Bathtub sex with your husband because he was suddenly all petty and jealous with your servants helping you bathe.
CW: NSFW, slight yandere, GN Reader
Your husband had always been an understanding man, he thought with a cool head and logic all the time. He would never get jealous of his love rivals, reasoning he was way better of an option than they would ever be.
Yes, he was not arrogant but he knew his own self-worth. He knew he had always been the best for you.
So why did he suddenly insist on helping you bathe?
“Dear, did you mean bathing with me or did I hear you wrong?” You stood next to him as he prepared the water for you. The scent he chose had always been floral, something that smelled innocent in a sense.
Your husband shook his face as he felt the temperature of the water. It welcomed him warmly, assuring him that it was the perfect temperature for you to relax already. Yulian beckoned you to enter the bathtub and so you did.
He pushed a cart of bathroom amenities, the aromatherapy candles all lit to light the room enough for as he switched the lights off.
You sighed at the sensation, slowly melting into one with the water. Yulian sat by the tub, his hands slowly massaging your tense shoulders as he hummed a lullaby for you.
“How lucky are the servants who help you bathe to see you like this every day.” He whispered into your ears as you giggled.
“Are you envious of them?”
Yulian stayed silent for a moment as he poured water over your head, “Recently,” he spoke as he poured the ointment into his hands, “I’ve been seeing lots of divorce trials.”
You hummed at his reply, leaning into his hands massaging your scalp, “And?”
“Most of them come from… affairs.”
You raised one of your eyebrows at the mention of affair, “Are you saying I might be cheating with one of my servants dear?”
“Not really,” Yulian now focused back on massaging your shoulders again, “but I can't help but be bothered by the fact that one of your servants might be admiring you, enchanted by you.”
His face inched closer to yours now, “And while they are at it, they can freely see and feel your body…” his hands slowly felt your arms up and down, “and be around you every day, helping you dress, attending all your needs while I'm away.”
You've never seen your husband act like this before. This was the first time he had shown his jealousy blatantly.
Yulian started pressing chaste kisses on the back of your neck, his grips remained on your arms. You squirmed as his hands snaked further into your nipples.
“It's so unfair, I'm your husband and yet they get to see you so vulnerable more often than I would ever be.”
What was once a chaste kiss soon turned into hickeys, purple decorating you from the back of your neck to your collarbone. You recognized this gesture as his way of showing his pettiness.
“So today,” his fingers tweaked your nipples as he kissed your earlobe, “can I show you just how much I love and adore every bits of you?”
—
The two of you were connected in the bathtub, his cock throbbed as its snug inside of you. How many times had he cum so early yet still had the strength to continue? You knew your husband couldn't last long but that didn't mean his stamina was to be doubted.
His precision in hitting your sweet spot had always been pitch-perfect. It never failed to make you squeal and tighten around him, pushing him closer to yet another orgasm.
Yulian hid his face in the crook of your neck, trying his best to not bite into your flesh, and opted to bite his lip until he tasted steel instead.
You moaned out his name as you felt like you were about to reach yet another orgasm as well. Your hand intertwined with his, you turned back to kiss him, tasting his blood while at it.
“So close… together?”
Yulian’s cock throbbed at the mention of it before he nodded along, “I-I’ll try.”
Yulian lifted you from his lap and positioned you to lean onto the wall before he continued ramming into you like a starving man. Nonetheless, he still made sure to prioritize your pleasure as well instead of being selfish and chasing his own release.
Your knees wobbled and you felt really weak yet his strong grip wouldn't let you slide down, at least not until you two were done.
Ragged breath and breathy groans, the bathroom smelled like sex instead of florals. The whole candles flickered with each thrust he made and the water rippled with every shake your legs made.
It didn't take so long for you two to come in unison. The bath water that was once pristine and clean was soon mixed with both of your bodily fluids. Your insides felt warm the moment he came inside you again.
Your knees slowly gave up as the two of you slowly collected your composure. Yulian’s hands never let you go as he slowly lowered you into his embrace again.
He started peppering your face with kisses again, his fingers ran over all the hickeys he had left all over you, some were in a very visible place.
“How am I supposed to cover all of these dear?” you pouted at him as you pushed his face away from you playfully.
Yulian raised his eyebrows before answering you, “You don't cover them dear.”
I sent my wife the original Human Domestication Guide. She proceeded to go radio silent for three hours reading it, and is now ravenously reading whatever H.D.G. stories I send her. That post about H.D.G. being an infohazard for trans women was 100 percent correct
[Submissive Yan, Pet Play, Biting, Reader is mentioned to be shorter than Sam]
Puppy Reader employed at a local convenience store- A convenience store a street across from the funeral owned by the family of a certain mortician they've become well acquainted with in recent years. Needless to say, reader's job is far more relaxed with its dress code than the standards someone in Sammy's position should be held to.
