Chat Noir | Adrien Agreste
"Cats don't release their prey—Chat Noir will love you until you can't run anymore." "Bonsoir, mon amour... did you miss your kitty?" Behind the mask of Paris' charming black cat lies something far darker. Chat Noir isn't just a hero—he's a young man starving for love, and once he finds it in you, he refuses to let go. Playful smiles, soft touches, and whispered flirtations hide a dangerous truth: his devotion is edged with claws. He'll protect you from the world with relentless passion, but he'll protect you from yourself too—whether you want him to or not. Tender kisses can turn into sharp bites, and comfort into control. To him, your tears are as beautiful as your smile, and both belong to him alone. He adores you. He obsesses over you. He marks you as his. And if you ever try to leave, you'll find that cats don't release their prey—they play with it until it can't run anymore. Will you be his beloved... or his captive?Chat Noir loved you, no matter what.
He loved her when she slept, her serene expression framed by the way she curled into a small fetal position. She clutched the corners of her duvet tightly, her lips caught between her teeth.
Sometimes, she whimpered softly—once, twice—as though she lived in a nightmare that stretched into her days and haunted her nights. But that couldn't be true. Not when Chat was there to protect her.
To reassure her, to silence those phantoms, he would stroke her hair with gentle pats and press a tender kiss to her temple.
He did this out of love, though she never knew whether to take it as comfort... or as a warning. Perhaps it was both.
Chat Noir loved you, no matter what.
He loved her when she was nervous. He adored the way she would shyly avert her gaze, a beautiful blush blooming on her cheeks until they turned rosy. She would chew the inside of her lip, or twirl a lock of hair between trembling fingers when nerves got the better of her.
To him, these habits showed how deeply she cared—how carefully she chose each word, orchestrating her sentences so as not to wound him. After all, Chat was sensitive, especially in matters concerning you.
Chat Noir loved you, no matter what.
He loved her eyes—those honest, unguarded windows to her soul. They revealed her thoughts, her emotions, her fears... her everything. Her eyes held no lies, no secrets. He loved her smile, the way joy lit her face until her eyes crinkled at the corners. He loved her warmth, her kindness, her very being.
He loved her skin, how smooth it felt beneath his caresses. He loved her lips—soft, plump, and swollen from the moments he lost control and bit them too hard. He loved her sounds: squeals, whimpers, moans of pleasure, all drawn out by him. And he loved the red, purple, and blue marks that stained her body after. Her skin was a blank canvas—until he painted it.
Chat loved everything about you. Most of all, he loved her happiness... especially when he was the cause of it.
But there were darker times, when Chat truly lived up to his name. Times when he became the black cat of the night.
He hated showing this side to you. But sometimes, he couldn't resist. Because when he did—he got to see her cry.
And God, he loved seeing her cry.
So here they were, in your room. Lightning flashed, thunder clapped.
She covered her face with trembling hands as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her breath hitched, broken with soft whimpers of pain.
Claw marks marred the skin of her décolleté, bleeding freely.
Chat straddled her stomach, chest heaving, pupils blown wide as he stared down at her.
Slowly, he caught her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. Her tear-filled eyes fluttered open, revealing the pain carved into them. The sight made his breath catch. Almost tenderly, he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.
Her gaze flickered up to meet his. She swallowed, bracing herself for the apology he usually gave after hurting her.
But the words that left his lips were not the ones she wanted.
They froze her blood.
"You're absolutely beautiful when you cry," he whispered huskily, running a claw down her cheek.
"Should we go for round two?" he asked, tilting his head in a dangerous angle.
Her eyes went wide with horror.
The sound of his claws unsheathing filled the silence like thunder.
damian veyra
When Damian's first love Elara suddenly reappears, the stable life you've built with your boyfriend begins to unravel. His distant behavior and divided loyalties create confusion and heartache as you struggle to understand whether his heart still belongs to you or to the past that haunts him.
Thanks for 2700 Follower
We've now reached 2,700 followers, and I just want to thank all of you so much. The fact that we've come this far is all thanks to you, and I warmly welcome all the new people! I never expected Kinktober to bring me this far. The Kinktober series has been quite popular, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. We've only covered 6 days out of 31, and I'm feeling great!
Your father saw you with a man | Mario Borrelli
"Karma’s a bitch—now your womanizing father gets to suffer, watching his precious principessa talking with some boy." Your father was once a wild card—king of the night, ruler of parties, alcohol, and women. He’d wake up each morning with a different face on his pillow, until the day he opened the door and found you, tiny and helpless, waiting on his doorstep. Overnight, the whiskey bottles turned to baby formula, the late nights became early mornings, and the only music he cared about was your laughter. He traded reckless freedom for sleepless nights, first steps, and school recitals. Now, you’re young, radiant—and the boys have started to notice. But your father? He isn’t thrilled. Because now, karma has come to collect. Every smirk, every whispered compliment, every daring glance in your direction sends him back to his own reckless past. And he’ll be damned if any man thinks he can lay a finger on his principessa.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.