much better by the end of the day." He chuckles.

"Sorry about that," you wince at your daughter's apparently incessant need to make everywhere she goes an absolute pigsty, but he waves you off.

"You all done, sweetheart?" Steve asks as he stands to rinse his own mostly empty plate. Now, it's your turn to blush at the usage of the pet name-- still something you're not quite used to hearing directed towards you.

"Yeah," you tell him bashfully, "Yeah, I am. Thank you."

The smile you flash him is more than enough thanks, if you ask him. Burning with the power of a thousand sunrises: enough to light a fire behind his ribs.

He really did go all out for this date. The button-down dress shirt is evidence enough as he rolls the sleeves up to his elbows in an effort to keep them dry as he rinses your plates free of food.

The muscles in his forearms flex deliciously beneath the fabric with every movement he makes; you trace a vein from his hand all the way to wear it disappears underneath his sleeve, thinking about all the different ways those hands could--

"It's rude to stare, you know," Steve tells you without look, snapping you out of your daze.

"I-- sorry, I, uhm--" You scramble, feeling suddenly flustered and hot in the face.

"Hey," he says, abandoning the dishes in favor of comforting you, "I'm just teasing. You can stare all you want." Steve's lips are a mere breath away from yours when his sentence finishes; they're simply too tempting not to close the distance.

The kiss is tender at first, loving; but morphs quickly into something more consuming. His mouth tastes fruity and rich-- red wine, and something else that's ineffably Steve when his tongue laves over yours.

It's not long before hands begin to roam; Steve's large palm needing the plump of your backside, skating down your torso and inching dangerously close to the apex of your thighs. His mouth develops an interest in the tenderness of your neck-- that spot just below your earlobe. You can't help the breathy sigh that escapes you when he nips there.

"Have I showed you my bedroom yet?" Steve pants when his lips detach from your neck.

"Smooth," you chuckle.

"I'm serious!" He laughs back; you swear his eyes sparkle. "Cleaned it just for you." You yelp as he hoists you up; quickly taking the hint, you wrap your legs around his waist and let him carry you.

Neither of you were the wiser, but you'd both anticipated this might happen tonight. You, anxiously shaving in the shower and wasting an extra hour of hot water; and Steve, rushing home from work to shove miscellaneous piles of clothes into his closet and slamming the door shut.

And he wasn't lying, he did clean. Not that you have anything to compare it to, but you get a moment to look around when he plops you down onto his mattress; it was cute, albeit poorly decorated.

"Why do you have a bowling pin on your desk?"

He rubs at the nape of his neck, "I've just always had it, I guess,"

"it's cute," you reassure him, "you're cute."

"Cute enough to let me kiss you a little more?"

"Maybe," you say, quieter; the duvet ruffling under your head where you lie down in order to accommodate Steve as he crowds over you.

He wastes no time diving back in. You take the liberty of unbuttoning his shirt for him as he works open your blouse, revealing a cream, satin bra.

"You wear this for me?" Steve breathes as his fingers brush your pebbled nipple beneath the silk.

"So what if I did?"

He groans into your mouth, using his free hand to unhook the only barrier standing between him and what he wants. The second the previously unexplored skin is exposed; his hips begin to rut with a mind of their own. Your leg's part to make space for him.

The hardness of him against your core wasn't something you'd realized you needed so desperately until now; it's enough to have you keening.

Before you can process it, Steve's face is pressed between the valley of your breasts, planting soft kisses there before taking one of your buds into his mouth. He spends a considerable amount of time there before moving further south, nipping and savoring your freshly exposed skin as he goes.

"Can I take these off?" He asks with his hands fiddling at the hem of your pants, looking up at you through his lashes like he knows it's your personal kryptonite.

"Yeah..." your voice trembles and you hope he doesn't notice. It's been over five years since anyone's touched you like this, and no one's ever worshipped you quite like this. Not like Steve.

Steve grabs your hand in the gentlest show of affection, his brows marrying in the middle of his forehead, "Is this what you want?"

"Yes-- yes, sorry, I'm just nervous," you breathe, "it's been...a long time."

"Hey, me too," he reassures, "you're safe with me, right? And I'm safe with you."

"Right," You agree, feeling the tension leave your body bit by bit.

"Good," you pants and underwear begin their slow descent down your thighs, "Just relax, baby, let me take care of you--" That last part is muffled as he buries his nose in the folds of your cunt, licking a wide stripe upward.

He laps at you for what feels like hours, nosing at your clit and opening you up in preparation for him. Steve doesn't let up until you're clenching around his middle and index finger, back arching off his cotton sheets with a desperate cry of his name.

By the time he separates himself from your soaked core, you're so desperate for his mouth again that you reach forward to yank him down onto you. He chuckles into your mouth-- now he tastes of only you.

You palm him where he's noticeably tenting in his slacks, he quickly takes the hint and unbuttons them as he hovers over you.

"Yeah? You want this cock, baby?"

You have to stifle a gasp, "Harrington, you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Steve had been ever the gentleman since the moment you'd met him; almost too timid, sometimes. Hearing him speak such filthy words was jarring to say the least.

"Sorry--" Steve winces, "Was that...was that not? I can--"

You have to pinch his cheeks together to get him to stop spiraling, "Never said I didn't like it," he relaxes a bit, face flushing, "I don't want you to force it, though. Say whatever feels right."

"Yeah, okay," he whispers.

Wordlessly this time, Steve reaches for the top drawer of his nightstand and pulls from it's confines a silver packet. He tears it open with his teeth.

You don't catch yourself before saying, "That was hot."

"Hey, thanks," he breathes an airy chuckle.

It's only as he's rolling the condom on that you truly see how well-endowed he is. The Levi's he's always wearing don't leave a ton to the imagination, but this is a whole different ballgame. You were beginning to sweat, if you were being honest.

Steve hands are trembling slightly as he attempts to line himself up with your entrance, "You're shaking, Steve."

"I know, I'm sorry--"

Your hand on Steve's wrist halts his movements, your other palm gently stroking the stubble starting to grow on his cheeks. You plant a loving kiss on his forehead before urging him off of you and onto his back.

He stares up at you like a moth looking into a flame; his hair all mussed around the frame of his beautiful face.

"Just relax, baby," you echo his words from earlier, "I've got you."

There's almost no resistance when you sink down onto him, despite his size. A breathy whimper escapes you at the stretch and Steve's mouth opens in a silent 'Oh'.

His hands fly to your hips to prevent you from moving just yet, giving both of you time to adjust to the position. Your head finds a comfortable home in the crook of his neck where it junctions with his shoulder, his arms wrapping around the plain of your back to keep you tucked into him.

Steadily, you begin to meet each other's grinding in a rhythmic tempo. It's lazy and it's beautiful: like two souls entwining as one.

As he picks up speed, his thrusts begin to punch little sounds of ecstasy out of both of your open mouths. You urge him to look at you with a hand to his cheek, not wanting to miss his expression as you're both pushed closer to the edge.

"Are you close?" Steve asks through gritted teeth, planting his feet to pound into you harder.

"Yes, Steve-- don't stop--"

He doesn't deny you, not when you sound so sweet and wrecked on top of him. He staves off until he feels your velvety walls begin to squeeze him harder; his hand sliding between the slick of your bodies to circle your clit, giving you that extra push you need before you're finishing around him with a loud whine. Steve's thrusts falter, and you can tell he's close.

"I love you--" Steve grunts as he comes inside you with one last pump of his hips. He stills, only just registering what he's admitted.

You rise onto your elbows to meet his gaze, his eye's wide and pupils blown. Sweat beads at his hairline, just enough for on droplet to slide down his temple. You can practically see him trying to think of something-- anything to say.

"I'm sorry," he starts to backtrack, "You said to say-- you said 'what felt right' so I-"

"Did you mean it?"

"I... of course I meant it,"

"Then stop apologizing. I love you, Steve." Your face floods with warmth, "I think I've loved you for a long time."

"I love you," Steve whispers.

"Right, we've established that," you laugh affectionately.

"Do you want to stay tonight?" He asks in an almost trance-like state.

"If you'll have me," you brush the stray hairs that stick to the dampness of his forehead.

"I'll always have you."

taglist - @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name@ilovetaquitosmmmm @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @mrsnarnian @negomi123 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @jamdoughnutmagician @cali-888 @kolsmikaelson @1deverland @borhapparker @alexa4040 @chiliwhore @weonlysaidgoodbyewithwordss @paddockspookie42 @foxes-n-frogs @j-mlover383 @i-love-gfv @the-fairy-anon

[missconchshell]

I loved this new episode of Miraculous! Oh my gosh, I didn't even realize it was coming out, but I'm so happy it did!

I've never been too too attached to either Marc or Nathaniel, but this episode really won me over! It was neat getting to see both of their parents, and show just how much of a difference unconditional support can make. It really reminded of just how lucky I am that my own parents are so accepting.

I also love the contrast in the setting as well, with Nathaniel's family physically further apart, while Marc and his parents are all bunched together on the same couch. I feel like the show has been putting in a lot more care into framing and the setup of scenes this season, and I'm all for it!

Also, this is one of the first times I've seen their new designs up close, and I'm a huge fan! Love all the little details, like Marc's eye makeup, Nathaniel's self-painted shoes and his wavy little hairclip. Just look at the happy boy!

Now, onto the meat of the episode. Nathaniel's passions (and by association himself) being rejected by his parents did get me to tear up. It hurt and felt so real, I'm amazed to see this sorta thing in a show like Miraculous.

I felt so bad watching him destroy his work and try and force himself to conform to his parents' expectations. It was a very realistic picture of this type of struggle, and is definitely something I and I'm sure many others have struggled with before. And I was shocked at how blunt the writers got with the implied homophobia with lines from his mom about making Nathaniel "go straight."

Then once it got onto the mom being named Ruler, I just kinda started laughing, like, oh, they weren't gonna be subtle at all!

And dang Lila, willing to even use homophobia to get those miraculous. Tsk tsk.

The Akuma's power was definitely pretty creepy, like I hate these eyes so much, but Lila got really dang close to getting those miraculous this time, far more than any of Gabe's minion-based akumas! And despite this being the billionth time Chat Noir's been controlled, the physicality of the animation and voice acting did a decent job of making it funny.

It was also neat that the Akuma's powers got to be used against them, with Nathaniel finally stepping forth and taking back control from his mother (side note: I loved his transformation literally having him come out of the closet, the animators knew exactly what they were doing).

I know I've ignored them most of the episode, but I will say that Marinette and Adrien were adorable as usual! And I love that he feels comfortable enough with her to tease!

Then there was the ending. I'm so glad Nathaniel's parents came to accept his love of comics (and Marc). It was a sweet moment of acceptance that not everyone is lucky enough to have, so I'm glad we at least got a happy ending here.

I also really appreciate that little serious moment at the very end. I was expecting more Lila dialogue when the ominous music started playing, but having a serious moment where they discuss how they're attacked simply living their lives was a sad but pleasant surprise. It's cool that they're acknowledging a reality that so many people face every day. But I'm so glad these boys have each other in this!

And even if I know for a fact that the identity reveal is going to blow up in their faces one day based on the show's history, it still was so adorable and I loved the scene! Just the joy on each of their faces, knowing they're not alone, was so sweet!

Overall, I'm just really impressed with the writers this season! They're tackling a lot more serious topics in these one-off episodes, and honestly doing it far better than I ever expected from this silly love-square show. So many of these stories have resonated with me, and it's been really neat getting to see so much representation of different struggles. And it's especially cool to think about how these episodes could meaningfully impact the show's younger audience as well! These are the sorts of things I wish I saw more of growing up, it would have changed little miss shell's world for the better. So, keep up the good work Miraculous Team!

[kyunghwannie]

❝ Canvas Confidential ❞

Son Chaeyoung x M!Reader

➤ Tags: Paint Play/Body Art Kink (using paint as foreplay — on skin), Hair Pulling, Against the Wall Sex (Contain's throat hold), Face-Sitting, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk (Minimal), Creampie, Marking, Overstimulation, Anal Sex, Spit Play, Orgasm Denial, Rough Grinding, Soft-Dom!Chaeyoung (not full dom/sub, but she’s the one driving the fire tonight), Nipple Play, Sex on the Canvas.

➤ Setting: A secret underground art exhibit in Seoul — invite-only, showcasing anonymous artists who express “hidden desires” through experimental art. ➤ Note: Hehe, This is just a 2 am random thought i had while fantasizing Chaengie. So have it. It's nothing too major special? (Spoiler: And if anyone tease me about the name "Teddy Noir", iam gonna cry)

You (Y/N) are a renowned but anonymous visual artist known for raw, sensual portraits—faces never shown, but the emotions always screaming through paint. Your pieces are featured under the name "Teddy Noir" (a nod to your soft-yet-dark duality).

You receive a mysterious handwritten invitation for a private session in one of the exhibit’s "collaboration booths" — where two artists (anonymous, face-hidden) must co-create a piece over 3 hours, communicating only through art and body language, no speaking allowed.

You walk in… and across from you, the other artist? She’s wearing a paint-stained apron, low cap, and a smirk: Chaeyoung. You don’t recognize each other at first — just two anonymous creatives. But her brushstrokes are fiery, teasing, and intimate. Her energy flirts with yours through every color she lays on the canvas.

---

The elevator rattled as it descended deep beneath Seoul’s glitzy streets — past the subway lines, past the forgotten storage levels. No floor numbers, just the hum of old machinery and red neon leaking through the cracks of the steel doors.

You clutched the black envelope tighter in your hand — matte paper, wax-sealed with a single initial: C.

Inside it, just five words in scratchy gold ink: “Create. Feel. Reveal. No Names.”

You’d heard whispers of this place. The Veritas Gallery. An invite-only exhibit hidden in the veins of the city, where artists abandoned rules, reputations, and reason. The elevator dinged. The doors creaked open into dim light and velvet black walls. An attendant in a fox mask handed you a thin earpiece and whispered, “Booth Seven. No speech. Just soul.”

You walked past the main floor — already surrounded by surreal sculptures, cryptic murals, and shadowy figures sipping champagne like sinners in a cathedral. Booth Seven waited behind a curtain. Inside: low lights, a canvas six feet tall, brushes, paints, chalk, charcoal. One chair. One mirror.

And across from it — already standing there, sleeves rolled, cap low, smirking with her eyes only — was her.

A petite woman with ink-stained fingers, a nose ring, and an aura like wildfire. She didn’t say a word. She dipped her fingers into crimson paint, dragged them slowly across the canvas, and glanced at you with challenge and mischief.