"My ears and tail? My managers never say anything about it so I guess it's chill. I dunno what I'd do if I was in your shoes, Sam...Not that the way you dress is bad or anything!"
Darling can sense jealousy emanating off of Sammy whenever he visits for his nightly run. It's moreso directed at customers Darling allows to pet them, but Sam would be lying if he didn't think the collar they wore might fit better around his neck. Darling comes to the brilliant solution to buy Sammy his own accessories he can wear whenever he stops by their place. He's too embarrassed to do it in public, but he's comfortable enough around them- isn't he?
"This way we can both we dogs- What do you think, Sam?"
It's a sweet gesture- Sammy can see how happy Darling is to have someone share their interest, and if they're happy - Sam is too.
"You're such a good boy, Sammy- I have this leash I used sometimes to walk myself around my apartment. Maybe we can take turns with it!"
Sammy's more into it than they are- Dropping down on his hands and knees soon as they pull out their leash. They're kind enough to let Sam use their collar until they're able to purchase one for him. It was custom made for Darling so it bites into Sammy's skin whenever he puts it on, and that's just how he likes it.
Darling's never really been intimidated by Sam's height over them, but they use it to their advantage to assert their dominance over him. Playfully nipping at his fingers or neck when he bends down far enough- Climbing on top of him while he's seated and resting all their weight on him to keep him glued where he lays. It's all in good fun and they made sure Sam knew that before they started playing with him
"You give up, Sam?... S-sammy?! Did I bite you too hard?"
On the contrary.. Sammy wishes Darling was rougher with staking their claim over him. Sinking their teeth deeper into the side of his neck, till bruises ring every each of his throat for days. Being the submissive to a cute puppy like darling would fix Sam more than their innocent teasing breaks him
Hello, I like the Yandere monster x reader you wrote, and I'm just wondering if you could write about the aftermath of:
The monsters finally told the human they're down to fuck, the human have an orgy with the roommates, the monsters thinks the human is returning the feelings, but to the human it was just a fun one night stand-
Content: gender neutral reader, NSFW, referring to Monster Roommates Story
Imagine if Reader was an oblivious dumbass who thought the gangbang was some sort of cultural exchange and something monsters just do on the regular. Maybe they're casual like that.
The next morning, your monster mates leave their rooms with a delirious grin plastered on their faces, still in a daze after finally having their way with you.
Is it too early to ask for another round?
You're sipping on your coffee, scrolling through your phone.
"Listen, (Y/N), do you have plans for the evening?" one of the beastly creatures finally speaks up. The others follow behind, already hard from the anticipation.
"Actually, I think I have a date", you respond, distracted. "Might spend the night somewhere else."
The blood instantly drains from their genitals, and they stare at you, mouth agape. Oh, hell no. One of the monstrous roommates marches towards the door, dramatically clawing at the lock and blocking the exit.
You follow their movements, utterly confused, until you feel a tentacle wrapping around your waist.
You must've forgotten who you belong to. No matter, they will have to remind you. As many times as it takes.
Would it be polite to at least cancel your date for the night? Probably, but after the first few appendages hungrily making their way inside you, you're not exactly thinking straight anymore.
dude if EVEN BILL is scared and feels that "it was a mistake" and "pain that wasn't hilarious" you know it's unbelievably bad and alarming. what fiddleford did to himself to forget is beyong everything and the fact that even in this condition he's able to live and partly sane is wild
he lived like that for decades and even got better when his mind was fucked up so much that bill goddamn cipher was afraid to be there. fiddleford is so strong ohmyfuckinggod
The art studio’s door chimed as you, Rian, and Blaise stepped through, their shadows merging with the eclectic hues that bathed the interior. Canvases stood around the room, each blank face awaiting the touch of inspiration. The scent of oil paint hung thick in the air.
“This place has got a nice vibe, doesn’t it?” Rian's voice, soft and lilting, cut through the quietude of the studio. His eyes sparkled with a childlike excitement that was contagious. “So cool that you got the owner to let us have the place to ourselves. We’ve been here before, with Connor, but it was for a class and tapas.”
Blaise shrugged, snatching a waxy apron off a peg. Draping it over himself, he quickly tied it, cinching his waist. “It’s just as fun when others are around.”
“Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather not embarrass myself again. Everyone who saw my art said it looked like one of those Chinese memes.”
