0uch1e

[0uch1e]

Yandere Trapper x Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy

The snow clung to your skirts, heavy and wet, weighing you down as you fled deeper into the woods. Each step sent a spray of powdery white into the air, your boots sinking through the crust of ice beneath. Your breath tore out of your throat in ragged bursts, misting the air, and your heart pounded so hard you thought it might break through your ribs. Behind you, growing fainter with every desperate stride, you could still hear the voices—your father’s low bellow, your brothers’ sharper cries.

“Come back! Damn it, girl, come back!”

But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. The thought of that man, that stranger, placing a ring on your finger, made your stomach turn. You’d rather freeze out here than return to the house, to the suffocating expectations that had closed in on you like iron bars.

The woods were silent save for your flight. Snow-laden branches groaned under their burdens, and somewhere far off, you thought you heard the mournful cry of a wolf. The cold bit through your coat, numbing your fingers, your cheeks, but you didn’t dare stop. Not until you were free. Not until—

SNAP.

Agony exploded through your leg, white-hot, blinding. You screamed. The world tilted as you collapsed, the ground rushing up to meet you. You clawed at the snow, heart racing in terror, and looked down to see the cruel, jagged steel teeth of a trap biting into your calf. Blood welled up, bright against the pale snow, seeping from between the metal jaws.

“No, no, no…” you gasped, hands trembling as you tried to pry it open, but it was no use. The trap was made for beasts larger and stronger than you. Panic rose in your throat, bitter as bile. The pain was like fire now, radiating up your leg, and the cold made it worse. You were trapped. Alone.

Or so you thought.

The sound of crunching snow reached your ears. A shadow fell over you. You froze, terror choking you. Was it one of your brothers? Had they found you? But when you forced yourself to look up, squinting through tears and the biting wind, it wasn’t a face you recognized.

The man was massive—tall, broad-shouldered, the bulk of him wrapped in a heavy fur coat. His hair was thick and dark brown, curling where it escaped his hood, and his eyes regarded you with a kind of quiet assessment. His skin was darkened by years of sun and wind, tanned deep against the snow’s harsh glare. His beard was rough, his face weathered. A stranger. A trapper, by the look of him.

He crouched beside you, his gaze dropping to the bloody trap. His brow furrowed. “Fool girl,” he rumbled, voice low, thick with an accent you couldn’t quite place. “What you doin’ runnin’ through these woods, eh? This no place for little dove like you.”

“I—I didn’t see it,” you stammered, breath hitching against sobs. “Please—help—”

He didn’t waste time with more questions. Big, scarred hands reached for the trap, and with a grunt of effort, he pried the steel jaws apart, freeing your leg. The sudden release of pressure sent a fresh wave of pain crashing through you, and you whimpered, clutching at your skirts. Blood flowed more freely now, staining the snow beneath you.

He didn’t hesitate. “Can’t leave you out here. You’ll freeze…or wolves’ll get you.” His words were blunt, matter-of-fact. He slid his arms beneath you, lifting you as though you weighed nothing. His coat smelled of smoke and pine and leather. You tried to protest, but he hushed you with a shake of his head. “Save your breath. Cabin’s not far.”

The world swayed as he carried you, every step jostling your injured leg, but you clung to him, too exhausted and frightened to do anything else. The snow fell heavier now, the sky darkening as night crept in. The woods seemed to close around you, but he moved through them with certainty.

At last, through the veil of trees, you saw it: a cabin, smoke curling from the chimney, its windows glowing faintly with firelight. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and strode inside, kicking it shut behind him. The warmth hit you like a wave, the scent of woodsmoke filling your lungs. He laid you down gently on a low cot by the fire.

“You’re lucky,” he said gruffly, pulling off his gloves. “Coulda bled out, out there. Coulda froze.”

You didn’t answer, too dazed from pain. He knelt beside you, retrieving a battered tin box from a shelf. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he rolled up your torn skirts and examined the wound.