You felt it instantly: this wasn’t going to be about art. It was going to be about exposure.

Chapter 1: Crimson Strokes

There was no music. No voices. Just the faint crackle of a vintage filament bulb overhead and the sound of wet paint being spread across canvas.

Chaeyoung hadn’t said a word. She didn’t need to.

Her brush moved like it had a heartbeat, every stroke deliberate — curved, bold, unpredictable. She wasn’t painting a picture. She was teasing a presence into existence.

You leaned against the side table, eyes following her hands instead of her face. There was something reckless about the way she smeared the crimson paint with her palm, like she didn’t care about the rules of composition — only the feeling.

She glanced at you once, smirking under her cap.

You smirked back and picked up a charcoal stick.

The two of you painted in silence. Separate at first.

You sketched an outline — shoulders, a spine, not quite male, not quite female. She layered thick smears of color, none of them staying inside your lines. Her red bled into your black. You countered with strokes of gray. She answered with gold.

It was less collaboration, more collision.

She tilted her head as she worked, her lips slightly parted. The kind of face someone makes when they’re either in deep concentration… or deliberately putting on a show.

Your eyes wandered to the ink on her wrist. Tiny tattoos — waves, a flower, maybe a word too smudged to read. Her apron was speckled with past work, but underneath, her shirt clung to her in the heat. The neckline hung low.

She caught you staring.

She raised a brow, then dipped her brush into a darker red — wine, almost blood — and flicked it toward your side of the canvas. Tiny splatters kissed your hand.

You laughed silently. She smiled, but didn’t break rhythm.

At some point, the two of you found the same tempo. Your charcoal circled around her colors. Her brush glided between your lines. You weren’t just painting anymore. You were dancing. Communicating.

Teasing.

One hour in, she stepped back, breathing a little heavier. The piece was half-done — a chaotic portrait of motion, of skin without faces, of passion without clarity.

You put your charcoal down and looked at her.

She didn’t look away.

Her cap shadowed most of her face, but you could see the edge of her lip rise — almost like a challenge.

Then, breaking every rule, you spoke.

“Is it you that’s painting me…” you said, voice low, “or am I the one painting you?”

A pause.

Chaeyoung stepped closer, dipped two fingers into gold, and smeared them across your wrist.

Then she whispered — voice soft but electric:

“What if we’re both unfinished?”

You stared at her fingers on your wrist — gold smudged against your skin like a claim.

There was something about her that haunted you now. The way she moved, the confidence in her silence, the way she treated art like a secret being exhaled. It wasn’t just talent. It was recognition.

You knew that hand. That posture. That energy.

Your mind raced through memories like torn pages — interviews, behind-the-scenes footage, live stages — and then it hit you.

The tattoos.

The flower. The script on her forearm.

You hadn’t seen them in person before, but millions had. Broadcasted, admired, printed on photo cards. You’d studied them before for an old commission project — one JYP never ended up releasing.

Your eyes lifted, slowly, past her wrist, past the apron. You took in her jawline, the soft piercings, the slight dimple that only appeared when she was trying not to smile.

No cap could hide her now.

“...You’re Chaeyoung,” you said quietly.

She froze, but only for a second. Then her smile curved fully this time — no longer teasing, but knowing.

“And here I thought the anonymity was mutual,” she said, not denying a thing.

You took a step back, not out of discomfort, but awe. “Why would you even come here? You don’t need this gallery.”

“I didn’t come for the gallery.” Her voice was soft. “I came for the artist.”

That made your heart stutter.

She walked past the canvas, slowly, until you stood shoulder to shoulder. She smelled faintly of turpentine and lavender — rawness and warmth in one breath.

“I’ve been watching your pieces since last winter,” she admitted, fingers trailing along the edge of the canvas. “Teddy Noir, right? Your art... feels like confession. Every brushstroke says something you’d never dare speak out loud.”

You swallowed. She wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t made a single piece under that name without bleeding into it.

“I needed to know if it was real,” she added, looking up at you. “If the person behind all that chaos... could look me in the eye.”

And then she did. Fully.

No cap. No shadow.

Just Son Chaeyoung, one of the most iconic idols in the world, standing in an underground booth, baring her artistic soul to yours.

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

So instead, you picked up your charcoal and slowly extended it to her — not as an offering, but as a continuation.

She took it.

And without another word, you both returned to the canvas.

But the air had changed.

This was no longer two strangers painting in the dark.

This was Chaeyoung.

And somehow… she already saw you more clearly than anyone ever had.

You had never heard silence so loud.

The booth was still — just the soft clicks of brushes being set down, the low hum of warm gallery lights, and your heartbeat in your throat.

Chaeyoung hadn’t touched the canvas again.

Instead, she leaned against the far wall now, arms crossed, still in her apron, gaze pinned on you like you were the final piece she hadn’t figured out yet.

“You didn’t ask me why I wanted to paint with you,” she said.

You turned, meeting her eyes. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to speak.”

She tilted her head with a sly grin. “That rule broke the second you called me by name.”

You smiled, but there was something behind her tone — a raw edge. A kind of truth she was dancing around but hadn’t voiced yet.

So you asked.

“…Why did you want to paint with me?”

She exhaled, her smirk slipping into something more vulnerable.

“Because,” she said, stepping forward slowly, “every time I see one of your pieces, I feel like I’m being looked at. Not as an idol. Not as Chaeyoung-from-TWICE. But as… me. The real me. The messy, impulsive, selfish, restless me.”

You didn’t move. You just listened.

She kept coming closer, voice softer now.

“And I wanted to know if you could still paint like that… if the person was right in front of you. If your hands would tremble. If your lines would blur.”

She stopped just inches away.

“Because mine did.”

You didn’t even notice you’d been holding your breath until you finally exhaled — shaky, unsteady.

Chaeyoung reached up, fingers brushing a smear of charcoal off your cheek. She didn’t look away. Her hand lingered, then fell slowly to your chest.

“Does it scare you?” she asked. “Being seen like this?”

Your voice dropped. “Only when I want to be touched, too.”

There was no kiss yet. No rush.

Just the electric distance between two people who had already stripped each other bare through art… and now stood fully clothed, yet completely exposed.

You glanced toward the canvas.

The painting was chaotic. Sensual. Raw. A mirror of every word you hadn’t said and every emotion she couldn’t perform on stage.

Her fingers slid from your chest to your wrist again, gently tracing that same gold-stained line she’d made before.

“…We can leave it unfinished,” she whispered, almost breathless. “Or we can make it the one piece we never show anyone.”

You met her gaze. The decision was already made.

You reached behind her and flipped the “Occupied” sign on the booth door.

Then you turned off the lights — leaving only the soft glow of the canvas behind you.

The lights were off.

But neither of you moved.

Only the canvas glowed behind you — a beacon of truth, passion, and secrets neither of you had intended to reveal.

You felt Chaeyoung’s fingers tighten slightly around your wrist.

“You know,” she said, “I saw it before I ever met you. That piece in the gallery last year. The one of the girl sitting alone in the empty green room. Her eyes were tired. Her posture was strong. But she looked like she wanted someone to wait for her.”

You blinked. You knew the one. “Unvoiced No. 7.”

It wasn’t meant to be anyone specific. But the moment she spoke, you realized it was her.

Your version of her. Or at least, the version you imagined — tired from the idol life, brave but craving something quiet, something real.

“I stared at it for ten minutes,” she admitted. “No plaque, no name. Just that feeling. I thought—whoever painted this knows what it feels like to be seen but not known.”

She let out a shaky breath.

“And then I realized... it looked like me.”

Your heart twisted. That piece had been born from fragments — fan cams, behind-the-scenes clips, rare candid smiles. You hadn’t painted Chaeyoung, the idol. You’d painted the girl behind her. The one who seemed like she carried words in her eyes that never made it to her lips.

“There was another one,” she continued, stepping closer, “a soft one. A girl on a rooftop, looking up — not posing. Just… hoping. That one looked like Dahyun.”

You swallowed. Unvoiced No. 4.

You’d created those portraits as a silent admirer — not a hardcore fan, but someone who listened between the noise. The expressions weren’t copied. They were imagined. Interpretations of what TWICE members might dream of when the cameras were off.

Your voice finally returned. “I never expected anyone from TWICE to see those.”

“I didn’t just see them,” she said, stepping closer again. “I felt them. You painted the lives we can’t post. The feelings we can’t express. And you did it without ever touching us.”

She looked up at you.

“So now I need to know, Y/N… if you can paint me like that… what happens when you actually have me?”

The room turned silent again — but not empty.

Your hand lifted, brushing a stray paint smear from her cheek.

“I wasn’t trying to expose you,” you said, voice low. “I was trying to protect you. Even if you never knew.”

Her lips parted, her breath catching at the rawness in your voice.

“Then don’t protect me now,” she whispered. “Not here. Not when I want to be known.”

The moment snapped.

Your fingers cupped her jaw, guiding her in. And when her lips met yours, it wasn’t desperate. It was reverent. Like an answer to the questions your art had been asking for years.

Your bodies leaned into each other like brush to canvas — soft at first, tentative, but hungry for more.

The kiss deepened slowly.

And as the paint-stained apron fell to the floor…

…the real portrait finally began.

The moment her lips met yours, the world outside the dimly lit studio ceased to exist. The only light came from the glow of the half-finished canvas behind you—a chaotic blend of your colors, your strokes, your hunger—casting long shadows that danced across Chaeyoung’s face as she pulled back just enough to smirk at you.

"Mmh… so this is what you taste like," she murmured, her thumb dragging across your bottom lip, smearing a streak of crimson paint she’d stolen from the palette. "Kinda sweet. Kinda… needy."

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering as her fingers trailed down your throat, leaving a cool, wet trail of paint in their wake.

"Chaeyoung—"

"Ah, ah." She pressed a finger to your lips, her eyes darkening. "You broke the rules first, artist. Now you play by mine."

Her free hand dipped into the palette beside you, fingers swirling in the deep indigo before she dragged them down your chest, slow and deliberate, marking you like her own personal canvas. The paint was cool against your skin, but the way her nails grazed your abs sent heat pooling low in your gut.

"Fuck…" you hissed, arching into her touch.

Chaeyoung’s laugh was a low, breathy thing as she leaned in, her lips brushing your ear. "You paint me like some fragile thing, Y/N. But look at you—shaking just 'cause I touch you." Her teeth nipped at your earlobe, and you groaned, your cock already straining against your jeans.

She noticed. Of course she did.

"Oh? This is what you wanna hide?" Her palm pressed flat against your bulge, rubbing slowly, her smirk widening as you choked on a gasp. "Mmm… big."

Your hips jerked involuntarily, but she pulled back, tutting. "Uh-uh. No rushing."

She reached for a clean brush, dipping it into a pot of gold paint before dragging the bristles along your collarbone. The sensation was maddening—soft, ticklish, teasing—and you bit your lip hard enough to taste copper.

"Hahh… Chaeyoung, please—"

"Please what?" She flicked the brush lower, tracing the outline of your abs. "You wanna fuck me? Right here? Against the canvas you just finished?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Or do you wanna be good and let me ruin you first?"

Your breath came in ragged bursts as she dropped to her knees, her fingers hooking into your belt loops. The look she gave you was pure sin—lips parted, eyes half-lidded, paint smudged across her cheek like war paint.

"I know you’re scared," she murmured, undoing your belt with agonizing slowness. "Scared I’ll regret this. Scared you will." Her fingers popped the button of your jeans. "But tell me, Y/N…"

She yanked your pants down just enough to free your cock, her breath hot against the tip.

"Does this feel like regret?"

Her tongue swiped a slow, wet stripe up your length, and you saw stars.

Chaeyoung’s tongue was sin incarnate.

The moment her lips wrapped around the head of your cock, a ragged groan tore from your throat, your fingers instinctively tangling in her hair. She hummed around you, the vibration shooting straight to your spine as she sank deeper, her painted fingers digging into your thighs.

"F-fuck—Chaeyoung—"

She pulled off with a filthy pop, her smirk smeared with spit and gold paint. "Mmm… sensitive," she teased, her breath hot against your leaking tip. "You pull when you like something, huh?"

Before you could answer, her fingers tightened around the base of your shaft, her other hand fisting in her own hair—guiding your grip harder.

"Do it," she breathed, her eyes locked onto yours. "Pull."

You obeyed.

A sharp tug—her scalp yielding under your fingers—and Chaeyoung moaned around your cock, her lips stretching wide as she took you down her throat in one slick, sloppy slide.

"Hhhngh—!"

The sound she made was obscene, half-choked, half-delighted, her nose pressing into your pelvis as she hollowed her cheeks. Spit dripped down your length, pooling where her fingers stroked in tight, twisting motions, matching the filthy rhythm of her mouth.

"S-shit—fuck—" Your hips jerked, but she pinned you down with a firm hand, her nails biting into your skin as she controlled the pace.

Slurp. Schlick. Gag.

Every sound was louder than the last, every bob of her head more desperate than before. Her free hand wandered up, gripping your wrist—forcing your hold on her hair tighter, harder, until her whimpers vibrated against your cock.

"Mmmf—! Ngh~!"

She loved it.

The way her throat fluttered around you, the way her lashes fluttered with tears—not from discomfort, but from the sheer high of being used. Her lips were swollen, her breathing ragged, but she didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

"Chaeyoung—ahh—gonna—"

She yanked back at the last second, a string of spit connecting her lips to your throbbing tip.

"Not yet," she panted, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her smirk dripping with mischief. "We’re not done."

And then she dove back in, faster this time, her nails scraping down your thighs as she took you to the hilt—

Chaeyoung’s mouth was a masterpiece of sin.

The moment she swallowed you back down, her throat convulsed around your cock in a slick, greedy rhythm, her lips stretched obscenely wide. Spit pooled at the corners of her mouth, dripping in thick strands down your shaft, her tongue flattening against your veins as she sucked hard enough to make your vision blur.

"Hhah—fuck—Chaeyoung—!"

Your fingers tightened in her hair, not yanking—just holding, guiding—but she whined around you, her hips grinding down into nothing as her own arousal soaked through her panties. The scent of her—sweet, musky, desperate—mixed with the metallic tang of paint and the salt of her sweat.

Schlllck. Gllrk. Hhhnngh~!

Every sound was filthier than the last. Every bob of her head sent spit splattering against your thighs, her nose buried in your pelvis as she forced herself deeper, her throat fluttering in ragged spasms.

"Mmmf—! Ngh~!"