“Then I can’t wait to see what hellish creation you dredge forth today.”
You forced a smile, nodding along to their enthusiasm. You should have been brimming with anticipation, eager to let your emotions spill onto the canvas in a riot of color, but your fingers instinctively sought the hem of your shirt, tugging at the fabric in uneven rhythms. The voices of your friends became muffled, as if you were underwater, their excitement drifting away from your reach. You glanced around the studio, feeling oddly detached from the vibrant scene unfolding before you.
“Y/N? You alright?” Rian’s concern laced his words, drawing you back to the surface. “You haven’t said a word,”
Catchphrase of the century, you scowled.
“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you stammered, pushing your glasses back up. “Just thinking about... light composition and stuff.” Needless to say, you weren't an arts major, and within good reason.
“Composition, huh?” Blaise remarked, one eyebrow arching skeptically. He leaned against a nearby easel, crossing his arms as he studied you. “It’s only for fun. Don’t overthink it. Let the brush do the talking.”
You nodded, though your mind was elsewhere. You pulled out your phone, a nervous habit, thumbing through messages that didn't require a response. Each vibration against your palm was a hopeful pang, but his name never lit up the screen.
“Come on,” Rian coaxed gently, touching your arm with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the coolness exuded by Blaise. “Let’s start painting. It'll take your mind off things.”
“Sure. Yeah, it’ll be a good distraction.” You agreed, pocketing the device.
You followed Rian’s encouraging lead, picking up a brush with a hand that trembled slightly. As you dipped the bristles into the paint, you hoped the colors would be kind enough to drown out the noise in your head, to silence the persistent whisper of Cillian's absence.
The sun's gentle warmth filled the art studio, its rays spilling across the room and casting a soft glow over the blank canvases that awaited the trio's touch.
Blaise's suggestion hung in the air, delicate yet decisive. “Let’s paint each other. Y/N, let me have you.”
“H-huh?”
“I paint you, and you paint Rian. Rian gets me.”
You hesitated, fingers tightening around the wooden handle of your brush. You felt exposed under the weight of his gaze. The idea of being observed, of being immortalized. Portraits were more intimate than photos.
"Okay," you acquiesced with a small nod. You settled yourself onto the stool, perching on the edge as if ready to flee at any moment.. Your hands lay folded in your lap, one thumb rubbing over the other in a rhythmless caress.
Blaise watched you for a moment, his pale eyes tracing the lines of your face, the slope of your nose, the curve of your chin. In his gaze, there were no traces of judgment, only the silent gathering of details, like a poet collecting words for his verses. He picked up his brush, and you found yourself holding your breath as he approached the canvas.
The first stroke of color seemed to break a spell, and you released a shaky exhale. Blaise worked methodically, the bristles of his brush whispering against the stretched linen. There was a concentration to his movements, a focus that belied the icy aura he often wore like a cloak. His dark hair fell forward, casting shadows over his features that you tried to memorize, to recall later when the silence between them would stretch too thin.
You could hear the soft scuff of Rian moving about the space, the occasional clink of glass as he mixed his paints, but it was Blaise’s presence that consumed your attention. With every mark he made, you felt a strange sense of unfolding, as though he was peeling back the layers of self-consciousness that clung to you like the ill-fitted clothes you often wore.
“Stay still,” Blaise murmured, almost absently, and you realized you had been fidgeting. The words should have felt like a command, but they came out as nothing more than a gentle reminder, a tether to keep you grounded in the moment.
“Sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for—the movement, the anxiety that buzzed beneath your skin, or the fact that Cillian's ghost lingered in your thoughts, an unwelcome specter.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he replied without looking up. As his brushstrokes continued to shape your likeness, you allowed yourself to be drawn into the slow rhythm of his work, the practiced ease which he captured you.
As the gentle scrape of Blaise’s brush against canvas faded into a soft rhythm, Rian picked up his own palette with an eagerness that seemed to push away the heavy silence of the studio. You watched from the corner of your eye as he studied Blaise, his brows knitting together in concentration. The delicate lines of Rui's fingers moved with a surprising grace, coaxing shapes and shadows onto the stark white canvas before him. He worked quickly, yet with precision.
“Try to get my good side, if you can find one,” said Blaise.
Rian’s laugh was a light sound, almost musical. “Every side is your good side.” he replied, the warmth in his tone wrapping around the chill of Blaise's humor. He dipped his brush into a pool of blue, the same icy shade as Blaise's distant gaze. With each stroke, he added depth to the painting, the cool colors a stark contrast to the warmth that perpetually emanated from Rian himself.