“Bad, but I seen worse.” He met your gaze, those brown eyes steady and unflinching. “This’ll hurt.”

And it did. He cleaned the gash with cold water from a jug, wrapped it in clean linen, and bound it tight with a strip of leather. All the while, he worked in silence except for the occasional mutter in that thick, unfamiliar accent. When he finished, he sat back on his heels, wiping his hands on a rag.

“There. Won’t be walkin’ on it soon, but you’ll keep the leg.”

You let out a shaky breath, tears slipping down your cheeks. Not just from pain, but from everything. The running, the fear, the trap, the cold.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He only grunted, rising to hang a kettle over the fire. “Rest now, little dove. We’ll talk when you’re stronger. Safe here, with me.”

The kettle hissed softly as it heated, filling the cabin with the comforting scent of boiling water mingled with woodsmoke. The man busied himself with small tasks—adding a log to the fire, setting out a battered tin plate, slicing hard bread with a well-worn knife. His every motion was steady, unhurried, like the snow falling beyond the windows.

You lay still, too tired to move, too sore to try. The warmth of the cabin seeped into your bones, and though your leg throbbed with each beat of your heart, it was better than the numbing cold. Your eyes drifted to him as he worked. The firelight cast his face in flickering gold and shadow, carving deep lines into his features. He looked like the wilderness itself—rugged, weathered, and solid. A man apart from the world you’d fled.

Without a word, he tore off a piece of bread, dunked it into the steaming water to soften it, and brought it to you. He crouched by the cot, holding it out in his calloused hand. “Eat,” he said simply. “You need strength.”

Your fingers trembled as you took it. The bread was rough but warm, and you chewed slowly. He watched for a moment, as if to make sure you were truly eating, then sat back on a stool near the fire. From a pouch at his belt, he drew a small block of wood and a carving knife, and he began to work, the soft scrape of blade on wood filling the quiet.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The storm outside howled against the walls, rattling the shutters.

Finally, unable to bear the weight of the silence, you spoke. Your voice was hoarse, but the words tumbled out in a rush.

“I ran away,” you said, staring at your hands in your lap. “My father…he—he arranged for me to marry a man I don’t even know. A man twice my age. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t—” Your voice cracked. “So I ran. I thought I could get far enough. Thought maybe I could find somewhere, someone who’d help. But I didn’t think about the traps. About the cold. I didn’t think about anything except getting away.”

The trapper said nothing at first. The knife kept scraping, shaping whatever it was he saw in that piece of wood. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his hands sure and steady.

When he did speak, his voice was low. “You thought right to run. A bird ain’t meant for a cage. Even if it’s a gilded one.” His brown eyes lifted to meet yours. “You’re safe here. No one’ll force you to nothin’. You stay ‘til you can walk. Longer, if you need.”

The fire popped, sending up a spray of sparks. You felt your throat tighten again, but this time it wasn’t from fear or grief. It was something else—something like relief, sharp and sudden, so fierce it brought fresh tears to your eyes.

“Why are you helping me?” you whispered.

He shrugged. “You’re hurt. Alone. Ain’t right, leaving you out there to die.”

—-

You slept fitfully that night, the pain in your leg throbbing. The storm raged on through the night, wind shrieking against the eaves, snow piling high against the walls of the little cabin. The fire crackled low, its warmth a fragile shield against the winter’s fury. And though you drifted in and out of uneasy dreams—faces from home, cold hands dragging you back, steel teeth snapping shut.

The night was long, and deep in its darkest hour, the pain flared anew. A searing, biting ache that woke you with a cry, torn from your throat before you could stop it. Your hands flew to your leg, trembling, and you sobbed. The cabin felt too small, the shadows too thick, the weight of everything—your injury, your fear, your sorrow—too heavy to bear.

The door to the other room creaked open almost at once. Heavy footsteps crossed the floorboards, and then he was there, crouching beside you. His face was shadowed by the dim glow of the fire, but his eyes were filled with concern.

“Shhh, little dove,” he murmured, voice low, rough with sleep but gentle all the same. “What’s this now? Pain too much?”

