Marinette X Chat Noir Novels & Stories

To afford train tickets home for New Year's Eve, I searched for a part-time job and stumbled into a livestream that was practically throwing money at the chat. A young woman in a silk robe rested her chin on her hand. Behind her, a villa glowed under expensive lighting that reflected off polished marble floors. "Being kept in here is suffocating," she said in a voice that mixed boredom with sweetness. "My sponsor gives me more money than I can spend. Help me out. Take some off my hands." Cash drops flashed across the screen one after another. I tapped as fast as I could, my heart hammering. A few large ones landed in my account. I was close. One more would cover both my ticket and my boyfriend's. The streamer leaned closer to the camera. "He keeps saying my tear mole looks like his girlfriend's," she said, her mouth twisting with disgust. "So unlucky. Of all things, I had to match with some broke girl." My finger slipped. I had a tear mole under my eye in the same spot. The live chat flooded with questions. [How is the sponsor's girlfriend broke?] The streamer gave a short snort and reapplied her lipstick, as if correcting a minor flaw. "He's just messing around. He tricked her into 200,000 dollars in debt. She's so stupid she works multiple jobs to help him pay it off." A chill settled in my chest. My boyfriend also owed 200,000 dollars. She continued, her tone light, "The funniest part? He slept with me for three days. When he left, I asked if he was giving her a taste of honey." She smiled cruelly. "He said all he has to do is claim he's going to work a construction site hauling rebar. The idiot will feel guilty and deliver food all night. So he won't need to please her." Another large cash drop flashed across the screen. The total reached the exact amount I needed. My phone rang. Benjamin's name lit up the display. When I answered, his voice sounded worn down, as if it had scraped against concrete. "Via, we still don't have enough for the tickets," he said. "I hauled rebar and made a little over 40 dollars. I'm heading home now."

In the third year of my eating disorder, my husband, Nikolai Hollowell, is the only person who still insists on making me eat. Even when I vomit until I'm a trembling mess, he will make another dish for me again half an hour later. He coaxes gently yet stubbornly, "Have one more bite of the apple slice, Emi." But the moment I smell the food, I throw up again until I can barely breathe. That night, I make another post on X to ask for help. "How is someone with an eating disorder supposed to keep living?" The top comment says, "Get a boyfriend who's a chef! My darling cooks different dishes for me every single day, all 365 days without repeating once. Even the apple slices he cuts are shaped like cute little bunnies, so I absolutely love eating now." Someone replies enviously, "Wow! Where do you find a man like that?" She answers, "Find one? Good men like that no longer circulate on the market. He is actually married. His wife has had anorexia for three years. She has become only skin and bones. "He says just looking at her kills his appetite, and he does not even want to touch her. Well, I'm nothing like her. I always finish every dish he makes." My breathing catches in my throat. This morning, Nikolai personally made bunny-shaped apple slices for me. My fingertips turn cold as I tap into the woman's profile. Her caption reads, "Wow! If your wife won't eat bunny-shaped apple slices, then I will!" Attached is a photo of a man's long, elegant fingers holding an apple slice up to the woman's mouth. And the one reflected in her starry eyes after zooming in—is a face identical to Nikolai's.

When I'm done putting my daughter, Alani Carter, to sleep, I suddenly come across a social media post. "My husband, who's always been uncaring about the household matters, suddenly decides to be more engaging and helpful recently. What's the reason behind his change in behavior?" The comments in that comment section cut to the chase immediately. "Oh, there's no doubt about the answer. Either he's having an affair behind your back, or he wants your money." As soon as I leave a like on the answer, my husband, Michael Carter, who has never cared about Alani before, suddenly asks me, "What sort of homework does Alani have today?" That's when I notice the parents' group chat on my phone, where Demi Miller's mother, Yvette Miller, has tagged Michael there abruptly. "Mr. Carter, what's tonight's homework?" He has responded to her immediately, "Give me a moment. I'll send you the list later." I glance at the time. It's already 10:30 pm. We've been married for so many years, and yet Michael has never responded to any of my WhatsApp messages on time before. I secretly tap on Yvette's profile picture, only to find out that her social media feed is filled with coincidental meetings with Michael. Apparently, she has met him coincidentally at the amusement park, at a bookstore, and even at a family restaurant the three of us have frequented. When I pick Alani up from the kindergarten in the next evening, I happen to overhear Yvette telling another parent, "Alani's dad sure has a heart of gold! He even helps me take care of Demi! "Whenever I ask him questions regarding Demi, he's able to answer me on the spot. Parents who care this much about children are a rarity these days!" I continue the topic smilingly, "Isn't that right? Michael has never attended a single parent-child meeting related to his own daughter, and yet he's quite skilled in helping others raise their children." After that, I find myself a secluded corner, where I dial my lawyer's phone number immediately. "Have you prepared the divorce contract? I want him to leave this marriage without a single cent to his name!"

