Chat Noir X Reader: The Muse

Chapter 9: L'aurore

Please. A familiar moan rang in your ears. You were sitting on Chat's stomach, your hands on either side of his head. Please, he murmured quietly and you felt him moving under you, rolling his hips, and warmth began to consume your body. Then the scenario changed. You were lying down on a bed. Chat had your hands pinned as he hovered over you. Admit you think of me as more than your muse, he whispered and then smirked, getting his face closer to yours. Admit you want me. As he went to kiss you, the scenario changed again. Chat was pressing your palm to his chest. Just touch me, he whispered softly to you, inviting, and began to move your hand downwards. Please...

A phone alarm rang loudly in your ears and you woke up, breathing ragged. After scrambling around for the device, you disabled the alarm and laid back down, your eyes staring at the ceiling, blinking to adjust to the morning light as you tried to control your heartbeat.

The sensations of the dream slowly came back and you had a sudden stroke of inspiration. Dammit.

Cursing, you got up as quickly as you could with sleep still coating your mind, and began to search your bedroom for a paper. You couldn't lose any ideas. Who knew when you might need one. You found a sketchbook and a pencil on the little desk you had in your room and went back to the bed, blinking hard when all the blood rushed to your head from getting up too quickly.

You sat down and made some sketches as you frantically tried to remember the dream before you forgot all of it, but all you got were fragments. Touches, the ghost of a kiss, purring... You felt your face heat up and sighed. You had already accepted that a platonic relationship with your muse wasn't realistic giving the circumstances, but things were getting out of control.

Looking at the time on your phone, you noticed that you still had some minutes before you had to leave. You put your sketchbook down and stretched, feeling your muscles protest. Through the open door of your bedroom, you looked to the small living room, remembering the times Chat had posed for you.

Well, it had been great while it lasted. Now it seemed like your inner artist wasn't satisfied with Chat just posing for you. Apparently these past few weeks had made your inspiration go to a point of no return. It wanted... more. You shivered at the images that popped into your mind. You didn't know if Chat would like them.

He doesn't have to know about it, a little voice said in your mind and you chuckled tiredly.

Your gaze drifted away from the living room to the body length mirror near you. It was one of the few pieces of furniture present in your bedroom besides your bed, the wardrobe and the little desk and chair near the corner. Your eyes scanned your still sleepy figure on the mirror and you rubbed your eyes in hopes it'd clear up your thoughts.

It didn't help much. Some parts of the dream were still vivid in your mind. You pinched the bridge of your nose. You had to control yourself. These kind of dreams would just make things awkward between you and your muse. Right? You were almost a hundred percent sure it would, but you also couldn't stop wondering what would happen if you tried something. What would Chat do, how would he react? Sure, he seemed interested in taking things further, but you didn't know if he actually wanted it or if it was part of his personality and–

Your phone alarm went off again, interrupting your train of thought. It was time to leave and you had to get ready. A sigh left your lips. Why did you have to overthink everything? You disabled the alarm and got up to change your clothes, trying to shake off the haze of the dream. It was the day of the presentation of your project. For a moment you had almost forgotten about it, but you had to focus. You could think about what to do with Chat later.

You blinked as the double meaning of the sentence dawned on you and tsked. It was going to be a long day.

At the art classroom, you fidgeted as you looked around. The late-morning light coming from the large windows illuminated the many paintings on tripods spread around the room. Quiet chatter could be heard. There were many people present, even some that didn't attend the class, that's how important the presentation was. You breathed deeply as you adjusted for the tenth time your painting on its easel and tried not to think about it. Everything would be fine. Looking at the color palette on your hand, you contemplated making some minor changes on the project.