She pulled back just enough to gasp, her lips swollen, her chin glistening. "T-taste so good," she slurred, her tongue lapping at your tip, catching the bitter-salt of your pre-cum. "Wanna—hah—wanna swallow all of you—"

Then she dove again, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked like a woman starved, her fingers digging into your hips to keep you right there, at the brink of her throat.

You could feel her dripping—her thighs trembling, her panties clinging to her soaked folds—but she didn’t touch herself. No, she was too lost in the act, too obsessed with the way your cock stretched her lips, the way your groans filled the air.

"C-close—" you warned, your voice ragged.

Chaeyoung’s eyes lit up.

She pulled off just enough to let your tip rest on her tongue, her breath coming in hot, wet pants. "Do it," she begged, her voice wrecked. "Fill me—"

And you did.

With a choked groan, your hips jerked—once, twice—before you pulsed into her mouth, thick ropes of cum painting her tongue, her throat working desperately to swallow every drop.

"Mmmh~!" Her moan was delighted, her lips sealing tight as she milked you through it, her tongue swirling to catch every last drop of your release.

When she finally pulled back, her lips were sticky with it, her breath sweet with the taste of you.

"Delicious," she whispered, licking her lips clean.

And then, with a smirk, she leaned in to kiss you—sharing the proof of your pleasure.

The moment your lips met hers, Chaeyoung moaned into your mouth—a low, throaty sound that sent heat pooling straight to your cock. She tasted like salt, spit, and you, her tongue sliding against yours in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss as she ground her hips down against your thigh.

"Fuck—still hard for me?" she panted, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip before pulling back to smirk. Her fingers trailed down your chest, nails scraping lightly over your abs before she dug in, leaving angry red marks in their wake. "Guess I didn’t quite ruin you yet."

You groaned, your hands sliding under her crop top to palm the soft swell of her tits, your thumbs brushing over her nipples—hard and pebbled under the thin fabric of her bralette.

"Ngh—!" Her back arched, pressing her chest into your touch. "Y-yeah, there—"

You smirked, pinching one nipple between your fingers, rolling it just hard enough to make her gasp. "Like that, princess?"

"Fuck you," she hissed, but her hips stuttered against you, her thighs squeezing around yours as she rutted down, seeking friction. "Think you’re so clever—ahh!—w-with your fucking hands—"

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You love my hands."

She shivered, her breath hitching as you dragged your mouth down her neck, sucking dark bruises into her skin. "Hah—yes—" Her fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back so she could crash her lips against yours again, biting at your tongue. "Mmmf—mark me harder, coward."

You growled, flipping her onto her back, your knee slotting between her thighs as you loomed over her. "Brat," you muttered before sinking your teeth into the curve of her shoulder.

"Ah! Fuck—!" Her back arched off the bed, her nails raking down your spine as you laved your tongue over the bite, soothing the sting before moving lower, trailing kisses down her chest.

You tugged her crop top up, exposing her bralette—damp with sweat and the faintest hint of her arousal—before dragging the fabric down with your teeth, freeing her tits.

"Finally," she gasped, her chest heaving as you latched onto one nipple, sucking hard while your fingers pinched and twisted the other.

"Hhah—! Ngh~!" Her thighs clenched around your hips, her hips rolling desperately against your thigh as she chased her own pleasure. "Y-you—shit—you gonna tease me all night or—ahh—or actually fuck me?"

You pulled back just enough to smirk up at her. "Who said I was done teasing?"

Her eyes darkened, her hand fisting in your hair as she yanked you back down. "Bastard." And then she kissed you—hard—her teeth clashing against yours as she ground her soaked panties against your thigh, her moans swallowed by your mouth.

Your thumbs brushed over Chaeyoung’s nipples again, this time slower—softer—watching the way her breath hitched, the way her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven bursts.

"Ngh—! S-stop staring," she muttered, her cheeks flushing pink as she tried to squirm away, but your hands held her firm, your fingers tracing the delicate curves of her small, pert breasts.

"Why?" you murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the swell of her left tit, your lips lingering just below her nipple. "You’re beautiful."

"Tch—bullshit," she huffed, but her voice wavered when your tongue flicked over her stiffened peak, her back arching off the bed. "Hah—! Y-you’re just—ahh—just saying that 'cause they’re cute or whatever—"

You pulled back slightly, meeting her gaze. "Who said anything about cute?"

Her brows furrowed, her lips parting in a silent oh as your fingers gently squeezed her tits, your thumbs rolling her nipples in slow, deliberate circles.

"F-fuck—" Her breath stuttered, her hips twitching against nothing. "D-don’t—don’t tease—"

"I’m not," you said simply, your voice low and warm as you ducked your head again, this time taking her right nipple between your lips, sucking gently before flicking your tongue over the peak.

"Hhah~!" Her hands flew to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as she pulled, but there was no force behind it—just a shaky, desperate grip. "Y-you—nngh—you like them, don’t you?"

You hummed against her skin, your teeth grazing her nipple just enough to make her jolt. "Yeah," you admitted, your breath hot against her damp skin. "I love them."

"L-liar," she whined, but her thighs squeezed together, her hips rolling in tiny, aborted motions. "They’re—ahh—they’re small—"

"Perfect," you corrected, your hands sliding up to cup her tits, your thumbs brushing over her nipples again—softer this time, almost reverent. "Just like you."

She whimpered, her pride crumbling under your touch, under your words, her body melting as you lavished attention on her chest, your mouth and hands working in tandem to worship every inch of her.

"Hhah… more…" she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers tightening in your hair.

And you obeyed.

The air in the private studio was thick with the scent of oil paint and sweat as Chaeyoung arched beneath you, her back pressing into the scattered sketch papers on the floor. Your teeth grazed her left nipple one last time before pulling back, admiring the way her chest heaved—her small, perfect tits glistening with spit, her skin flushed pink under the dim track lighting.

"F-fuck—" she gasped, her fingers clawing at your shoulders as you dragged your hands down her sides, hooking into the waistband of her skirt. "Y-you—ahh—you better not rip this, it’s designer—"

You chuckled, sliding the fabric down her hips in one slow motion, letting it pool around her thighs before tossing it aside. "Too late."

"Asshole," she hissed, but the insult lost its bite when your palm pressed between her legs, feeling the soaked heat of her panties through the thin lace.

"Hhah~!" Her hips jerked into your touch, her thighs trembling as you rubbed slow, firm circles over her clothed cunt. "Ngh—stop teasing—"

"Make me," you murmured, nipping at her collarbone as your fingers slipped under the waistband of her panties, finally—finally—feeling the slick warmth of her bare skin.

Chaeyoung whined, her nails digging into your back as you stroked her folds, your thumb brushing over her clit in lazy, maddening circles. "Y-you—fuck—you know I can’t—ahh!—can’t think when you—hnngh—"

Her words dissolved into a moan as you pushed two fingers inside her, your palm grinding against her clit with every thrust. The wet squelch of her arousal filled the studio, mixing with the sound of her ragged breaths and the rustle of paper beneath her.

"S-so fucking mean," she panted, her legs wrapping around your waist as she rolled her hips, fucking herself on your fingers. "Gonna—hah—gonna make me come like this? On the floor?"

You smirked, curling your fingers just so, relishing the way her walls clenched around you. "Yeah," you breathed against her lips. "Gonna make you drip all over these sketches."

Her head fell back with a thud, her back arching as pleasure coiled tight in her gut—

Chaeyoung’s fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back as she glared down at you—her pupils blown wide, her lips swollen from biting them. "Lucky fan," she hissed, her voice dripping with something between amusement and frustration. "You really think this is just luck? That I let just anyone finger me in a fucking art studio?"

Your fingers were still buried inside her, curling lazily as her walls fluttered around you. "Seems like it," you mused, your thumb pressing firm circles against her clit just to watch her thighs jerk. "Since you’re the one who sought me out."

"Tch—!" Her grip tightened, her nails scraping your scalp. "I hate you," she breathed, but the way her hips rolled against your hand betrayed her. "Hah—fuck—I hate how you—nngh—how you talk—"

You smirked, slowing your fingers to a torturous pace. "Then shut me up."

For a second, she just stared at you—chest heaving, lips parted—before her expression shifted into something dangerous.

"Fine."

In one fluid motion, she shoved you back onto the plush studio carpet, her knees straddling your shoulders before you could react. Her panties—soaked through—were peeled off and tossed somewhere near the half-finished canvas, her glistening cunt now hovering inches from your face.

"Eat," she ordered, her voice trembling only slightly. "And don’t stop until I say so."

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Your tongue dragged up her slit in one long, filthy stroke, savoring the tangy-sweet taste of her arousal. Chaeyoung jolted, her thighs clamping around your head as a broken moan tore from her throat.

"Hhah~! F-fuck—!"

You hummed against her, your lips sealing around her clit as you sucked, your fingers finding her entrance again to push back inside.

"Ngh—!��D-deeper—" she gasped, her hips grinding down against your mouth, her juices smearing across your chin. "Y-you—ahh—you knew—knew I’d do this, didn’t you? Knew I’d—hah—break for you—"

You pulled back just enough to speak, your breath hot against her dripping folds. "No," you murmured. "But I hoped."

Her laugh was breathless, shaky, as her fingers fisted in your hair again. "Bastard," she whined—before slamming your face back into her cunt.

The studio air was thick with the scent of her—musky, sweet, addicting—as Chaeyoung ground her dripping cunt against your tongue, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. Your nose pressed into her curls, your lips sealed tight around her clit as you sucked, slow and filthy, relishing the way her breath hitched above you.

"Hhah~! F-fuck—" Her fingers yanked at your hair, her hips stuttering as your tongue flicked over her swollen bud. "Y-you—nngh—you eat pussy like you paint—" she gasped, her voice cracking. "Like you’re starving for it—"

You hummed against her, the vibration wrenching a broken moan from her throat as your fingers curled inside her, scissoring just enough to make her walls clench.

"Ahh~!" Her back arched, her head falling back as a breathless giggle slipped out. "S-shit—hah—we’re supposed to be anonymous—" Her hips rolled harder, her slick smearing across your chin. "A-and quiet—nngh—but look at us—"

You pulled back just enough to smirk up at her, your lips glistening with her arousal. "You’re the one laughing," you pointed out, your breath hot against her soaked folds.

"Tch—you—!" She shoved your face back into her cunt, her thighs squeezing around your ears as your tongue delved deeper, lapping at her entrance before swirling around her clit again. "Hhah~! M-more—"

The squelch of her juices, the ragged hitch of her breath, the occasional giggle she couldn’t suppress—it was better than any art you’d ever made.

And then—

"I’m—ahh—close—" Her voice was a wreck, her nails biting into your scalp as her thighs shook. "G-gonna—fuck—gonna come—"

You doubled down, sucking her clit hard as your fingers pumped, relentless—

"HHAHH~!"

Her orgasm hit like a storm—her back bowing, her cunt pulsing around your fingers as she drenched your mouth, her juices spilling over your lips in hot, sticky waves.

"Ngh~! F-fuck—fuck—" She collapsed forward, her hands braced on the carpet as she rode out the aftershocks against your tongue, her thighs quivering.

When she finally pulled away, her face was flushed, her lips parted in a dazed smile.

"...So much for anonymous," she breathed.

Chaeyoung was still catching her breath, her thighs sticky with sweat and you, when she suddenly snorted—a tiny, undignified sound that made her clap a hand over her mouth.

You blinked up at her from the carpet, your chin glistening. "What?"

She pointed at the half-finished canvas nearby—the one you’d been collaborating on before things got… distracted. "Look," she giggled, her voice still wrecked. "We splattered."

Sure enough, a few stray drops of her had landed on the edge of the painting, mixing with the gold and crimson strokes.

"Abstract expressionism," you deadpanned.

"Ew," she cackled, swatting your shoulder before flopping onto her back beside you. "That’s nasty." A pause. Then, with a smirk: "...We should sign it."

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face—which, mistake, because now you just smeared her taste across your cheek. "Chaeyoung."

"What?" She rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand while the other traced idle circles on your chest. "It’s authentic." Her grin turned filthy. "Like your tongue."

You huffed, but she was already leaning in, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that tasted like her and victory.

"Mmh~... Round two?" she whispered.

Chaeyoung’s thighs quivered as she straddled your hips, her damp heat hovering just above your cock—taunting you.

"Look at you," she breathed, her fingers trailing down your chest, nails scraping lightly over your abs. "All hard and desperate for me." Her smirk was devilish as she ground her soaked cunt against your length, her slick smearing across your shaft. "Think you can handle me, Teddy Noir?"

You groaned, your hands gripping her hips—so small in your grasp—as she lifted herself slightly, lining you up with her entrance.

"F-fuck—Chaeyoung—"

"Uh-uh," she tutted, her voice dripping with mischief. "No begging."

And then she sank down—slow, agonizing—her tight walls clenching around you like a vice.

"Hhah~!" Her head fell back, her back arching as she took you inch by inch, her petite body stretching to accommodate your girth. "S-shit—fuck—you’re big—"

You hissed, your fingers digging into her hips as she bottomed out, her ass pressing flush against your thighs.

"Tight," you gritted out, your voice rough with restraint.

She giggled, breathless, her hands braced on your chest as she rolled her hips—testing, teasing. "Mmmh~... Told you I don’t do this with just anyone," she purred, her walls fluttering around you.

Then she moved.

"Ngh~! Ahh—!" Her hips rose and fell in a leisurely rhythm, her cunt squeezing you with every bounce. "F-feels good? Filling me up like this—hah—like I’m made for you—"

You growled, thrusting up to meet her, driving deeper—

"HHAHH~!" Her nails dug into your skin, her thighs shaking as she chased her pleasure. "Y-yes—fuck—just like that—"

Her pace turned frantic, her petite body slamming down onto you, her gasps and moans echoing off the studio walls.

Chaeyoung’s thighs burned as she bounced on your cock, her small frame struggling to keep up with the brutal pace she’d set. But she refused to slow down—not when every snap of her hips sent fire shooting up her spine, not when the slap of skin on skin filled the studio, not when your hands on her waist anchored her, keeping her right where she wanted to be.

"Hhah~! F-fuck—" Her breath came in ragged gasps, her nails digging into your chest as she chased the pleasure coiling tight in her gut. "Y-you feel that? H-how deep you are—ahh—like you’re everywhere—"

You groaned, your grip tightening as she slammed down again, her tight cunt milking you with every movement.

"Chaeyoung—"

"No," she panted, her voice strained with effort. "N-not—hah—not yet."

Her rhythm stuttered, her legs shaking as she forced herself to keep going, her walls fluttering around you in a silent plea.