You couldn’t answer, only nodded through the tears that streamed down your cheeks. The sobs came harder, broken and helpless. You felt ashamed, weak, but you couldn’t stop.

He didn’t scold you or tell you to quiet. Instead, he lowered himself to sit beside the cot, the floor creaking beneath his weight. Slowly, like one might calm a frightened animal, he gathered you up, drawing you against him. His coat was rough wool and fur, his arms solid as oak. His chest was broad and warm beneath your cheek, his heart a slow, steady drum you could feel through the layers between you.

“There now,” he said, almost a whisper. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you here. You let it out. Ain’t no shame in cryin’, not after what you been through.”

His hand came up, big and sure, and smoothed over your hair. His palm was calloused, his touch surprisingly tender. He rocked you gently, not speaking further, just letting the storm outside howl its fury while he made a quiet, safe place for you in his arms.

Little by little, your sobs quieted. You realized, dimly, that he smelled of pine sap and smoke and leather, and there was something grounding in it, something real.

When your breathing slowed and the worst of the pain dulled again to that low, familiar throb, he shifted, adjusting the blankets around you, careful not to jostle your leg.

“You need sleep,” he said softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “I’ll stay here. You ain’t alone.”

And true to his word, he settled there, leaning back against the side of the cot, one arm resting lightly across you as if to shield you from the night.

—-

Spring came slow that year. The snow melted reluctantly beneath a pale sun, leaving behind a world of mud and waking green.

Your leg healed, but not fully. The wound the trap had left behind marked you deep—scar tissue that pulled tight, a stiffness that never quite eased. You limped now, favoring the leg, and though the pain had dulled to an ache on most days, you felt it with every step. Still, you moved through the cabin with purpose, unwilling to let the injury make you useless.

You’d grown used to the small world you shared with him. The soft creak of the cabin’s floorboards, the hiss of water boiling over the fire, the scent of pine smoke that clung to everything. You rose with the dawn most days, lighting the fire, sweeping the floor, chopping vegetables when there were any, or mending torn linens. You helped how you could, leaning on the stout cane he’d carved for you from ash wood, its handle worn smooth beneath your hand.

And when he came in from the woods at the end of the day—big and broad and ruddy from the cold—you always found yourself smiling. You couldn’t help it. There was comfort in the sight of him, in knowing he’d come back safe, in the warmth he carried in with him.

The door thudded shut behind him one evening as the last light of day bled out over the horizon. His arms were full, bundles of kindling, snares strung with rabbits, the fruits of his quiet, patient work. Snow still clung to the hem of his coat and the tips of his boots, though it melted fast in the cabin’s heat.

You straightened from the hearth where you’d been stirring a pot of stew, your limp slowing you but not stopping you. Your smiled. “You’re back.”

He grunted in that familiar way of his, his dark eyes flicking over you, lingering on your face. The corners of his mouth tugged up just a little—his version of a smile.

“Aye,” he said, setting down his load and stamping the snow from his boots. “Always come back, little dove. You know that by now.”

You watched as he shrugged out of his heavy coat, as he crossed the room in a few long strides to stand beside you. The warmth of him filled the small space between you. You tilted your face up to meet his gaze, and for a long, quiet moment, neither of you spoke. There was no need. The fire crackled. The stew bubbled. The world outside faded, until there was only the two of you in that circle of light and warmth.

At last, he lifted a hand, rough and calloused, and brushed a loose strand of hair from your brow. His fingers lingered for just a breath longer than they needed to.

“You been on your feet too long again,” he rumbled, his voice low, gentle in its bluntness. “Leg’s hurtin’. I can see it in your eyes.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he shook his head, already guiding you toward the chair by the fire. “Sit. I’ll finish the stew.”

You settled, leaning the cane against the chair, and watched him move about the cabin.

“Colm?”

“Aye?” he said, pausing with the ladle in hand, the steam from the stew rising between you.

