Male dragon x female reader (nsfw)
This was the very first request I got, from a dear friend on my other writing blog, the moment I put this one up. You know who you are, this one is for you, and I’m sorry it took me nearly a month to complete.
Female reader x male dragon, nsfw.
There had always been a dragon that lived in the mountain to the east of the small, prosperous town where you’d lived your whole life. People talked about it in the tavern, strangers came to try to hike up to see it, but no one ever came back alive. Whether there really was a dragon up there, eating anyone who dared disturb his rest, or whether the ascent up the mountain was simply too dangerous, no one knew, but the town’s economy thrived off it.
As a child you’d always dreamed of being the maiden captured by the dragon, and instead of being held captive by it, you talked with the dragon, and it would befriend you, keeping the self-absorbed princes and knights and noblemen away who dared to imagine you needed ‘rescuing’.
You’d rescue yourself anyway, thank you very much.
But one day when you’d outgrown the fairy tales that fuelled your curiosity as a child, you decided to go looking for something more tangible than ink on paper. Perhaps you’d spent too long listening to Old Cobb in the tavern, going on and on about the dragon and his hoard, and maybe you’d inhaled too much of his pipe-smoke, because you’d had some interesting dreams that night. It seemed your fantasies had grown up with you.
So, after breakfast, you set off for the mountain. It soon became evident why no one returned. It was clear that the ascent had killed a disturbing number of people. The path was ragged and uneven underfoot to start with, abominably steep in places, with rocky precipices to traverse along, and sheer rock-faces to climb. Once you’d passed the curtain-wall of rock, however, you found that the way wound up more gently through tall pines, eventually emerging at the bottom of a scree-slope, above which was the smoking entrance to the dragon’s lair.
No one in living memory had actually seen the dragon. Perhaps it was just the mouth of a semi-dormant volcano. Maybe undetectable noxious gases were what killed people. Shrugging, you decided you’d come that far, and made your way carefully to the top.
It took a while for your eyes to adjust to the plunging darkness inside, but when they did and your vision cleared, you gasped. Curled up on a rock at the back of the cave, illuminated by a shaft of sunlight from the cave roof, tail twitching sporadically, was indeed a dragon, fast asleep and breathing deeply and evenly. The breath entered and left its lungs like a set of blacksmith’s bellows.
A pebble rolled under your foot and skittered away across the smooth cave floor.