"M-more—" she whimpered, her hips rolling instead of bouncing now, grinding slow and deep to savor every inch. "W-wanna feel you—ahh—forever—"

You hissed, your fingers bruising her hips as you thrust up to meet her, driving into her with a force that had her screeching.

"HHAHH~!" Her back arched, her tits bouncing as she clung to you, her cunt clenching tight around you. "Y-yes—yes—just like that—" Her pace turned frantic again, her body desperate for more, for everything.

Chaeyoung’s thighs were shaking, her breath coming in ragged, broken gasps as she forced herself to slow down—just as the tension in her gut coiled too tight, just as her cunt clenched around you in desperate little pulses.

"Ngh~! F-fuck—" Her nails scratched down your chest, her hips stuttering as she fought the urge to chase her release. "Y-you—hah—you’re mean—"

You smirked, your hands tightening on her waist to still her movements completely. "You asked for this," you reminded her, your voice rough with restraint.

"I hate you," she whined, but the way her walls fluttered around you betrayed her.

You chuckled, your thumbs brushing over her hip bones as you guided her into a slow, agonizing grind.

"Ahh~!" Her head fell back, her back arching as she tried to resist the pleasure building inside her. "T-too much—"

"No," you murmured, your fingers digging into her skin as you pulled her down harder. "Not yet."

She sobbed, her thighs trembling as she rode you with shallow, desperate bounces, her cunt dripping onto your thighs.

"P-please—"

You ignored her, your grip unyielding as you denied her what she craved most.

The moment your hands gripped Chaeyoung’s waist and spun her toward the nearest wall, her breath hitched—half in surprise, half in anticipation. The studio’s concrete was cool against her bare back, a sharp contrast to the heat of your body pressing into hers. Her legs instinctively wrapped around your hips, her arms looping over your shoulders for balance as you aligned yourself with her dripping entrance.

"No more teasing," she panted, her voice already wrecked, her nails digging into the fabric of your shirt. "Just—fuck me already."

You didn’t need to be told twice.

With one smooth thrust, you buried yourself inside her to the hilt, the tight, wet heat of her making your vision blur for a second. Chaeyoung’s head thudded back against the wall, her mouth falling open in a silent cry before her voice finally caught up.

"Ah—! Fuck, fuck—" Her thighs trembled where they locked around you, her body struggling to adjust to the sudden stretch. "You—you feel huge like this—"

You didn’t give her time to recover. One hand braced against the wall beside her head, the other gripping her hip as you pulled out almost completely before slamming back in. The sound of skin against skin, the slick noise of her arousal, the way her breath stuttered every time you bottomed out—it was maddening.

Chaeyoung’s fingers scrambled for purchase, her nails scraping against your shoulders as she tried to hold on. "Harder—" she gasped, her voice breaking. "I can—ah!—take it—"

You obliged, your thrusts turning rougher, deeper, each one driving a punched-out moan from her lips. The angle had her seeing stars, every snap of your hips hitting that sweet spot inside her with terrifying precision.

"You—ahh—you planned this," she accused between gasps, her legs tightening around you. "Knew I’d—fuck—knew I’d let you do anything—"

You didn’t deny it.

Her back arched off the wall as you pistoned into her, her moans growing louder, more desperate. The studio was too quiet, too empty—every sound they made echoed, from the wet slap of skin to the way Chaeyoung’s breath hitched every time you thrust just right.

"Close—" she whimpered, her fingers tangling in your hair. "I’m so—ahh—so close—"

You didn’t slow down.

Chaeyoung’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as she panted against your lips. "You’re being too nice," she murmured, her voice already wrecked from the relentless pace of your thrusts. "I can take more."

You slowed just enough to brush your nose against hers, your breath mingling. "I know you can," you said softly. "But I like seeing you like this—falling apart because I’m taking my time with you."

She huffed, but the way her cunt clenched around you betrayed how much she loved it. "Cheesy," she muttered, before tilting her head and spitting directly into your open mouth.

You choked—not in disgust, but in surprise—and she giggled, her hips grinding down to keep you buried deep inside her. "What? You said you liked me messy."

"I do," you admitted, swallowing before capturing her lips in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, sharing the taste of her spit between you. "But you’re gonna pay for that."

Her breath hitched as you shifted your grip, one hand sliding under her thigh to hike her leg higher against your hip, the other cupping her jaw to keep her close. The new angle made her whine, her walls fluttering as you pressed even deeper.

"F-fuck—" she gasped, her nails digging into your shoulders. "That’s—ahh—that’s not fair—"

You nipped at her bottom lip, your thrusts turning slower but harder, each one dragging a broken sound from her throat. "You started it," you reminded her, your voice rough but still gentle, still hers.

You nipped at her bottom lip, your thrusts turning slower but harder, each one dragging a broken sound from her throat. "You started it," you reminded her, your voice rough but still gentle, still hers.

She groaned, her head thudding back against the wall. "I hate you," she whined, but the way she rolled her hips to meet yours said otherwise.

"No, you don’t," you murmured, leaning in to lick a stripe up her neck, savoring the salt of her sweat.

"Ngh—prove it," she challenged, her fingers tightening in your hair as she spat into her own palm before smearing it over your lips.

You laughed, low and warm, before kissing her again—deep, messy, perfect.

"Gladly."

The studio walls were cool against Chaeyoung’s back, a stark contrast to the heat of your body pressed against hers. Her legs were locked around your waist, her fingers gripping your shoulders as you moved inside her with slow, deliberate thrusts. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her lips parted as she watched you through half-lidded eyes.

"You’re holding back," she murmured, her voice already wrecked. "I can tell."

You slowed your hips, brushing your nose against hers. "Am I?"

She huffed, her nails digging into your skin. "Don’t play dumb. You’re being too careful with me."

You smirked, your hand sliding up to cradle her jaw, your thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "You want me to stop being careful?"

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes darkening. "Fuck me like you mean it."

Your grip shifted, your fingers wrapping gently around her throat—not squeezing, just holding, just reminding her who was in control. Her pulse jumped under your touch, her breath hitching as you pressed deeper, your thrusts turning sharper, harder.

"Like this?" you asked, your voice low.

She moaned, her head tipping back against the wall. "Y-yes—fuck—just like that—"

Her words dissolved into a whimper as you angled your hips just right, hitting that spot inside her that made her toes curl.

"You feel so good," she gasped, her fingers tangling in your hair. "So deep—"

You hummed, your hand still resting lightly on her throat, your other arm tightening around her waist to keep her pinned against the wall. "Tell me what you want."

She shuddered, her hips rolling to meet yours. "Harder," she pleaded. "I want—ahh—I want to feel it tomorrow—"

You obliged, your thrusts turning punishing, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the quiet studio.

"F-fuck—yes—" Her voice was breaking, her body trembling as she clung to you. "Don’t stop—please—"

You didn’t.

The air between you was thick with sweat and shared breath, Chaeyoung’s back pressed flush against the studio wall as you drove into her with relentless precision. Every thrust dragged a new sound from her lips—broken moans, gasped pleas, the occasional breathless laugh when your rhythm stuttered just right.

Her thighs trembled where they locked around your waist, her calves digging into the small of your back as she tried to pull you deeper. "F-fuck—right there—" Her voice cracked as you angled your hips, the head of your cock grinding against that sweet spot inside her with every snap forward.

You could feel her unraveling—the way her walls fluttered around you, growing tighter with each passing second. Her nails raked down your shoulders, leaving angry red trails in their wake as she clung to you, her body arching off the wall to meet you thrust for thrust.

"Look at me," you murmured, your hand sliding up to cradle her jaw, your thumb brushing over her spit-slick bottom lip.

Her eyes fluttered open, dark and hazy with pleasure, her pupils blown wide. "Mmn—harder—" she begged, her hips rolling in tiny, desperate circles. "Wanna—ahh—wanna feel you everywhere—"

You obliged, your grip tightening on her hip as you pistoned into her, the wet slap of skin on skin drowning out her whimpers. The angle was brutal—each movement dragging her clit against your pelvis, the friction wringing choked sobs from her throat. "C-close—" she gasped, her fingers tangling in your hair. "So fucking close—"

Chaeyoung’s body was a live wire under your hands, every muscle pulled taut as she teetered on the edge. Her thighs trembled violently where they locked around your waist, her nails biting into your shoulders hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks.

"I—ahh—I’m gonna—" Her voice shattered into a gasp as the first wave hit her, her cunt clamping down on your cock like a vice. A choked scream tore from her throat as she squirted, hot liquid gushing between your bodies, soaking your stomach and thighs.

You groaned, your thrusts stuttering for just a second at the sheer intensity of it—but Chaeyoung’s hands flew to your wrists, her grip iron-tight.

"Don’t you dare stop," she panted, her voice raw, her eyes wild. "I’m not—fuck—I’m not done—"

You didn’t argue.

Your hands slid under her thighs, hiking her higher against the wall as you pounded into her, the wet slap of skin echoing off the studio walls. Her oversensitive walls fluttered around you, her body jerking with every thrust as she whined, her head thrashing back against the concrete.

"T-too much—ahh—too much—" she sobbed, her hips rolling helplessly to meet yours even as her body rebelled, her thighs shaking, her toes curling.

"You said not to stop," you reminded her, your voice rough but gentle, your fingers brushing the damp hair from her forehead.

She whimpered, her nails digging into your biceps as another wave of pleasure ripped through her, her cunt pulsing around you as she squirted again, her back arching off the wall.

"F-fuck—fuck—" Her voice was gone, her lips parted in a silent scream as her body convulsed, her legs locking around you like she was afraid you’d pull away.

Chaeyoung’s body was a trembling mess against the studio wall, her thighs slick with sweat and arousal as you drove into her with relentless precision. Every thrust sent a fresh wave of pleasure-pain through her oversensitive nerves, her cunt fluttering around your cock in desperate, rhythmic clenches.

"F-fuck—ahh—you’re still going—" Her voice was hoarse, her nails digging into your shoulders as she clung to you, her legs locked around your waist like a vice.

You groaned, your grip tightening on her hips as you pounded into her, the wet slap of skin echoing off the concrete. "You told me not to stop," you reminded her, your voice rough with exertion.

She whined, her back arching off the wall as you hit that spot again, her walls squeezing around you like she was trying to milk you dry. "I—hah—I know—" Her breath hitched, her hips rolling to meet yours. "J-just—fuck—fill me already—"

You hissed, your thrusts growing erratic, your control slipping as the pressure in your gut coiled too tight.

"C-close—" you gritted out, your fingers bruising her hips.

Chaeyoung’s eyes darkened, her lips parting in a dazed smirk. "Do it," she breathed, her voice wrecked. "Cum inside me—"

And you did.

With a choked groan, you pulsed into her, your cock twitching as you emptied yourself deep inside her, your release spilling into her dripping cunt.

Chaeyoung moaned, her body convulsing around you as she milked you through it, her walls fluttering in time with your spasms.

"F-fuck—" she panted, her head lolling back against the wall. "Y-you—ahh—you ruined me—"

You chuckled, your hands gentling on her hips as you kissed her, slow and deep.

"You asked for it."

The studio was quiet now, save for the sound of your shared breathing and the occasional drip of sweat onto the carpet. You leaned back against the wall, legs stretched out, while Chaeyoung—ever the restless artist—refused to stay still.

She straddled your lap with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, her bare ass pressing against your thighs. And god, what an ass it was. Narrow, but not bony. Soft where it needed to be, with just enough curve to make your fingers itch to grab, to knead, to leave marks. Milky skin, smooth as fresh canvas, barely hiding the faint pink flush from where she’d been grinding against you earlier. The kind of ass that made you want to sink your teeth into it—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to hear her yelp. The kind that looked like it belonged in one of those glossy manhwas, all exaggerated bounce and bratty defiance. Spankable. Biteable. A fucking masterpiece.

You smirked, your hands settling on her waist. "Comfy?"

She huffed, wiggling just to feel you twitch under her. "You’re warm," she muttered, as if that explained everything.

Then she reached over, her fingers digging into the small pouch she’d tossed aside earlier. When she pulled back, she was holding a tiny, cute pink bottle—the kind with a little strawberry on the label.

You raised an eyebrow. "…Is that edible lube?"

Chaeyoung grinned, shaking the bottle teasingly. The liquid inside sloshed, thick and glossy. "Maybe."

"You planned this," you accused, but your hands were already sliding down to grip her hips.

She giggled, leaning in until her lips brushed your ear. "And you," she whispered, "are gonna fuck me on the canvas."

The studio lights cast long shadows across the scattered sketches and half-finished paintings as Chaeyoung crawled onto the large canvas in the center of the room. Her movements were deliberate—hips swaying, back arching, fingers pressing into the stretched fabric like she was testing its give.

"Comfortable?" you asked, leaning back against the studio couch, your fingers laced behind your head.

She glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. "Mmh~... Not yet."

Then she wiggled—just enough to make the muscles in her thighs flex, just enough to make the curve of her ass jiggle under the dim track lighting. Milky skin, still flushed pink from earlier, still marked faintly where your fingers had dug in too hard.

"You’re staring," she sing-songed, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

You smirked. "Hard not to."

She huffed, but the way her breath hitched when you didn’t immediately move gave her away. "Thought you were tired," she teased, rocking back onto her knees just enough to show off.

"I am," you admitted, stretching your legs out. "Doesn’t mean I can’t look."

Chaeyoung giggled, low and throaty, before shifting her weight onto one arm, the other reaching back to spread herself for you. "What if I want more than looking?"

The invitation was obscene—the pink, clenched furl of her rim, still glistening faintly from earlier orgasm dripping lower, the way her thighs trembled just from the anticipation.

You groaned, palming yourself through your pants. "Fuck, Chaeyoung—"

She grinned, wiggling again. "Exactly."

The studio smelled faintly of oil paint and strawberries—the latter courtesy of the pink bottle Chaeyoung had uncapped with a pop. She knelt on the canvas, her back arched, her weight balanced on her forearms as she peered over her shoulder at you.

"You gonna stare all day," she teased, "or are you gonna taste?"

You didn’t need to be asked twice.

[Ass Worship: A Study in Patience]

Your hands settled on the swell of her cheeks, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh to part her. Her skin was warm under your palms, the muscles beneath twitching as you leaned in, your breath ghosting over her exposed rim.

Chaeyoung shivered, her fingers curling into the canvas. "F-fuck—"

You licked—a slow, flat stripe from her perineum up to the tight pucker of her asshole. She jolted, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as your tongue circled the rim, teasing, tasting. The strawberry lube was sweet, almost syrupy, but beneath it was the salt of her skin, the musk of her.