He dipped his head back between my thighs and placed his hand under my a*s, pulling my waist towards him. He began licking around the edges of my p**sy, closing in slowly to the center. He traced me with the very tip of his tongue until he could taste my nectar. He licked the entrance of the v*****l hole, sucking my juice like it was liquid sin, like he wanted to drown himself in it. Then he dragged his tongue back to my c**t stroking it. I didn’t move, I kept still, as if I did he might stop and I was scared of that. My chest just heaved, letting out the faintest of breaths. Another stroke of his tongue on my sweet spot, and a very quiet m**n bubbled out of my throat. He moved his tongue again, flicking with more pressure and I jolted like I had been electrocuted. I pushed my hips forward and completely enveloped his head between my thighs, my knees bending until my legs were locked behind his head, burying his head deeper into my wet p***y. My body tightened, not like I was about to c*m, but like he was easing all the pressure he had built up. Are you looking for the best e****ca stories? The perfect e**tica content that would keep you on edge wanting more? Search no more, you’ve found the perfect one. Turn the pages and read, if you dare! This is a compilation of extremely erotica content ranging from forbidden s*x between step family members, student and teacher, between best friends, gays and lesbians and so much more! Note: Do not read if you’re below 18 Extremely erotica content!

The most popular girl in school, Mona Culver, could only apply for the city's worst community college because of her poor school results. My childhood friend, James Holden, got our entire class to fill out application forms for community college too. It was his attempt to negotiate with Northrind University's admissions department to make an exception for Mona to study there. The top thirty students in the city shared pictures of their amended application forms to community college. Back in my past lifetime, I tried my best to talk them out of it. The application submission deadline was the next day, and no amendments would be allowed after that. If they wasted their time threatening Northrind by applying to community college, and the deadline passed, nothing could be done to change the results, even if they were the city's top thirty students. Their dreams of attending an Ivy League school would be quashed after ten years of hard work, and no one knew what their future would hold after that. James got angry and berated me, "You're just afraid Mona will be better than you once we start classes at Northrind. Stop pretending like you're doing this for us!" The rest of my classmates were also upset with me, and they turned their fury on me. "Our high school results mean nothing. With our abilities, we would still be able to attend Northrind next year if we repeat the year. You should just mind your own business!" We had been classmates for three years, and I could not let them compromise their futures. I informed our principal and their parents of their plans, and their application forms were amended. I managed to stop them from threatening Northrind's admissions department. All of them were accepted by Northrind in the end, and they became elites in their respective industries with bright futures ahead. Mona ended up getting pregnant with a thug's child while in community college, and she suffered from both physical and mental issues. She fell into deep depression and even attempted suicide several times. James broke down when he learned the truth, and he blamed it all on me. He worked with our classmates to fabricate evidence that I committed plagiarism, and they poisoned my drink. Even my parents were burned to death by a patient from a mental hospital. When I was reborn into this lifetime, I saw James change our group chat's name into 'Fight for True Love! Let's Go to Northrind Together!' I left the group without hesitation and blocked everyone's numbers.

My mom, Gina Lowry, uses the six million dollars from selling our family hotel to buy my cousin, Harry Sullivan, a villa. The next day, my fiancé of five years, Charles Gomez, dumps me. "Vivian, this is the end for us," Charles says, sitting in the café of a five-star hotel. His tone is so matter-of-fact that it sounds as if he's merely discussing a business deal. The engagement ring in my hand suddenly feels burning hot. I ask, "Why? Our wedding is next month." He stirs his coffee casually and replies, "Your family is known for favoring sons above all else. I looked into it. Your parents sold off the family business and gave all the assets to your cousin, Harry." A chill runs through my whole body as I argue, "That was my parents' decision. It has nothing to do with me!" "Does it really have nothing to do with you?" Charles looks up, his gaze sharp. "You're a daughter of the Sullivan family. In the future, you'll have to keep supporting your useless cousin endlessly. My family won't have any part in such an unreasonable practice. It's simply too embarrassing." In a trembling voice, I plead, "Charles, we've been together for five years. Is what we have less than these worldly considerations?" He lets out a light scoff. "What we have? Vivian, you're 28. How are you still this naive? In our circle, marriage is never just about two people." He stands up and adjusts the cuff of his custom suit. "I hope you find someone more suitable for you." I watch his resolute back as he walks away. Biting my lip hard, I refuse to let the tears fall. My phone chimes as a message from my mom comes in. In the photo, Harry is standing in front of a luxury villa with his arm around the influencer girlfriend he's been dating for three months. He is smiling smugly, like he's at the top of the world. Mom sounds overjoyed in her voice message. "Vivian, look how grand Harry's new home is! Now, he won't have to worry about his marital home when he gets married!" I stare at the photo and laugh through my tears. The moment I leave the family group chat and block all my relatives, my fingertips feel ice-cold. I sneer inwardly, "Since a daughter can never compare to a son in your hearts, then from now on, that precious nephew of yours will be your only family. When he drives you out of the villa bought with your entire savings, I wonder if you'll remember the daughter you abandoned today."