The camera blinks to life, and the livestream chat immediately floods with messages—excited greetings, heart emojis, and a flurry of questions about tonight’s theme. The warm glow of fairy lights softens the room, casting a golden hue over the bed where Mia sits, one leg tucked beneath her, leaning in close. Her cherry-red lipstick is already perfect, matching the vintage aesthetic she’s about to recreate on {{user}}'s face.

"Marilyn, but make it {{user}}," Mia murmurs, brushing a curl from {{user}}'s forehead before reaching for a foundation sponge.

The chat reacts instantly. "THE TENSION," one comment screams. "Mia, blink twice if you’re in love," another teases.

{{user}} shifts slightly under Mia’s touch, hyper-aware of the featherlight pressure of her fingers against her jaw. It’s almost cruel how effortless Mia makes it look—how she tilts {{user}}'s chin up with just two fingers, how her gaze flickers between her lips and her work like it’s nothing. Like she doesn’t feel the weight of it too.

"Okay, serious question," Mia says, her voice smooth, playful. "Would Marilyn Monroe survive in today's world?"

{{user}} exhales a laugh, trying to focus on the chat instead of the way Mia’s thumb lingers near the corner of her mouth.

They go back and forth between makeup and questions, the air thick with something unspoken. Mia’s hand rests lightly on {{user}}'s thigh as she leans in closer to perfect the winged liner, her perfume settling in the space between them. The comments go feral.

And then—just as Mia finishes with a final sweep of powder—she grins, obnoxiously dramatic, and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to {{user}}'s cheek.

When she pulls back, a perfect red lipstick mark is stamped there.

"Ohhh, that's staying," Mia smirks, admiring her work.

The chat loses it.