You hesitated. The words felt heavy in your chest, tangled with everything you hadn’t said these past weeks—months, now. About the safety you’d found here. About the way the cabin no longer felt like a place you were hiding, but a place you belonged. About him. About how the sound of his voice when he called you ‘little dove’ warmed you more surely than any fire.

Your fingers curled into the folds of your skirt, the scar on your leg aching faintly with the movement. You drew in a slow breath, heart thudding, unsure if it was fear or hope that made it beat so hard.

“Thank you,” you said at last, though it wasn’t nearly enough. Your voice wavered, but you held his gaze. “For everything. For saving me. For keeping me safe. For… not asking more than I could give.”

His brow furrowed. He set the ladle down and crossed the small space between you, crouching beside your chair so you were nearly eye to eye. His hand came to rest on the arm of the chair.

“You ain’t gotta thank me, dove,” he said quietly. “Was no trouble. And I’d do it again. Every bit of it.”

You swallowed hard. The cabin felt small around you, but not in the way it once had—not like a trap or a cage. It felt close. Shelter. His nearness was steadying, and yet it made your heart race all the same.

“I don’t want to go back,” you whispered, the truth of it spilling out. “I don’t want to leave. Even when my leg’s strong enough…I don’t want to go.”

Colm’s expression softened, his dark eyes warm as the embers behind him. His fingers brushed your knuckles, tentative at first, as if afraid of frightening you. When you didn’t pull away, his hand covered yours, rough and warm.

“Then don’t,” he said simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. His thumb stroked gently over the back of your hand, and his voice dropped lower. “Ain’t no one chasin’ you here. Ain’t no one can make you leave. You stay as long as you want, little dove. Long as you need. Longer still, if you’ll have it.”

The firelight danced in his eyes.

—-

You stayed through spring’s slow thaw, through the melt of snow that revealed damp earth and pale green shoots. You stayed as your leg grew stronger, though the ache never fully left you. You stayed through mornings filled with birdsong and evenings thick with the scent of pine and woodsmoke. And Colm stayed beside you—steadfast, quiet, always watching over you like he’d promised.

But safety, you learned, was fleeting.

It happened on a warm afternoon, the kind where the air buzzed with life and the world seemed at peace. You were outside, hanging a length of linen to dry in the breeze, when you heard the voices. Shouts, carried on the wind. Familiar voices. Their voices.

Your blood ran cold. The linen slipped from your fingers. You turned, heart hammering, just as Colm strode from the trees.

“Inside,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Go on, dove. Now.”

You stumbled back toward the cabin, but your legs felt heavy, your mind spinning. You heard your father’s voice—hoarse from shouting your name. Your brother’s angry curses. The sound of boots crashing through the underbrush.

They had found you.

Colm stood between you and the treeline, his broad frame unmoving as the figures emerged from the woods. Your father and brothers, grim and wild-eyed from their search. They stopped short at the sight of him, this stranger, this wall of a man who’d stolen you from them. Their hands went to their weapons—knives, an old musket, a length of rope.

“Step aside,” your father barked. “She’s ours. Blood. You’ve no right.”

Colm didn’t move. His voice, when it came, was soft, dangerous. “She ain’t yours. Not no more.”

Your eldest brother lunged first. The world blurred. There was the crack of bone, the thud of a body hitting the earth. A gun fired, wide and wild. Colm was faster. Brutal, efficient. The fight was short, bloody. When it was done, the clearing was still, save for your ragged breathing and the rush of wind through the pines.

Colm stood over them, chest heaving, his hands red. His dark eyes found yours, searching your face, as if afraid of what he’d see there.

“I told you,” he said, voice raw, broken with emotion. “Ain’t no one gonna take you, dove. Not while I draw breath.”

You stared at him, your breath shallow, your heart racing so fast it hurt. The clearing was quiet now, death thick in the air. His words hung between you, heavy as the bodies at his feet. You should have felt horror. You did. But it was tangled with something else. Relief. Safety. The terrible, aching knowledge that there was no going back. No more running.