"Hhah~!" Her hips jerked back, seeking more, but you held her still, your grip firm. "Ngh—mean—"

You chuckled, your breath hot against her. "Relax," you murmured, before dipping your tongue inside, just enough to make her squeak.

The lube was cool against your fingers as you coated them, the viscous liquid dripping onto her rim before you spread it with your thumb, working the tight muscle in slow circles.

Chaeyoung whined, her forehead pressing into the canvas. "S’cold—"

"It’ll warm up," you promised, your other hand rubbing soothing circles into her lower back.

Your index finger pressed in—just the tip—and her body clenched, her breath hitching.

"Breathe," you reminded her, your voice low.

She exhaled, her muscles easing as you sank deeper, the lube making the glide smooth, effortless.

[Fingering: The Art of Relaxation]

You crooked your finger, searching, and Chaeyoung jolted, a broken moan spilling from her lips.

"Ahh~! W-what was—hah—that—?"

You grinned, your thumb brushing over her rim as you pumped your finger slowly. "Just prepping you," you said, as if you hadn’t just found the spot that made her see stars.

Her laugh was breathless, wrecked. "L-liar—"

You added a second finger, stretching her with careful precision, your other hand kneading the tension from her thighs.

Chaeyoung melted, her body yielding to yours, her moans filling the studio.

The studio was quiet except for Chaeyoung’s shaky breaths and the slick sound of your fingers working her open. She was sprawled across the canvas, her cheek pressed against the fabric, her back arched in a perfect curve. Her fingers clutched at the edges, knuckles white, as you took your time—too much time, if her whines were anything to go by.

"You’re still not done?" she grumbled, her voice muffled against the canvas.

You chuckled, your thumb circling her rim, already stretched around two fingers but still clenching every time you moved. "Rushing ruins the art, Chaeyoung," you murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the small of her back.

She shivered, her hips twitching. "I’m not a painting," she huffed, but the way her breath hitched when you crooked your fingers betrayed her.

"No," you agreed, your free hand smoothing up her spine. "You’re better."

She groaned, half exasperated, half desperate, her thighs trembling where they bracketed your hips. "If you don’t fuck me soon—"

You scissored your fingers, slow, and her threat dissolved into a gasp, her back bowing off the canvas.

"Ahh~!" Her nails scratched at the fabric, her voice breaking. "F-fuck—please—"

You hummed, your lips brushing her shoulder blade. "Please what?"

She whined, her hips rocking back against your hand. "You know what—"

You did. But you loved hearing her say it.

The strawberry lube was slick between your fingers as you stroked it over your cock, the sweet scent mixing with the musk of sweat and sex already thick in the studio air. Chaeyoung watched over her shoulder, her dark eyes tracking every movement—her breath hitching when your thumb smeared a thick droplet over the head.

"Ready?" you murmured, your other hand smoothing up the dip of her waist, feeling the way her ribs expanded with each shaky inhale.

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she pushed her hips back, her ass jutting out in blatant invitation, the pink furl of her rim already glistening from your earlier prep. The motion was whorish, desperate—and so utterly Chaeyoung that you had to bite back a groan.

"Fuck," you muttered, your grip tightening on her hip. "You’re made for this."

She huffed, but the way her thighs trembled betrayed her. "J-just do it already—"

You didn’t need to be told twice.

The head of your cock pressed against her entrance, and for a second, neither of you breathed—then you pushed, slow, and her body yielded, her rim stretching around you with a filthy, slick sound.

Chaeyoung choked, her fingers clawing at the canvas beneath her. "Hhah~! S-shit—"

You froze, your thumbs rubbing circles into her hips. "Okay?"

She nodded, frantic, her back arching. "Y-yeah—fuck—just… big—"

You chuckled, leaning over her to brush your lips against her shoulder blade. "You’ve done this before," you mused, your voice low.

She whined, her walls fluttering around you as you sank deeper. "T-toys," she admitted, her voice wrecked. "N-not—ahh—not this big—"

You groaned, your hips rolling forward to seat yourself fully inside her, your pelvis pressed flush against her ass.

"Lucky me," you murmured.

The moment you bottomed out inside her, Chaeyoung arched—her back bowing, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the canvas beneath her. A broken, punched-out sound tore from her throat as her body struggled to adjust, her rim fluttering around the thick stretch of your cock.

"F-fuck—fuck—" Her voice was raw, her thighs quivering where they bracketed your hips. "S’too much—"

You groaned, your hands tightening on her waist as you pulled back—slow, torturous—just to watch her rim cling to you, the tight ring of muscle resisting before finally releasing with a slick pop.

Chaeyoung whimpered, her forehead pressing into the canvas. "Ahh~! D-don’t stop—"

You didn’t.

Your next thrust was harder, deeper, your hips snapping forward to bury yourself in her again, the slap of skin echoing off the studio walls.

"Look at you," you gritted out, your voice rough with restraint. "Taking me so fucking well—"

She moaned, her ass jiggling with every pound of your hips, her rim stretching wider each time you pulled back, the pink flesh gaping for a second before you slammed home again.

"Hhah~! M-more—" Her voice was wrecked, her nails scratching at the fabric beneath her. "Wanna—ahh—wanna feel it tomorrow—" You obliged, your thrusts turning brutal, precise, each one dragging a fresh sob from her throat. The studio air was thick with the scent of strawberries and sweat, the only sounds being the wet slide of skin and Chaeyoung’s breathless whimpers. You moved inside her with a slow, reverent rhythm—each thrust a deliberate act of worship, each withdrawal a tease that left her trembling.

Her body was a symphony of reactions—every inch of her singing under your touch. The way her back arched, her spine curving like a bowstring pulled taut. The flutter of her lashes when you brushed your lips against her shoulder, the hitch in her breath when your fingers traced the dip of her waist. She was alive beneath you, around you, her warmth seeping into your skin like sunlight through stained glass.

And her ass—god, her ass. The way her rim clung to you, tight and desperate, as if afraid you’d leave. The way it stretched around your girth, pink and glistening with lube, each thrust coaxing a fresh, broken sound from her lips. The faint tremors in her thighs, the way her toes curled against the canvas—every detail a testament to the pleasure coursing through her.

You didn’t need to dominate. You didn’t need to dirty talk. The way she melted for you, the way her body begged without words—it was enough. More than enough.

You leaned over her, your chest pressing against her back as you rolled your hips, deep, slow, savoring the way her walls fluttered around you.

"Good?" you murmured, your lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She nodded, her voice a wrecked whisper. "Y-yes—ahh—please—"

You smiled, your hands sliding up to intertwine with hers, pinning them gently against the canvas as you started to love her, cherish her in the sweetest way possible.

The studio smelled of drying acrylics and sweat, the overhead lights casting long shadows across Chaeyoung’s arched back as she braced herself on the half-painted canvas. Her ice-blonde hair—streaked with that rebellious black stripe you loved—was damp at the roots, clinging to her neck as she trembled beneath you.

You paused, your cock buried to the hilt inside her, just to feel the way her body pulsed around you—the involuntary clench of her rim, the hitch in her breath when you flexed your hips just so.

"Look at you," you murmured, your fingers threading through her hair, gently fisting the strands—not to pull, not yet, just to hold. To anchor her.

She whined, her ass pushing back against you, demanding. "D-don’t stop—"

You smiled, your thumb brushing the nape of her neck before you moved again.

Your thrusts were deep, measured, each one dragging a fresh moan from her throat. The canvas beneath her creaked, the wet slap of skin mingling with the squelch of lube and the drip of her arousal onto the half-finished painting below.

Chaeyoung’s fingers clawed at the fabric, her gasps turning shrill as you angled your hips, the head of your cock grinding against that spot inside her that made her see stars.

"HHAHH~!" Her back arched, her hair tugging in your grip as she fought the pleasure, fought the inevitable. "I—I’m close—"

You tightened your hold on her hair, just enough to make her jolt, her walls fluttering around you like a heartbeat.

"Let go," you breathed, your voice rough with want.

And she did.

Chaeyoung shattered with a scream, her body convulsing around you as her orgasm ripped through her—violent, unrelenting. Her release gushed onto the canvas beneath her, mixing with the still-wet paint in swirls of color, distorting the art into something new, something obscene.

You groaned, your hips stuttering as her clenching ass milked you mercilessly, your own release building, building—

"Inside," she begged, her voice broken, her body limp beneath you. "P-please—"

You obliged, pounding into her once, twice more before burying yourself to the hilt, your cum filling her in thick, pulsing waves.

Chaeyoung whimpered, her rim fluttering around your spent cock as you collapsed over her, your forehead pressed between her shoulder blades.

The studio was silent save for your ragged breaths and the drip of paint—and other things—onto the floor.

You kissed the sweat-damp curve of her spine, your fingers uncurling from her hair to soothe the reddened skin of her scalp.

"Okay?" you murmured.

Chaeyoung huffed, her voice wrecked but smug. "I painted better than you today."

You laughed, your arms wrapping around her waist as you rolled onto your back, pulling her with you.

The canvas beneath you was ruined.

It was perfect.

The studio was quiet now, save for the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of fabric as you settled back against the carpet, your legs stretched out in front of you. The adrenaline of the last hour had faded, leaving behind a pleasant exhaustion—the kind that made your limbs heavy and your thoughts slow.

Chaeyoung, however, had other plans.

You barely had time to catch your breath before she was crawling toward you, her movements deliberately slow, her hips swaying with every shift of her knees. Her ice-blonde hair—still mussed from your earlier grip—fell in messy waves around her shoulders, the black streak a stark contrast against her flushed skin.

"Comfy?" she asked, her voice laced with faux innocence as she settled herself between your legs, her hands resting on your thighs.

You raised an eyebrow. "I was."

She pouted, her lower lip jutting out in that exaggerated way she knew you couldn’t resist. "You’re supposed to say yes and then cuddle me."

You snorted, but your hands were already moving, one tangling in her hair, the other sliding around her waist to pull her closer. "Since when do you follow scripts?"

She giggled, her nose brushing against yours before she ducked her head, pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat. "Since now," she murmured, her breath warm against your skin.

Her fingers traced idle patterns on your chest, her touch light, teasing. "You really like my ass, huh?"

You groaned, tipping your head back against the wall. "We’re really doing this now?"

She grinned, her teeth nipping at your collarbone. "Yep."

"You’re impossible," you muttered, but your grip on her waist tightened, pulling her flush against you.

She hummed, her lips curving into a smug little smile as she wiggled in your lap, just to feel you twitch beneath her. "But you love me."

You sighed, your fingers tangling in her hair again—gentle this time, just to hold her still. "Yeah," you admitted, your voice soft. "I do."

She beamed, her nose scrunching in that way that made your chest ache, before burying her face in your neck with a contented sigh.

The studio was wrecked.

The two of you were perfect.

Chapter 2: The Space Between Colors Doesn't Mean It's Empty

Chaeyoung’s breath tickled against your neck, slow and steady now—like her body had finally caught up to her heart.

Your fingers stroked lazy circles along the small of her back, the quiet rhythm grounding you both.

She didn’t speak for a while.

And then…

“You didn’t even ask.”

You blinked. “Ask what?”

“Why I really came here tonight.”

You pulled back slightly to look at her. Her cheeks were still flushed, but now there was something more in her eyes. Nervousness. Hope.

“Wasn’t it the… artist crush thing?” you said carefully. “The portraits?”

She bit her lip, shaking her head slowly. “That was part of it. But not all.”

You stayed quiet, letting her speak.

“Do you know how many people paint us?” she asked, her tone suddenly heavy. “How many draw our faces? Sketch our bodies? Try to guess our thoughts like we’re characters in some fantasy?”

You nodded faintly. You weren’t blind to fan culture. You had even wrestled with guilt about painting them at all.

Chaeyoung sat up, straddling your thighs now, her hands bracing on your shoulders. “But you didn’t do that.” Her voice had a slight tremble. “You painted needs. Longing. Emotions no one asks about. You gave me—us—a space to just… exist, without filters. Without expectations.”

She touched your chest lightly, just over your heart.

“That’s why I came here.” Her eyes locked with yours. “Not to sleep with an artist. But to feel like a person.”

You exhaled slowly. She wasn’t here for lust. She was here because your brushstrokes had seen something in her—something she hadn’t realized she was desperate for someone to acknowledge.

“Then why now?” you asked gently. “Why tonight?”

Her lips twitched.

“Because I wanted to see if you’d still look at me the same after touching me.” A beat passed. “You do.”

That silence afterward wasn’t empty. It was full of quiet understanding.

You reached up and tucked her messy hair behind her ear. “You’ve always been more than what people expect you to be.”

She gave a tiny smile at that.

And then—

“Also…” Her voice lowered into that playful whisper again. “Your sketchbook is criminal. You made my thighs look like art.”

You laughed, fully now, arms pulling her back into your chest.

“They are art.”

“Then paint me again,” she murmured, brushing her lips against your jaw. “With your hands this time.”

Your heart pounded.

The soft hum of the air conditioner faded into the background again as the moment thickened between you.

The studio wasn’t just wrecked.

It was alive.

A gallery of stolen moments, messy passion, and truth laid bare in oil, graphite, and touch.

And right now, your favorite subject was climbing back into your lap, ready to blur every boundary between inspiration and intimacy.

The warmth between you had settled into something quieter now—less fire, more ember. The kind that stayed long after the room emptied.

Chaeyoung stirred first, lifting her head from your chest as her phone buzzed across the floor.

She sighed.

"It’s Mina." Her voice was soft, threaded with reluctance. "Schedule moved up. They want me at the shoot in an hour."

You reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. She leaned into your palm.

"Duty calls," you murmured.

She didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, blinking at nothing, like the walls around her weren’t real.

Then she reached for your phone.

You raised an eyebrow, watching her lift it, tilt it toward your face. The lock clicked open.

"Hey—"

"Shh."

Her fingers danced across the screen—calm, certain. She typed, saved, and handed it back with a wry smile.

“Now you can find me without guessing.”

Her thumb tapped your bottom lip once, tender.

Then she whispered—half to you, half to the unfinished painting behind you:

"Muse or mistake… you’re already inside the frame now."

You blinked, confused, but before you could ask what that meant, she was already rising—pulling her shirt over her head in one smooth motion, sliding her jeans back on.

She moved like poetry. Quick strokes. Confident. Free.

At the door, she paused.

“Don’t erase anything. Especially the smudges.”

And just like that, she was gone.

The studio fell silent again.

Only the hum of the air and the soft vibration of your heart remained.