You turned back to your own canvas, where Rian's image awaited your hand. You willed your thoughts away from Cillian and the tightness in your chest, focusing instead on the gentle curve of Rian's lips, the way his hair fell across his forehead. There was a kindness etched into the lines of his face, a tender-hearted openness that you yearned to translate into your art.
Your brush danced lightly over the canvas, tracing the contours of Rian's cheeks, the softness of his eyes that always seemed to offer comfort, even when he couldn't find the words. As you painted, your phone buzzed incessantly on the table beside you, silent messages piling up.
“You’re making me look too nice,” Rian chided gently, peering over at your progress.
“Maybe because you’re too nice,” you countered with a small smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes.
“Or maybe you see the best in people,” Rian suggested, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary—a silent acknowledgment of the burdens you carried in your quest to please.
“Sure, let’s go with that.”
The last brushstroke fell, a gentle whisper against the canvas, and Rian set down his paintbrush with an air of finality.
“Done,” he announced, his voice a mix of pride and trepidation. The room, once filled with the soft shuffling of feet and the swish of brushes, settled into anticipatory silence.
You stepped back from you own easel to join Blaise, who was already waiting with a curious tilt to his head. Together, they moved towards Rian’s workspace, where his painting stood covered by a sheet of thin muslin, like a secret waiting to be unveiled.
“Let’s see then,” Blaise said, a smile playing on his lips. Rian hesitated for a heartbeat before pulling the fabric away with a flourish that felt more dramatic than he intended.
Laughter erupted almost immediately, echoing off the high ceilings of the art studio. The portrait was unmistakably Blaise, but with an exaggerated scowl etching his brows and eyes that sparkled with a mischievous glint not typically found in their usual cool depths.
“Is this how I look to you?” Blaise teased, though his voice betrayed a hint of amusement.
Rian’s cheeks colored, a soft bloom of pink spreading across his fair skin. He shuffled on his feet, looking down at the caricature he had created. “I—I thought a little humor might be nice.”
No, you just can’t paint, you sighed.
“It’s perfect,” you said, your laughter subsiding into a warm chuckle. You reached out to squeeze his arm reassuringly, trying to quell the small storm of insecurity you saw brewing behind his eyes. “His nose is a little wonky, so it’s fairly accurate.”
The tension eased from Rian’s shoulders as his friends' affectionate ribbing washed over him. He smiled, a genuine and heartwarming expression that made the earlier disquietude fade. It was in moments like these that he could forget the nagging fears of inadequacy, the pressures that often weighed heavy on his tender heart.
“Let’s snap a pic,” Blaise suggested, his voice unexpectedly light as he pulled out his phone, a device that often lay forgotten in the depths of his pocket. His usual icy facade melted into a rare, soft smile that brightened the dim studio.
You nodded, and together with Rian, they huddled close, their painted canvases cradled in their arms. The camera clicked, immortalizing their lopsided grins and awkward posture. You were glad neither of them requested a redo of the picture.
“Look at us," Rian murmured, his gaze lingering on the digital image, a stark contrast to the raw emotion captured in paint. “Who would’ve thought none of us could pose for a picture?”
“Speak for yourself. I’m photogenic,” Blaise quipped, though the twinkle in his eye belied his sarcastic tone. Moving toward the exit, he held the door open, gesturing for you to go first.
“Thanks for bringing me out,” you quietly said. “Between studying and all the drama, I really needed the distraction.”
Stepping out into the waning daylight, the air held a crisp promise of the evening to come. They lingered on the sidewalk, reluctant to part ways just yet.
“What are we thinking? Takeaway or my place?” Blaise asked, tilting his head towards the street lined with twinkling restaurant signs. “I could do with a change from my own cooking.”
“Your cooking has more character than most things I’ve eaten out here," you replied, though your stomach protested with a quiet growl, betraying your desire for something different—a meal without the bitter aftertaste of solitude.
“I do hope that’s a compliment.”
Rian glanced between them. His eyes, wide in realization, reflected the fading sunset. “Maybe your place? It’s cozier, and we can hear some of your music.”
“Escape it is,” Blaise decided, the decision lifting an invisible weight off their shoulders.
Just as he turned away and began walking, a shadow loomed, briefly eclipsing the glow from a nearby streetlamp as a figure approached. Your heart hitched, a premonition prickling under your skin like static before a storm.
It was a young man, his leather jacket creaking softly with each step. His dark hair hung over his eyes in a fringe. His expression was an unreadable mask that did little to hide the tension in his jaw.
Squinting at him, you stifled a gasp. “Connor? What are you doing here?”