And Colm? Colm saw that in your eyes. Saw the way you trembled, the way you stepped closer instead of away. His bloodied hand reached out, slow and gentle, and when you didn’t flinch, he cupped your cheek. His thumb traced your skin, leaving a faint smear of red.

“Shhh,” he murmured, voice soft as falling ash. “You’re safe now, little dove. Safe with me.”

—-

From that day on, the forest felt different. Wilder. The trees seemed to close in, hiding the two of you from the world. And Colm… Colm changed, too. Not in how he treated you—never harsh, never cruel—but in the way his eyes followed you, in the way his touch lingered, in the quiet, fierce devotion that burned hotter than ever.

Nights grew longer, darker. The world beyond your small cabin ceased to exist. And Colm, though he never spoke the fear aloud, knew—knew—that safety could slip through his fingers as fast as it came. That if you ever left him, he’d be left with nothing.

So he made sure you wouldn’t.

It started so gently, so carefully, that you didn’t see it for what it was. Colm became more attentive than ever, watching you with those dark, steady eyes like you were the only thing that kept him breathing. He’d brush your hair from your face with hands still rough from the axe, tuck the blanket tighter around your shoulders at night, bring you the choicest cuts of meat from his traps, the sweetest berries from deep in the woods. He doted on you.

And when the nights grew colder again—when the first hints of autumn whispered through the trees—he drew you closer. His touch was warm, his words softer still, full of promises he never spoke before. “Forever,”he whispered against your skin. “Mine. Always mine.”

It was easy to give in. Easy to let yourself believe in the safety of his arms, in the shelter of his devotion. You were so tired. Tired of running, tired of fear. Tired of wondering when someone else might come, might try to take you away again.

Colm saw that. Saw the way you leaned into him more each day, saw the way your defenses crumbled as the weeks passed. So he was patient. So patient.

Until the night he stopped waiting.

You woke warm beneath the furs, the fire low in the hearth, the weight of him beside you. His hand on your waist, his breath hot against your neck. And when you stirred, when you murmured his name, he only held you closer, his voice rough and thick with need.

“Don’t be afraid, dove,” he whispered. “You’ll see. This is right. This is how it’s meant to be.”

And you let him. Because what else was there? The world beyond your little cabin was gone, swallowed up by the wild. There was only Colm, and the terrible, tender love that bound him to you.

It wasn’t long before the change came. The sickness in the mornings, the strange, aching tiredness that settled deep in your bones. The way Colm’s eyes lit when you confessed it to him, his hands trembling as he cradled your face, as if he’d caught the sun itself.

“There now,” he said, his voice full of wonder. “You’re mine, little dove. Truly mine. Nothin’ in this world can take you from me now.”

And as he held you, as his fingers traced the curve of your belly where new life had begun, you felt it—the trap, sprung tight around you. No chains, no ropes. Just him. Just love, and the weight of it, and no way left to run.

Masterlist

[0uch1e]

why are there so many nazis on this site??

[0uch1e]

God, listened to something the other night and I can't stop thinking about like, working a terrible office job an just totally zoning out for an hour, playing solitaire or tetris on your computer until your boss calls you into her office

And you're just like oh fuck oh fuck she's gonna fire me oh shit oh shit-

Then you finally get into her office and she's sitting at her desk, rubbing her temple and staring at her computer with pure fucking disdain

You manage to squeak out a small "You wanted to see me?" And she looks up, her face relaxing almost imperceptibly. She tells you to sit and you do, not giving your obedience a second thought. You're still terrified you'll be out of a job.

"This meeting is killing me, and I know you're not doing any work in there, so you're going to stay here with me until it's over."

You look at her confused.

"I've seen you check me out more than enough times by now, love. Now, you can absolutely walk back out that door and keep not-working, I assure you no one's stopping you, or you can stay here and earn a little bonus."