You looked down at your phone. One new contact.

Son Chaeyoung – only if you mean it

No emojis. No hearts.

But somehow, it felt more intimate than anything.

You stared at the name, the number… and below it, a photo file.

One of your portraits.

The one with her silhouette in the middle of a burning garden, face turned toward the sun.

You never shared that painting with anyone.

And yet, she’d titled it:

“Where I’ll wait.”

END…?

[flightlessribbons]

Adrien hair dump!

Also some context for the last one: Adrien has a "sneaking out disguise" (the first row hair) that's just a dark brown wig, brown eye contacts and no makeup and he actually meets Marinette for the first time like this. She doesn't know it's her and Adrien's first meeting, she thinks he's a warehouse helper named Darien, and she later believes him to be Chat Noir's civilian identity, which is why she calls him that in that picture.

Anyways, some more blabberings under the cut:

- With Amelie and Felix's help too, Adrien has a go-to civilian disguise for when he's out and about. (it's mostly him NOT putting on makeup, reverse makeover if you will) For this reason, Inheritance!Adrien is a lot more acclimated to going out and having interests. He acts a lot like Chat when in this disguise as well- but just slightly less unhinged

- He sometimes parades as a storeroom assistant for the biggest Agreste warehouse/workshop, and this is how he meets Marinette for the first time. She's also the reason he began to ask to go to public school that following year

- He's a natural brunet, he started dying it blond when “Gabriel” began to put him into modeling. “Gabriel” was against it at first, but Adrien spun it for the company's favor and got him to stop fussing about it

- any resemblence to anything is accidental, "Darien" was made a while ago and was low-key based on fanon Plagg designs from like 2016 off my memory 😅

- Marinette and Chat hang out while he's in his "civilian" form quite a lot, and Tom ships them

- the glasses are cosmetic, it's for sentimental reasons

- annula disclaimer that I am going to pout an obnoxious amount of marichat outta this au 😌👍

[mochinek0]

Daminette December: 6-That's Mine

Damian walked into the classroom to find everyone shouting. He tried to piece the argument together, but all he heard was it had to do with Marinette. It sounded like some were accusing her of something and the other half were defending her. He looked at his Angel, only to see her trying to keep calm and deep breathing.

"Hey!" said a girl and shoved Mari, "Say something!"

He knew better than to anger his girlfriend, but it seemed this girl didn't. He smirked as she glared down her opponent; the same glare that subdued his father. A quiet flutter caught his ear and he turned to see an akuma aiming it's sights on Marinette.

---

Damian reached out and plucked the akuma from the air. The students fell silent, wondering what his akuma would be. Everyone had a reason, but what was his?

"A new challenger?" Hawkmoth called into his ear, "I am Hawkmoth and-"

He pulled his clenched fist close to his face and growled out, "She's mine. You stay away from her. It's not her time."

He closed his fist and squished the akuma into dust, glaring down at his hand. No one spoke a word.

'He's more dangerous than Hawkmoth!'

'Could he be a miraculous weilder?'

'What if he was Chat Noir?'

'He should be a weilder with Ladybug! They could stop Hawkmoth instantly!'

---

"Hey!" Marinette shouted, bringing everyone out of their shock, "That was mine!"

Damian turned to her and glared, "You wanted to be akumatized?"

"No." She sneered, "I already know how to make them leave me alone, but I do have a question. How did you make it go poof?"

"Killing instinct from Mother." Damian declared.

"That makes sense." she sighed, pulling him out the class door, "Come on. I think My Hero deserves some ice cream."

"Ice cream is a reward for children." he declared.

Marinette stopped, grabbed his shirt and pulled him down into a kiss. The class watched as he kissed back, shattering any doubt that they were together.

"There. My Hero is rewarded and is now treating me to ice cream." she smiled.

Flushed, Damian kept walking, leading her out of the classroom. Everyone else was just confused as to what happened.

'When did Marinette become a badass?'

'She was dating that guy?'

'Mari has akuma repellant?'

"Wait!" cried Rose, "Why would Marinette know how to repel akumas?"

The room fell silent. How many akumas had gone after her, for her to know how to get akumas to leave her alone. How had they not noticed?

@maribat-calendar-events

TAG LIST- DAMINETTE: @meme991001 @umbreon-worshipper @stainedglassm @jasmine-the-fox @psychicdelusionwerewolf @vixen-uchiha @mysteriouschar @missmadwoman @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dissarraymania @tundra1029 @abrx2002 @mrsjacuinde @ledalasombra @animegirlweeb

UNSPECIFIED- @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @tigresslily @legodetectivemalsblog

[gallavichsreddie1128]

His Dad (Soldier Boy)

Description: Homelander cheats on Y/N with StormFront so she decides to sleep with a handsome stranger

Warning:Smut, Cheating

Word Count: 2,109

Anger rose in her body as she watched the scene in front of her. The disbelief she felt and the hurt. She knew that he was a shitty guy from the start and that he didn’t care about anyone but himself. Her mistake really, for dating him. He wasn’t even a good boyfriend, now that she was thinking about it. He only ever cared about himself. He was controlling and didn’t like it when she did things without him. He hated that she had a life outside of him. Her world didn’t revolve around him. So as she watched him fuck that cunt, stormfront she only felt anger, but she wasn’t sure what the anger was at. Herself for him? Maybe both? She didn’t care, she just needed to leave. Without them noticing, she left. Billy was right all along and she should have listened to him. Homelander was a piece of shit. She fought back tears as she walked to the bar.

She couldn’t believe she wasted that much time on him. She sat on one of the barstools and ordered a drink. She needed to forget about him. That was step one. It was a few drinks later that she noticed a very handsome guy staring at her from across the table. He was probably the best looking guy she’s ever seen. He was observing her as she drank her pain away. She was beautiful and looked oddly familiar but he didn’t know from what. She looked at him as he gave her a smirk. The smirk that said he planned to give her a show.

She felt her phone buzz in her pocket, breaking eye contact with the handsome stranger she looked at who was calling and to her luck it was Homelander. She scoffed and ignored the call. She set down her phone and looked up to find the handsome guy by her side. “I take it that was your ex calling you?” He asked. She rolled her eyes. “Yup. Just recently too.” She said with anger. “So what did the dumbass do?” He asked. “Cheated on me.” She said and downed the rest of her drink. “How could anyone cheat on a pretty little thing like you?” He asked.

She chuckled and looked at him. “What’s your name?” She asked him. “Ben.” She nodded. “Y/N.” She told him. It clicked in his head that he saw her on TV and that she’s dating Homelander who happens to be his son. “Wait Y/N as in Homelander’s Y/N?” He asked. “Not anymore.” She said. “That asshole cheated on you?” She shook her head and ordered another drink. “Ya know that best part about all of this is? He was a terrible boyfriend. He only ever cared about himself, he was so possessive and didn’t want me having a life outside of him.” “Sounds like an asshole. You deserve better than that. You deserve a man not a little boy.” She took a sip of her drink. “Are you implying something Ben?” She looked at him. He shrugged. “Maybe I am.” She laughed and downed the rest of her drink. He watched her as she did. “Maybe I’m okay with that.” She said.

His lips crashed into hers the second they walked through the door of his house. He had her up against the wall with his hands placed above her head as he deepened the kiss. Her hands wrapped around his neck. He was very a good kisser and she was thankful for that. She didn’t wanna get ahead of herself but she seemed to pick the right guy to fuck after Homelander. They pulled away from the kiss breathing hard. “Wow. You’re a good kisser.” She told him. “Oh sweetheart, I’m very good at other things as well.” He said with a cocky smile. “Oh really?” He nodded. “How about you show me?” He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. “That’s what I planned to do?” He said and carried her to his bedroom. Completely forgetting that his bedroom would give away who he was. He had posters of him and his team from back in the day on the wall. As they entered the room he mentally cursed himself and hoped she didn’t look around. She did and gasped. “You know Black Noir?” She asked him. He nodded and kissed her, hoping she wouldn’t ask any questions.

He dropped her on the bed and she opened her eyes to see him on the ceiling in a costume. She gasped loudly as it clicked in her head. He was soldier boy. She sat up fast and he looked at her concerned. “Are you okay?” He asked. “You-You’re soldier boy!” She said. He looked down “yeah I was hoping you wouldn’t find out.” He said. She got up from the bed. “There’s no way that I’m about to fuck another Supe.” She laughed. “So you don’t wanna fuck?” He asked. “No no I definitely do.” She said. He realized that Homelander never told her that he was his dad. “Good. Because I’m a way better fuck than that cape wearing bitch.” He said and pushed her back on the bed. She smirked and removed her shirt. “You better be.” He removed his and got on top her.

They went back to kissing and her hands ran up his muscular back. His hands ran down her body to her jeans. He unzipped them and slid his hand to her panties that were drenched by now. “Holy shit. You’re soaked.” He said against her lips and moved down to her neck. She gasped as his finger rubbed circles on her clit and his lips attacked her neck. She looked up at the ceiling and stared at the picture of him. He was so hot. She was so happy that she was in this position right now. She let out a moan as his finger sped up. “Ben fuck.” She moaned. He was going to make her cum just by one finger. He pulled away from her neck and stopped his finger. He got up and pulled her jeans off her body. He got on his knees and pulled her body to the end of the bed. Her wet covered cunt was face to face with him.

He rubbed his nose against her clit and she gasped, making him smirk. He pulled down her panties to revealing her cunt. “Wow.” He said and gave kitten licks. She moaned out and grabbed his hair and pulled making him groan into her pussy. He was full on eating her out like she was a full course meal. Her thighs clinched around his head as his finger was swirling around her hole. She gasped out as he entered her. His finger was thick. “Ben.” She moaned out. He started pumping his finger as his tongue worked on her clit. She was making the most pornographic noises that was music to his ears. He added another finger and curled them hitting her g spot. She screamed his name and let out a loud moan.

He kept hitting the spot over and over again. She was so close to the edge. His hair was a mess from her pulling it. “Ben, I’m gonna cum.” She warned him. He sped up his movements and felt her pussy spasm all over his fingers. She came hard with a whimper of the man’s name. He felt her squirt onto his face and he gave a sick laugh. Y/N opened her eyes and sat him. His face was covered in her juices. Her face was red at the sight. “You squirted.” He told her. “I’m so sorry I-“ “Relax honey it’s hot. I can tell he never made you do that.” And he was right. John never could. She pulled him in for a kiss. She tasted herself on his lips and she moaned. She pulled at his jeans and he unzipped them. She pulled them down and pulled away from the kiss to see that he was harder than a rock. His dick begging to be released from his boxers. She pulled them down. His dick was huge, way bigger than John’s. Her eyes widened at the size. He laughed at her reaction. “I can also tell I’m bigger than him.” Ben said with a smirk. She nodded.

Her hand reached up and she ran her thumb over the tip. He let out a groan at her soft hand. She wrapped her hand around his base and started jacking him off. His eyes closed and he let out a breath that he was holding in. Her hand felt amazing. Each thrust of her hand made him groan. “Fuck sweetheart. Your hand feels amazing.” He groaned. She watched as the man’s hips thrusted into her hand, heightening the pleasure. His eyebrows were scrunched together and his eyes were closed. He looked so sexy. He twitched in her hand and his breathing turned into pants. “Fuck I’m gonna cum.” Her hand moved faster and within seconds he came all over her hand.

She pulled her hand away from him and licked it clean. “WOW you’re really good with your hands. Homelander was a lucky guy.” He said to her. She smirked at him. “Well now I’m the lucky one.” She said. He pushed her back down on the bed and got on top of her. She looked up at him as he took in her pretty body. “God that guy is such an idiot.” He said and entered her. She gasped out at the feeling of being so full. One hand was placed by her head and the other was holding her hip. Her jaw dropped as he thrusted slowly and deep. She felt warm and tight. “Fuck you feel so good.” He groaned as they stared into each other’s eyes. She felt like at this moment nothing else mattered. He placed his forehead on hers and thrusted faster and faster.

She was letting out little whimpers and moans that were getting louder and louder. He felt himself getting closer and closer by just the noises she was making and the fact that he was fucking his son’s ex. She felt him twitch inside of her and she watched him as his eyes rolled back. She felt his cum deep inside of her which triggered her release. “Ben.” She moaned as she came all over his cock. Both of them out of breath and their hips slowly moving, riding out the highs. He collapsed next to her and looked at the picture of himself. Her breathing slowed and she turned to him. “So do you know Homelander?” She asked him. He nodded and looked at her. He figured now would be the best time to tell her that he was his son. “Yeah uh he’s my son.” He looked at her.

Her face twisted for a second like she was confused but also thinking about what he just said. Then she started laughing. “What’s so funny?” He asked her. She caught her breath. “There’s no way he’s your son. You guys are like the same age.” She pointed out. “Yeah well I was frozen for a while.” He said. She stopped laughing and looked at him with a straight face. “You’re tell me that the guy i just fucked happened to be my ex’s dad?” She asked. He nodded. She thought about it and wanted to laugh again. “That is the best thing ever.” She said. He looked at her confused. “Wait, you aren’t mad?” “Why would I be mad? You’re hot and he’s gonna lose his shit when he finds out.” She said. 

Homelander was banging on her door hard, pissed that she hasn’t answered her phone in a few days. She opened the door and he was fuming. “Why the fuck have you been avoiding my calls?” He was basically yelling. “I saw you and Stormfront so we are over.” She yelled back. His face dropped. “Baby that was a one time thing.” She shook her head. “No. Fuck you.” She said and went to shut the door. “I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, you can’t leave me.” He growled. She opened the door. “Actually I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” Before he could reply another voice called her name. “Y/N who’s at the door?” “Who the fuck is that?” Homelander asked her. The door opened wider to reveal Soldier Boy. “What the fuck is he doing here?” She shrugged. “You’re not the only one that calls me daddy now.” Soldier Boy said with a smirk.

[thewertsearch]

GG: Gosh! So formal today. UU: yes. u_u; UU: i'm afraid i am gUilty of rehearsing this pep talk well in advance. UU: i thoUght yoU deserved a proper sendoff.

Umbra has been talking to Jane for a while, then, supporting her from the sidelines.

Are the other Players aware of UU's existence, or is Jane the only one who's heard from them? Each of the original humans was initially harassed by a different troll, so maybe Bro, Jake and Roxy are being 'cheered' by their own respective cheerleaders.

UU: have yoU corresponded with yoUr first designated co-player yet? GG: No, I haven't seen her online yet today. GG: I'm really hoping Lalonde won't flake out on me this time. Have you heard from her?