“Just running some errands in the area.” He said, oddly cheerful. As if to prove his point, he waved around a humorously large croissant. The sleeve crinkled as he waved, shedding crumbs. “But while you’re here, what's this I hear about you and Cillian?"
“Odd seeing you around.”
“Errands, like I said. We’re having Italian tonight.”
You quirked a brow. “Baguettes aren’t—”
“Try telling Cillian that.”
The words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in concern. You felt the eyes of Rian and Blaise on you, a silent plea to ignore him and not engage. Nevertheless, you drew in a deep breath and sighed.
“Right,” you dryly said, brushing it off. “And about your cousin… He’s being insufferable and needs to apologize to Rian,” you responded, voice firmer than you felt. “Only then will I consider speaking to him.”
Connor’s eyes flickered with something akin to surprise, a crack in his bad-boy facade revealing the boy who still sought approval, still clung to the safety of being Cillian's cousin. His phone vibrated in his pocket, a reminder of the modern world's persistent intrusion, but he ignored it, his gaze locked on your determined stance.
“Y/N,” he started again, but you cut him off, unwilling to be swayed by sympathy or guilt.
“I’m really not mad.” Your words tumbled out, echoing the countless conversations you’d had in your head. With the cooling evening air brushing against your skin, you felt the weight of his judgment pressing back. You feared it. You scorned it, but you wouldn’t suffer needlessly from it. “He just needs to know what he did wrong.”
“And what was that?” asked Connor, hopeful.
“The fuck if anyone knows.” Blaise interjected. Pushing past, his shoulder knocked against Connor’s. “C’mon, Y/N. Let’s not spoil the evening.”
You nodded, grateful for the escape. As they turned to leave, you couldn't help but glance back at Connor, whose slumped shoulders spoke volumes as he watched them walk away, his conflicted loyalties clear even in the dim light of the city's restless pulse.
Connor’s sigh hung heavy in the street-lit dusk, intermingling with the city's symphony of honks and chatter. “It’s just… I’m stuck between you guys,” he muttered, a hint of vulnerability seeping through his usually assertive tone. A frown creased his youthful face, casting shadows that flickered like the uncertainties playing across his thoughts. “Cillian is family, but you’re a good friend, and I don’t know who to stand by.”
Blaise stepped forward, the pale glow from the studio windows illuminating his sharp features. His icy aura felt almost tangible, a frosty shield against the chaos of emotions swirling around them.
“Look, maybe I’m overstepping,” he began, somewhat hesitant, “but why are you acting so spineless? There’s no side to pick, only a friend to support. You’ve known her longer than I have, but you can’t see how harmful Cillian’s accusations were? Maybe you’d see that if your head weren’t so far up his ass.” Blaise said, his voice low and steady. Turning away with a sense of finality, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm. “How about we head back to my place? My housemates and I were planning a casual hangout.”
His touch was comforting, a calm anchor in the storm of your thoughts. You nodded, feeling the tremble in your limbs settle as you focused on Blaise's offer.
“Sounds good,” you murmured, numbly following along.
“Great,” Blaise’s lips curled into a half-smile, his eyes reflecting a glint of mischief. “You and Rian have got to try my barbeque. I’m doing everything from scratch. I can’t get the sauce right, but hopefully, your input will help.”
“What would either of us know about barbeque?”
“Dunno. Couldn’t be any less than me, though.”
From a few steps away, Connor’s shoulders slumped as he watched the exchange. With another deep exhale that seemed to surrender all his protests, he pulled out his phone. His fingers tapped against the screen, sending a message into the void.
a/n: not much Cillian this chapter but you know he can't stay away for long. next chapter's a good one i promise ^^
My laptop ran an update while I was sleeping last night which would've been fine except that the fan pad it sits on has rgb lights that fire up whenever the the computer first powers on, so in the middle of the night my computer finished its restart sequence and this happened:
Henri and his darling met at a local bar in his small town. She was just visiting her grandparents for the summer before returning to the city to finish up college. Henri found her cute so he chose to spark up a convo with her and get her a drink here and there. After darling accepted his offer to her tour guide of the town, they practically became inseparable. Henri continues to fall HARD. But as summer comes to a close and Darling is showing no sign of wanting to drop everything to be with him….he starts to get desperate. Calling at all hours of the night just for her comfort, never wanting to leave her side, crying anytime Darling tries to live her own life, and even guilt tripping Darling to prevent a breakup.
By the end of summer, it’s clear that Henri is willing to follow darling to the ends of the earth for her love. They’re soulmates after all! Even though the two are by no certain terms dating….
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