Now you understand what's happening. She points to the floor next to her and you stand, walking over and kneeling. You think about leaving. You think about quitting. But she's right, you've been very attracted to her since the moment you saw her, and you struggle to keep your eyes off her body. So maybe this isn't so bad

She starts by just petting your hair as you sit there, staring forward and feeling a cocktail of anxiety, fear, and excitement bubbling in your chest. Then she gets even more bored, and slowly turns her chair so that you're facing each other instead of being side by side

"Last chance," She says, staring lasers into your skull. You can't bring yourself to meet her gaze, but you stay right where you are, obediently making your allegiance clear.

"Good girl," She says, opening her legs. She puts your head between her thighs, not taking off her pants, at least not yet. You finally look up at her, and she's staring at you with the most intense adoration you've ever been subject to. She's surprisingly gentle, simply petting your hair and looking down at you. Her pants are starting to bulge, the sight of you between her legs enough to get her aroused.

You feel daring enough to, while keeping eye contact, kiss her inner thigh. She grins and nods.

"Go on, doll."

Your chest feels like it's wrapped around a nuclear core. Jesus Christ this is hot- you look away, blushing profusely, and she slaps you. Not exceedingly hard, but it stings and sends a message.

"Eyes up here, doll."

You nod again, looking back up at her and placing gentle kisses on her thighs, moving higher... higher... until her grip on your hair becomes somewhat sadistic, pushing you closer to her now-prominent bulge.

You kiss and nuzzle and- god she smells fucking good- it's already enough to get you feeling high off her scent. She nods and pets you, pushing you down, although you don't need it. You'd already be grinding your face against her regardless.

Finally, you get brave, and reach up to her belt.

"That's it, dolly, go ahead- You know how to please Mommy, don't you~?"

God- No one's really talked to you like this before, and it makes your head swim, forgetting the inappropriate nature of all of this. All you want is to make her happy- You undo her belt with shaking hands and unzip her pants, just pulling them apart enough to get to what you need-

She's nice enough to help you pull her panties down, and you finally have access to her long, throbbing cock. A sound escapes you, like an excited squeak.

"Aww, little puppy wants a treat?"

You feel hot and fuzzy and strange and all you can think about is sucking Mommy's cock like a good little whore- you don't even know where these impulses come from. At this point, you don't care. You just inhale and let the scent of her musk erase all your thoughts.

"Open."

You obey.

She lowers herself onto your tongue.

"Suck."

You obey.

She pushes your head down, lower, until you're gagging harshly.

"Good fuckin' girl- Mnh--fuck, you're not too bad at this, I should keep you around-- nnNNgh-"

Hearing her voice break only makes your mind break double, looking up at her and sucking like your life is on the line, She bites back loud moans, dictating your pace with a hand in your hair. As she starts to get rougher and rougher, you can't help but feel so, so needy- hitting your uvula and making you gag, something you never thought you'd like, is like heaven in her hands.

"Mmn-- God you're such a good little whore for Mommy- NHfh--"

The praise only makes you more excited, and you find yourself starting to grind on her wing-tip Oxford's, whining on her cock. She doesn't notice, too distracted by your mouth, she starts to roughly fuck your face, hold you steady as she bucks her hips.

You feel her tense, and you whine, pushing yourself down all the way as she cums down your throat. The noise you make is depraved, and she responds with a low, gutteral groan, holding you down and breathing heavily.

Finally, she let's you up, her seed dripping down your chin from what you couldn't swallow. She takes her finger and runs it up your chin, gathering up the string that's fallen out, and shoves it in your mouth.

"Good fucking girl, perfect for Mommy... Now, clean her off."

You lick and suck at the tip of her limp cock, cleaning off all of the cum you can before putting her dick away. You're still grinding on her shoe, not even really thinking about it, but you're making noises that tip her off, and now that you're not choking on her cock you notice how close you are.

"Aww, little slut got so worked up she couldn't help herself, huh?"

You nod, whining and holding onto her leg.

"Are you close, doll?"

You nod again.