I've got to say, I'm pretty relieved that the Derse kids have the same last names as before. I was fully prepared for Roxy to be a Noir, or something.

UU: not the today that is local to yoU. UU: thoUgh i do have a wee bit more troUble monitoring her than the rest of yoU. cUrioUs dark patches in transmission, hUmph.

...well, she may not be a Noir, but she is going Grimdark.

My hopes for Roxy to be the only non-corrupted human have quickly been dashed. We've got a full house of Dark Players; four ticking time bombs, ready to be set off at any moment.

This is going to be fun.

GG: I wanted to tell you, I had an amazing dream last night! […] GG: I was in a bright gold city. Above was a brilliant blue sky, but the horizon was dark as night.

Right, so Jane's a Prospit dreamer - and Jake must be the same, since she saw him there earlier. No surprises there.

UU: the place yoU visited was called prospit. it is where i have woken Up every time i have gone to sleep for most of my life.

But this is a big surprise.

UranianUmbra is a Player, and I can't figure out what session they could possibly fit into. Their grey text initially made me wonder if they were the pre-Scratch Signless - but Kid Signless wouldn't need to type in grey, would he? On a peaceful Alternia, he'd have no reason to fear culling, and could happily type in red.

What other sessions are available, then? Jane's, maybe? A fifth interloper to this reset session would certainly be an interesting twist - but it doesn't gel with the rules of the Scratch as they've been presented, and I don't think it fits the narrative.

I guess the only other possibility is that UU is in a fifth session, completely distinct from the four we're aware of.

UU: my prospit is an alternate version from yoUrs, in a completely different session qUite far afield of yoUr reality. UU: if we are ever to meet in person, it is Unlikely to be while playing oUr respective games!

And yes, that does appear to be the case.

...well, I suppose UU could just be bullshitting us, but I don't think that's the case. Bringing a fifth session into the mix is just too juicy to be a mere cover story. I'm pretty sure I believe it - and I have three main theories about what kind of session they're a part of.

Namely:

UU is part of the session which created Alternia’s universe.

UU is starting a session inside the kids' new universe.

UU's session is both of those things at once.

[askmrtorgue]

HEY! YOU THERE! WANT TO PLAY A TABLETOP ADVENTURE WITH A PROFESSIONAL STORYTELLER?

I'M MISTER TORGUE, AND THE NERD WHO HELPS ME LOG INTO THIS ACCOUNT ASKED ME TO DO AN AD FOR HIS SERVICES. I TOLD HIM I WOULD, BUT ONLY IF I GOT TO WRITE IT MYSELF. SO STRAP IN, DUMPSUCKS. IT'S PRODUCT PLACEMENT TIME:

--

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DO YOU WANT WANT TO LEARN TABLETOP RPGS BUT EVERYONE WHO TRIES TO EXPLAIN IT USES THINGS LIKE MATH AND SPREADSHEETS AND YOU CAN'T STOP THEM BECAUSE FATAL SUPLEXES ARE ILLEGAL ON YOUR PLANET?

THEN YOU NEED BENCOMPETENCE, PROFESSIONAL STORYTELLER AND GAME MASTER.

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BENCOMPETENCE HAS RUN OVER 800 PROFESSIONAL SESSIONS OF TABLETOP GAMES, INCLUDING DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, CITY OF MIST, THIRSTY SWORD LESBIANS, AND MORE. HE HAS OVER ONE-HUNDRED 5-STAR REVIEWS FROM HIS CLIENTS, WHICH IS PROBABLY MORE THAN 12 MAYBE.

NOT ONLY DOES BEN OWN A PAIR OF CAT-EAR HEADPHONES, HE EXCELS AT RIPPING YOUR HEART STRAIGHT OUT OF ITS RIBCAGE USING NOTHING BUT COMPELLING, ROMANCEABLE CHARACTERS AND BADASS EPIC ADVENTURES. IN FACT, EVEN HIS VILLAINS ARE SEXY AS F*CK. JUST CHECK OUT THIS VAMPIRE FROM ONE OF HIS CAMPAIGNS:

THIS MURDER MOMMY IS ABSOLUTELY ABOUT TO KILL ME AND MY ONLY RESPONSE WILL BE TO THANK HER. HER NAME IS THE COUNTESS STRAHD AND SHE IS COLD AS SHE IS HOT. TEMPERATURE PUNS!!!

NOT YOUR STYLE?!?! WE RESPECT YOUR PREFERENCES AND HUMBLY RECOMMEND AVELINE BAMBRIDGE.

AVELINE'S AN AVID MASK COLLECTOR, ARCANE WAR CRIMINAL, AND FIERCE ADVOCATE OF WOMEN'S WRONGS. YOU CAN MEET HER IN MASKS OF AVELINE.

OR MAYBE YOU WANT TO EXERCISE YOUR GOD-GIVEN RIGHT TO BE THE BADDIE ALL BY YOURSELF???!?? THEN IT'S TIME TO SOLVE SOME MAGICAL NOIR CRIMES, MOTHERF*CKER.

BECOME A DETECTIVE INFUSED WITH THE MYTH OF YOUR CHOICE IN CITY OF MIST.

THIS ONE GIVES YOU MAGIC POWERS AND PLOT TWISTS, AND IT ALSO TALKS ABOUT THE WEATHER IN THE TITLE SO YOU KNOW IT'S DEEP AS SH*T.

OR MAYBE YOU'RE SAYING "F*CK READING, I WANT TO DO CRIMES AND BLOW UP SH*T". AND IF YOU SAID THAT, PLEASE CALL ME SO THAT WE CAN HANG OUT SOMETIME.

BUT ALSO CONSIDER JOINING OUTLAWS OF ALKENSTAR, A PATHFINDER ADVENTURE THAT FEELS LIKE THE CHAOS AND HILARITY OF THAT ONE VIDEO GAME YOU KNOW ME FROM, BORDER BREAK.

BENCOMPETENCE'S GAMES ARE INCLUSIVE AF AND BEGINNER-FRIENDLY, SO NEWCOMERS AND VETERANS WILL BOTH FEEL RIGHT AT HOME. THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS IS THAT YOU GET IN THERE AND KICK THE NARRATIVE'S ASS RIGHT IN ITS D*CK.

HE ALSO ASKED ME TO TELL YOU THAT SESSION 0'S ARE FREE. BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS, BECAUSE I REFUSE TO LEARN ANY NUMBERS INVENTED AFTER 4TH CENTURY B.C.

WANT TO JOIN A TABLE? THEN LISTEN UP, F*CKTRUCKS, BECAUSE IT'S LIST TIME:

FIGHT OR MAYBE MAKE OUT WITH HOT EVIL VAMPIRES IN CURSE OF STRAHD

I AM NOW OVERWHELMED BY THE VAMPIRE AGAIN AND FORGOT THE NEXT BULLET POINT

BE AVELINE'S DINNER GUEST AND ALSO MAYBE HER ARCH NEMESIS IN MASKS OF AVELINE. (MONDAY AND FRIDAY VERSIONS)

SOLVE MYSTERIES AND BE ATTRACTIVE IN CITY OF MIST

BLOW SH*T UP IN COWBOYS, CLOCKWORK, AND MAGIC.

THERE'S A LOT MORE TO SAY, BUT THE NERD WRITING THIS SCRIPT STARTED TALKING ABOUT CHARACTER SHEETS AND SOMETHING CALLED NARRATIVE AGENCY, SO I HAD TO BEAT HIM WITH A FOLDING CHAIR UNTIL HE STOPPED. YOU CAN HELP PAY FOR THE BODYCAST I PUT HIM IN BY SIGNING UP TODAY!

END OF ADVERTISEMENT.

[itsjusbleh]

Beneath the surface

Chat Noir x reader

Chapter one — Acrophobia

Moving to Paris is a fresh, fresh beginning for you. Maybe it was a too big of a leap, but you’re excited, and you’re young, so why not? Though you can’t ignore the tender ache in your stomach. Gotta love anxiety.

It’s only when you step through the inside doors that you realise you have left your damn water bottle behind at your apartment. But then the bell rings, and immediately there’s a hundred footsteps, talking and yelling and someone actually barges into you. You can’t tell who it was anyway because they get lost in the sea of moving people. Scrambling for your campus map, you try and find your class. B5?

Finally finding the room, you open the door with an exasperated energy. But upon seeing the space, you realise that the class is not cinematography. At all.

A naked muscular man sits in the front of the room, posing on a stool as the student artists paint a portrait. Your eyes spring open and you can feel people start to look at you. You go to leave, stepping backwards. “Shit— sorry! I’m in the wrong class—“

You bump into a table filled with clay figures, fumbling a bunch of apologies as you knock one over and it smashes on the ground. What’s even worse is that people begin laughing as your skin flushes warm. You fall to the ground and scramble at the broken pieces.

”Hey—“

At the sudden close proximity of a voice, your head snaps up. A clean hit to the owner of the voice’s nose. A groan comes from above you as you whip your attention to the person.

His hand clutches at his face as you blabber, “I am so so sorry, oh my god…”

”It’s okay, it’s okay,” he pinches his nose, eyes squinted. “You dropped this,” he extends your book towards you with his free hand.

You tuck your hair out of your face and when you get a proper look at him, you swallow dryly. It’s when his green eyes finally meet yours, and you take your book with quick fingers.

He offers you a little smile, but it falters when he looks to the smashed pot on the ground.

You tuck your book tightly into your chest. “Was that yours?” You ask softly, face contorted in shame.

“Yes,” he slowly says, lolling those green eyes back to yours, and you catch the smallest twitch of them widening. “It’s… fine, though.”

Oddly enough, there’s a second of silence before the professor echoes a loud ‘ahem’. You scramble out of the class, offering another clumsy sorry as you leave, unknowingly having the same pair of green eyes following you as you do.

Once you’re finally in cinematography, a nice girl with tan skin and dark red hair chats to you as she polishes her glasses. She says her name’s Alya and it’s hard because you’re trying to listen to the teacher, especially because he was a bit annoyed at your lateness but she’s blabbering in your ear. You don’t have the heart to try and tell her to stop especially because you’re new and well, alone. You need to make friends.

”I was supposed to be taking audio and film instead of this class, but apparently, this branches more opportunity,” she uses quote fingers, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I can thank my boyfriend for that—“

She gets hushed by the teacher, but after five seconds she slowly turns her head back to you, as if expecting you to start talking.

“I’m taking a performing arts bachelor,” you whisper. “I’d like to be an actress… or something like that.”

“Oooh nice,” Alya wiggles her words, once again getting hushed by the teacher.

After two full, long classes, you head out into the main courtyard like most of the students at the university. Some are on phones, some are in animated conversation. You see an oak tree at the far end of the courtyard, with a wide trunk and plenty of shade. You can’t see anyone nearby, so you make your way over, and you plan to sit on the grass against the tree when you feel someone clutch your shoulder.

”Girl, where do you think you’re going?” Ayla’s voice seeps into your ears, her glossed lips stretched in a smile. You open your mouth to reply but she beats you to it, pulling your shoulder to walk with her. “Come meet my best frieeend, oh my god, you’ll love Marinette, she’s amazing.”

You follow her with a nod, a pleasant wave of relief actually washing through you. She pulls you to a table under a tree’s shade. Marinette has black hair with a tinge of blue hue that just curls around the mid of her neck, kind blue eyes and you can just tell she’s a warm soul. She waves, offering a hello.

She tells you she’s studying in fashion design, and as you tell her your bachelor, she coos. “Performing arts? Are you looking to book any roles in Paris? We have some opportunities here, theatre wise— oh, and advertisements, films…”

“I would love that, I just… need to see if I’m actress material, I guess. I know how difficult it is to get into the acting industry, and I’m taking some extra classes with a studio every week, so…”

”Hey, I know a guy that can hook you up with some opportunities,” Alya grins, nudging Marinette with a smug look. “Adrien Agreste,” she lets the name roll of her tongue, smooth and knowing.

Marinette rolls her eyes at Alya, but she turns to you with a hopeful smile. “Actually, that is true. He’s done plenty of things like that.”

As they say this, you wonder who this said guy is. It’s obvious that they know him well, which is good in your case. You pick up a french fry and dip it in ketchup.

“Who’s that?” You munch on the fry, voice muffled a little by it.

”Uhh… oh, he’s over there,” Alya points behind you. You turn and see where she’s pointing, to a group of people standing around. “The one in the navy pullover.”

The one in the navy pullover. You look for the clothing, and once found, you rake your eyes up to the face to match. You almost choke on your french fry, a strangled sound coming from your throat as Alya pats your back immediately. That’s insane because that’s the guy that you socked in the nose. Not to mention, you broke his clay piece.

Shit. Yeah, that’s him. What a small world. You turn around slowly back to the girls, shrinking in on yourself.

“What?” Both girls say in tune, confused at your expression.

“This morning I mixed up my classes and I bumped into him and I smashed his clay piece,” you clutch at your forehead, embarrassed. They both ease into a laugh. Your mind reels at just the thought of the humiliating situation. They attempt to reassure you, and you smile at their pure friendliness, but it drowns out a little as you take another peak at him.

To your utter shock, you catch his gaze. He seems surprised too because his expression sets into a stunned one. He quickly adverts his eyes, regaining his attention on a friend. You screw your lips up, a tinge of confusion bubbling in your chest.

Your first day wasn’t unbearable, but it wasn’t a piece of cake either. The first bite into your freshly baked croissant has you drooling. The buttery, flaky layers of the pastry melt in your mouth, releasing a rich, buttery flavor that dances on your tongue. It’s a nice breeze through Paris, seeping against your cheeks and you’re thankful for the spare time you have.

Suddenly the ground shakes, and the salts and peppers on your cafe table fall to the ground with an eery smash. An earthquake? You never knew they were prone in Paris. But then you hear a maniacal laugh echo throughout the street. The rustle of chairs moving and shoes squeaking fills your ears, and looking around you see that people are running into hiding.

What is going on?

A fast blur of red and black whips past, a powerful feminine voice yelling something out. You’re frozen in your chair, croissant now splattered along the pavement. You tilt to look at your treat now gone, a wave of grief rocking you.

Another suited figure runs by you. He wears a black suit, golden blond hair and shifting cat ears. He tosses a shout, “You should be inside! It’s too danger—rooooouuussss…” his head turns as he looks at you, sharp, emerald eyes giving you a one-down as his run slows to a stop, “hello.”

You look around quickly, seeing if he’s talking to anyone else but there’s no one else. Anywhere. “Hi,” you say, a tone of a question as you feel a shudder slip down your back at the way his eyes gobble you up. There’s a sinister swing of his hips as he walks toward you, a challenging stare that you can’t replicate.

“Ma chérie, you can’t be out here,” he tsks. With him this close, you can really look at him. His soft blond hair running wild at his neck, defined muscles cut against leather, the little dimple in his cheek from his wicked grin. What a being. “There’s a possibility you can get caught in the crossfire, and I would hate to see this pretty face get hurt.”

You nod gently, spacing out a little.

A truck gets thrown across the street in the background. His flirty demeanour flattens as he blinks, his whacky grin slipping. “Are you in shock?”

You shrug. You hear him mumble something under his breath, maybe along the lines of ‘shit’ and ‘poor thing’ but you can’t really tell from the loud crashing and banging noises going on around you. He taps his foot a little, cat ears flicking like he’s thinking.

“Chat Noir!” The same female voice from before snaps, and you watch the way his ears flatten, an exasperated groan escaping his lips.

”I’ll come back for you, ma chérie, just—“

Another loud shout, and he suddenly clutches you by the arm.

“Be a good girl and go into the cafe, come on,” his voice is tender and guiding, leading you through the cafe doors and practically carrying you there. “There we are, that’s it, puurfect.”

The way he mutters that last word against your ear makes you shiver, and all you can do is nod to him and his words. He sits you down on one of the couches, giving your arm one last graze before zooming out into the Parisian streets. You aren’t in shock. Are you? You’re just confused. As fuck.

You don’t know how long it’s been until there’s a flash of pinkish white that blinds you and you cover your face with an arm. Blinking away the shine, there’s an evident clearing of the sky, and herds of civilians creep out from their hidings. You decide to stay in the cafe for a while, grabbing for your phone as something comes up on your web, Ladyblog News.

Superheroes. Ladybug and Chat Noir. How have you never ever heard of this? You feel stupid, ridiculously stupid. Making your way out of the cafe and heading to your apartment, you duck into an alleyway shortcut.

”Why such a rush? I said I’d come back for you.”

The sudden noise makes you swish around, coming into contact with a leathered arm. Thick, leathered arm. The feline heroine has that arm leaned against the alleyway’s brick wall, looking you down like a predator. This guy is big on dramatic effect.

“I’ve just moved to Paris, and this… this is all very new to me,” you explain, wondering why it was difficult to keep eye contact.

“Oh, chèrie, I know…” he draws out, letting his eyes roll down your figure. “I might need to go home with you.”

His words send your mind in a frenzy, it makes your throat grow tingly. “Why?”

”For safety measures, of course. Why else?” He tilts his head at you as if it were obvious, the bell on his suit dinging lightly. That implication was prominent and you knew it, he was sly. “Your legs feel okay?”

”They feel fine,” you mutter, biting the inside of your cheek. You have to admit, they’re a bit jittery from before. You duck out from the alleyway and he follows.

“Mmm, I’m not sure I believe that,” he reaches behind himself to grab something, and when it comes into view it looks like a metal bar. He slides an arm around your waist. “You afraid of heights?”

You raise an eyebrow at his question, confusion once again filling you as he grabs your arm to wrap it around his neck. “…No.”

There’s a glint of a grin on his devilish lips. “And which one’s your building?”

You point in the direction to the blue apartment building in the distance. “That one,” you respond.

Without warning, you’re lifted up into the air. You screech, arms flying out and attaching to him magnetically. You can hear a low chuckle from him as your heart pounds against your ribcage. You don’t dare to peek out from his chest, eyes sealed shut as wind snips through the gaps of your hair.

“Which one?” Chat Noir asks, giving you a little nudge.

”Seventh floor, farthest left,” you rush, gripping him as if your life depended on it. There’s a thud and a commotion, and when he gently sets you down, it takes you a second to detach from him.

You immediately go to land a solid punch into his shoulder, a hiss like noise screeching out of him.

“Heeeey…” he pouts, to which you jab a finger at his chest.

“You should’ve warned me!” You scold harshly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His tongue runs along his smirking bottom lip, a glimpse of his white canines catching your eye. You only groan frustratedly, folding your arms. “Your balcony has a beautiful view,” Chat Noir praises.

You sigh. “I know, you can see the Eiffel from here and I didn’t even pay extra—“

”I wasn’t talking about the landscape,” he mutters. You turn to see his sneaky green eyes locked on you, seemingly proud at his flirtatious quip. Your arms tense in your hold, unable to play it cool as you let a smile creep onto your face. You hear a quiet beeping sound and you catch the way his eyebrows stitch down as he looks at his ring finger.

“What’s wrong?” You utter, unfolding your arms.

“I have to leave,” Chat Noir grunts, annoyance twinged in his voice. He takes your hand in his, giving it a swift kiss in apology. “Selfishly, I beg of you to go into shock more.”

You actually giggle at his silly statement, going to take your hand back but his grip doesn’t falter. His slimmed, feline pupils dilate with your sound.

“What’s your name?” He asks gently, smoothing his gloved thumb over your knuckle. You say it without a thought, quiet enough that it could be mistaken for another gust of Paris’s wind. He leans back towards the bars of your balcony with a smirk, and with one last look that he steals, he jumps off your balcony.

[fictionandfixation]

Older Bachelor headcanons!

Older Bachelor stardew headcanons because I’ve been playing lots recently! All sfw, some mentions of smoking/alcohol 💕 also please bear in mind I am no SDV expert, so sorry if these go against canon occasionally!

Edit: I have now written fic with this in mind. Feast thy eyes: here

Harvey ☕️🔬📚

• Secret smoking habit that he would rather die than tell anyone about. Not often, but during flu season when he’s stressed, you can find him cooped up in his room with an imported cigar or a Marlboro Gold, an espresso and an Agatha Christie.

• Plays classic soul, funk, golden oldies and jazz in the foyer of the clinic on an old-timey record player, and chooses every day from his large record collection. Frequently irritates Maru with the extent of his Doris Day enjoyment.

• Kind of wide-set - very broad shoulders, and quite tall.

• Packets of salted peanuts and cookies on the clinic foyer desk which he restocks every week.

• Goes to fetch you personally from the mines or Skull Cavern sometimes when you get knocked out. And he also keeps a vintage forest green car behind the clinic to pick you up in. He hopes one day you’ll wake up on the way back and compliment his tasteful vehicle choice or notice he’s bringing you home. You don’t.

• Best friends with Evelyn. Worst enemies with George.

• Tennis player. Plays with whoever will say yes in the mountains and always manages to punt the ball into the lake somehow. Also used to be in a rock climbing club or rowing team in med school, and has sort of sinewy, strong forearms as a result.

• Outrageous flirt after a few glasses of Pinot Noir, mostly because I think he’s on the spectrum but also because I think it would help him stop being quite so nervous.

• Brown suspenders. Every. Single. Day.

• Gives Jas and Vincent candy after their checkup.

• “Sweetheart/honey” as a nickname for you.

Elliott 📜🖋️🐚

• Striped. Matching. Pajamas.

• Finds, forages and cooks mussels when he needs to impress someone. And on that note, very much a French cuisine enjoyer.

• If blue cheese has no fans Elliott is dead.

• Rizz master. Silver tongue. Read so much romance when he was a teenager that it has actively become a part of his personality to be a book boyfriend.

• Very willowy and slender. Metabolism of the gods. Puts away food like it’s nobody’s business.

• Can read several languages, but just can’t master an accent so never uses them in a spoken context. Definitely a student of Latin.

• English accent headcanon! Probably spent the first couple of decades of his life in somewhere high-income like Warwickshire, or (more likely) Cornwall or Exeter, on or near the coast. I am also envisioning him as having been to an old collegiate university like Durham, or maybe a college at Oxford (Merton I reckon).

• Writes and then burns poems about everyone he’s ever been in love with. Starts keeping them when he meets you.

• Chats fashion history with Emily and Haley.

• Religious about his collection of cravat-style ties because he’s seen the Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice a few too many times.

• Frequent book club gatherings with Caroline, Marnie, Robin and Jodi (mostly because mothers love him, the main selling point here being that he has definitely read at least one Jodi Picoult book. He does not remember anything about it, he’s just glad to be invited).

“Dearest/my love” as a pet name.

Shane 🍺🍕🐓

• Snores. Very quiet about it though.

• I know a lot of people HC Harvey as oldest but I reckon it’s Shane. He also acts the most like a bitter old man whereas I feel Harvey is just ‘mature’.

• Could be convinced to grow a beard. Maybe.

• Goes for a jog three times a week. Hates it. Refuses to stop and really isn’t even sure why he does it himself any more.

• Secret Lana Del Rey enjoyer. Mainly a fan of Midwest emo, classic rock, nu metal and sometimes country but the kind of country where they sing about killing people and getting away with it.

• Raised by heavily Christian parents in the Deep South. Yes this is a Southern accent headcanon. Yeehaw.

• Lets Jas put eyeshadow on him sometimes. Shaves properly only when she wants to put makeup on him.

• Craft beer’s number one opp. Wants an ice cold tap Budweiser only, and if there isn’t enough head on it he will be asking for a refund. Not that Gus would ever do that to him.

• Has muscle with padding. Very strong, very wide in stature, but not lean at all. Biceps wider than your neck that you could (and would) use as pillows.

• Makes the most insane hangover breakfast known to man. Bacon. Pancakes. Sausage. Home fries. Butter. Syrup. You’re putting on a bit of healthy relationship weight for sure with Shane as your partner.

• “Darlin’/baby” user. “Sweet cheeks” as a joke. Kind of a joke.

Hope you guys enjoyed these!! I am down irretrievable for Older Bachelor content because I love ✨older men✨

Please let me know if you’d like some more for these characters or the other bachelors and bachelorettes!

[bubsmiraculousau]

These are my OT5 brainstorm pages. Elaborations on how I got to these below! I reference concept pages so if you see any pictures you don't recognize that's why. <3

First up is Cat Noir who I think is already perfect lmao. For my version though I wanted to lean closer to his PV design because I love it, like his larger triangle nose (you can't really see it at the angle in my drawing but it's there I swear!), the bigger bell, the more elaborate belt, etc.... so basically everything ... just in my style instead.

With my designs I think that whenever someone transforms into their miraculous persona it's based on what they think a hero looks like or what they think is cool. I think Adrien reads a lot of comic books and is a fan of characters like Batman (relatable for him LOL), Catwoman, and Nightwing, so his suit reflects that kind of vibe.

Extra: I decided that Ladybug and Cat Noir's masks go all the way up their foreheads because it looks nicer in my 2D style with their bangs haha.

Next up is the one and only Ladybug! Unpopular opinion but I actually like the all red suit! My hypothetical series would be a webcomic, and I feel like in action scenes the red differentiates her from Cat Noir esp at a distance, and more red style keeps their color ratios even.

I like the ladybug designs with a bunch of black sections they're very cute! Just not for my au. (I think it's just me but I find drawing the ladybug designs with inverted red dots to feel sacrilegious in a way,,, just my neurodivergent brain lol)

And I am a long ribbons truther, I love them and they can be very expressive. Also I knew I wanted Marinette to have a more vertical circular eye shape because her shape vibe is definitely a circle (Adrien's is triangle) and it reminded me of the eyes for the main girl in princess jellyfish (I've never seen it, love the style tho)

Her hair is a more bright blue to contrast her hair against her suit, and make her look more cartoonish. I imagine her idea of a superhero comes from kids shows and some magical girl anime. So her hair has a plastic shiny texture to it because when she thinks 'superhero' she thinks of kids toys. Also I just like color! The blue kinda gives comic spiderman vibes imo (the version with the light blue instead of the navy)

Queen Bee definitely changed the most throughout the design process. I really like her in-show design so I just tweaked it to be more my vibe. Adding a crown because she's a Queen.

Something that I've noticed is that Alya and Chloe actually share a lot of traits (There's even some old concept notes where I believe Alya and Chloe either switch names or roles at some point?? The miraculous concept info rabbit hole is real y'all) and I think this comes through in their final designs.

Like they both share a middle part, which bothers me for some reason, so I decided to give Chloe a little Ariana Grande side part into a ponytail.

I wanted each character to have a cool little piece on their costume, so I tried these little hip things to make her more commanding and girlboss, but currently her weapon is similar to ladybug's (but more like one of those hair ties w the little disco balls on them) and it would sit on her hip and would clash w her hip thingies, so I just decided to make her weapon the hip things instead, combining the two.

Something else that bothered me a lot was that Rena was the only one with white on her costume. Everyone has black but she's the only one with white... my brain says that this cannot be. So I tried to give Bee some fun white fuzzy bits but the texture just was too different...

And then I had the mega-brain idea to make her hair white to tie in the white from Rena. Her and Cat Noir both having blonde hair irked me as well LOL so this hit two birds with one stone. I wanted her hair to be sharper and more aggressively drill shaped because of her abrasive personality haha.

After that, is Carapace. I had an idea for him from the start because I felt like his in-show design just doesn't match his personality... I couldn't make his outfit all loose because I wanted to stick generally to the miraculous suit formula, but I feel like 'skin tight suit' just isn't his vibe. So he has a kind of hammer pants situation.

I think they capture Carapace's b-boy ninja turtle vibe while still looking like a miraculous outfit. Though I decided later that I wanted the pants to be a lighter color for contrast and the visor to be white (to tie in that Rena Rouge white).

Lastly is Miss Rena! Something that bothered me (back on the similarities to Chloe) was that they both have ponytails (yes I know I'm crazy). Even though they have very different textures I just wanted each of them to be distinct from each other. So I put her hair down and just dramatized her regular hairstyle.

Also her and Queen Bee both have black gloves to their upper arms, which, you guessed it, bothered me. So I shortened Rena's to just reach her elbow.

I wanted her to look like a magic-man, her illusion powers evoke a showmanship energy to me. I imagine her and Cat Noir are quite the dramatic theater kid-esque duo.

So, for drama I tried some flowy arm bits, which I think ended up just looking a little strange, so I'll pocket that idea for something else. Then, I tried to add her coattail from the show, but it ended up looking a little frumpy, not the drama I wanted.

I ended up making her coat more triangular in the front, to give off the vibe of a magician's vest, and changed it to solider red/orange double coattails, which I think makes her more magic-man-ish. And I think the white ends made it too busy.

So those are my hero designs! I'm still working out Hawkmoth and Mayura, esp Hawkmoth because I am not good at drawing masculine older men...

If y'all want LESS of the artistic process let a girl know lol! I know some ppl like it but this is very long,,, all my drawings will not have text this long! thx for reading if you did tho xx