"Go ahead baby, keep going. I want you to cum for Mommy, okay? Just keep going and say Mommy's name when you cum, doll"

You nod again, quickly and appreciatively, grinding and whimpering as you feel your orgasm flood closer. You manage to whine out a single word as you cum, ruining yourself in her office.

"Mnhhh- Mm-Monmy--!!"

She pets your hair and smiles down at you, clearly pleased at your obedience as you ruin yourself on her shoe.

Well, now there's a problem. You're panting and shaking on the floor, covered in her cum and your own, and you still have another 3 hours of work.

"You can clean up in my office's bathroom, darling, take your time. I want you to finish out the day in that skirt, though. Some people have been getting a little too friendly with my doll, and they need to be reminded who you belong to."

You mumble out a slurred "Yes Mommy" as you sit limp against her leg, catching your breath.

Something tells you this isn't a one time deal.

[0uch1e]

hate what people did to the dead dove tag

[0uch1e]

Yandere!Werewolf who hates you. hates your floral perfume and saccharine smiles.

Yandere!Werewolf who avoids you any chance he can get. who’s late to meetings just so he doesn’t have to be in the same elevator as you. who dodges his coworkers’ invitations to get drinks after a successful sale because he knows you’ll be there, with the way everyone seems to adore you.

Yandere!Werewolf whose nose wrinkles in distaste at the way your pencil skirt rides up when you bend down to get something from the vending machine. who hates the way your blouses fit you just right, the way your stockings are never ripped and your shoes are always shined.

Yandere!Werewolf who hates you.. he hates.. you smell different.

Yandere!Werewolf who sits at his desk, hands clenching and unclenching, claws threatening to unsheathe as you step into the office. you don’t smell like oversweetened roses and sandalwood today. but you’re so much sweeter.

Yandere!Werewolf who bristles when you greet one of your coworkers first. who snarls low in his throat when you turn to him, bright and oblivious, chirping a “good morning” like you don’t know what you’re doing. what are you doing? god, you smell good.

Yandere!Werewolf who hears when you curl into yourself in your chair, even if he can’t see your desk from his. hears the little whimper before you get up to go to the bathroom, one hand clutching at your purse and the other at your tummy.

Yandere!Werewolf who stays frozen at his desk, breath ragged, because now he knows why you smell so good. and it’s conjuring thoughts too loud to ignore. especially down there.

Yandere!Werewolf who goes home and ruts into his pillow, whispering your name like a prayer. muttering broken promises about filling you, marking you, making you his. again and again. until he’s trembling and empty and utterly ashamed.

Yandere!Werewolf who stares at his sheets in silence. mortified.

Yandere!Werewolf who comes in the next morning with a mask, mumbling something about a “cold”. which mysteriously clears up the same day your period ends. you smile at him, scent back to that suffocating rose and sandalwood, too kind to notice the way his eyes linger and his tongue runs along his lips. 

Yandere!Werewolf who smiles back, teeth clenched, because if he doesn’t, he might howl.

and that's not good for the workplace rep.

or the HR report he's one snarl away from starring in.

[0uch1e]

“You don’t want a husband?” No actually I want to be dominated into oblivion by a hot older woman with a sickening age gap but I’ll save that for another day..

[0uch1e]

GURMIT KAUR | Todd Oldham Spring 1994

[0uch1e]

"Pink Panther," Vogue Italia January 1991k

[0uch1e]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by nacholcravens_IFBB PRO🌐 (@nacholcravens_ifbbpro)

oughhhh, i'm so lesbian,,,

[0uch1e]

also the fact that girls will literally use anything to fuck themselves when they’re horny enough is top tier

[0uch1e]

it ain't a political party but,,,

there will be

BUSH

and

GORE

at my birthday

[0uch1e]

Does tumblr still hate tits... well, anyway, New butch pinups are live on my patreon, happy pride fellow butch lovers

[0uch1e]

Source: The Little Butch Book - By Leslea Newman

[0uch1e]

You weren't sure how it came to this, but you're glad it did. One moment a naga bursts into the tavern announced, claiming that he was robbing the place, then the next you found one of his cocks halfway down your throat while you jerked off the other.

"That's a good l'il pet. Keep going and maybe I won't take the money," Silvio coos as he runs his fingers through your hair, gently pushing one solid cock further into your soft mouth.

Originally Silvio grabbed you as a hostage, threatening to fill you with venom if you didn't comply and give him the money. But when he saw how eager you were, the way you crossed your legs and bit your lip, he had to take matters into his own hands.

You pulled out slightly to his tip, rolling your tongue around his shaft as you did so, then sucked hard on his tip, tracing your tongue over his slit as you steeply pumped his second cock. You popped his cock from your mouth, saliva and precum trailing from his tip to your swollen lips for a moment before it breaks when you wrap your lips around his second cock. Your hand moves to his base and your other moves to the now mouth-less cock, which you immediately begin to pump. You begin with chaste kisses to his tip, working your way down his shaft and back up, then promptly engulfing his cock in your warm mouth, rolling your tongue under his length as you dive in.

"Fuck, you're too good at this, darlin'," he grunts under his breath, watching you slowly work your magic and holding himself back from fucking your mouth. It's then that he notices you rolling your hips over your calf, attempting to gather some friction under your groin. "Well, I can't leave you out to dry, now can I? I guess I oughta reciprocate," Silvio says with a grin, and the rattle end of his tail slips under your groin. The sudden vibrations shoot like lighting up your body, catching you off-guard and nearly stopping you from pleasuring the naga before you, but all gentle tug on your hair brings you back to reality.

"Keep goin', don't mind me. I'm just making sure you get your fill, too," Silvio whispers, and in one swift motion, your bottoms come off and his rattle is prodding at your swollen hole. Pulsing with anticipation, he pushes the tip of his rattle past your entrance, delving deeper into your tight little hole until the rattle is fully engulfed.

Then, he begins to vibrate.

Saliva runs down your lips, chin, and one cock as he begins to rattle at a speed that vibrates throught your whole body. You wrap one arm around his tail while the other irregularly and weakly pumps his free cock. Your body arches into his tail, nearly pulling his other cock out of your mouth until his fingers dig into your hair, vigorously thrusting into your mouth.

Your moans course through his cock and he shivers at the vibration. Like yours, his body nearly gives in to the pleasure, and his thrusts on both ends quickly become sloppy.

While Silvio tries to burrow his rattle deep inside your drenched hole, he suddenly pulls your head back from his cock, beads of saliva trickling down from your tongue and his tip. Becoming mindless to the vibrations in your abdomen, you loll your tongue out, panting and anticipating whatever he wants to do next. And he doesn't disappoint. Silvio begins to pump the cock coated in your saliva and removes your hand from his other, instantly pumping it in tandem. The tip of his tail swirls inside your hole, and you rock back and forth, gaining mindblowing friction you've never felt before. Both of your hands dig into the scales on his tail, drooling before him.

Unable to keep you waiting any longer, with a violent jerk of his hips and a pained grunt, a deluge of cum erupts from his cocks, painting your cheeks and tongue with his juices. You swallow dutifully, savoring his sweet and salty nectar. Unable to get enough of his cum, you dart for the dribbles that slide down his length, but he brings his tail up to hold you back.

"Ah-ah-ah. Not yet, dear. You see these barbs? They're a pain to lick around, I tell ya'," Silvio pants, almost in a half-chastising voice. "You're gonna hafta wait a bit if you want to stuff your face again. But until then," he trails with a sloppy grin, and you begin to feel the rattle vibrate in your hole again, the sudden sensation forcing out a surprised yelp from your lips.

"Oh yeah, we're gonna have some fun tonight."

[0uch1e]

man, i bet some big, beefy woman knuckle-deep in me this holiday would finally fix that faulty wiring in my brain

[0uch1e]

everyone post more about butch bottoms NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[0uch1e]

trans women r essential to the lesbian community!!!!!!! there is no arguing w/ this, there is no gray area!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!