Monthly story - male dragonborn x gn reader (nsfw)
As I said on Discord yesterday, I apologise for how quiet it's been on here lately. The 10+k word story I had begun and intended for this month's story didn't want to play ball at all, so I've shelved it for now. It's at 3 chapters, the plot grew wings the size of a gargoyle, and took off into the trees, so I'll wrangle it back at a later stage.
I went to a motorcycle expo thing in Birmingham and came back really really ill (that'll teach me to be sociable!), but I'm hopefully on the tail end of it now.
Anyway, here's nearly 10k words of burly but submissive dragonborn caravan guard for you! I hope you like it! A number of you said in your feedback comments that you liked dragonborns (lizardfolk), and also that you enjoyed more sexually submissive monsters, as well as gn readers, so hopefully this suits your tastes! I went overboard on world building for this one, so maybe we can revisit these characters if anyone else catches your eye too...
Content: reader who grew up in a trading caravan but moved away to study magic in the capital seeks out one of the trading caravans in the hopes of hitching a ride north to access a distant city's archives. On the way they meet a childhood friend, and find themselves attracted to one of the mercenaries hired to guard the caravan. Slight threat to safety at knife point (not from romantic interest), but the reader knows how to handle themselves.
Nsfw: reader is body and gender neutral, but sex is penetrative. No body parts mentioned other than 'entrance' for the reader. Dragonborn is sexually submissive, and enjoys their sheath being fingered. Orgasm delay/denial if you squint.
Wordcount: 9224
Preview:
The ring and rumble of carts and wagons filled the air, along with the sharp tang of horses and the clamour and somehow organised chaos that came along with a large trading caravan’s imminent departure.
‘Waggoners’ Plaza’ was the rather overly-grand name for what was a partly-cobbled, partly quagmired parcel of land on the outskirts of the city walls, with the gnome-engineered canal running alongside it on the eastern edge and the grim, surly walls of the capital rising out of the stumps of weathered granite to the west.
You'd grown up on a trading caravan just like the one preparing itself in front of you, and something in your heart squeezed as you watched the kids playing off to one side near the canal on a stretch of muddy grass. They scrapped and played under the watchful eye of a rakshasa with a bandoleer of throwing knives dangling protectively across his chest and one grey ear flicking constantly around for any threat to the caravan’s assortment of little cubs of all kinds. There was a dragonborn with a stubby little tail that looked more like it was going to overbalance them than keep them upright, a tiny but tough little gnoll who hadn’t grown into her ears yet, a human and a tiefling who seemed inseparable as they played bandits and guards with the others, and a pale-coated minotaur calf who was so unbelievably fluffy that they resembled a dandelion puff.
Your lips tugged into a smile as you remembered playing a hundred games just like that in towns all across the continent, and you hefted your small travel sack further up onto your shoulder and approached the wagon train at an easy walk.
As you drew nearer than just a casual passer-by, three guards — likely mercenaries hired for the season — came alert from their casual conversation where they were leaned up against the nearest wooden wagon, and one of them peeled away from the group while the other two watched on intently.
Small for an orc, though still tall by human standards, he was lean and narrow-waisted, and it was clear that he knew he was good looking as he pushed himself sinuously off the side boards of the wagon with just a tilt of his hips and set his ebony-handled war axe to rest casually across one shoulder as he walked. With black hair scraped back into a short tail and shaved close above his elegantly pointed ears, he sauntered towards you and jutted his chin up sharply.
“Can I help you?” he said, his voice rough and rich. His brown, kohl-lined eyes looked kind, even friendly, as he let them sweep appreciatively up and down your figure. With his high cheekbones and tapering ears, you suspected that his other parent must have been an elf.
“I’m looking for the caravan master,” you told him with a smile of your own. “Can you point me in their direction?”
“I can do you one better,” he grinned, showing off his comparatively cute, smaller tusks. “I can escort you personally.”
Oh, you knew charmers like this one. “Very well,” you said, biting back your smile along with an eye roll. “Thank you.”
“No problem. This way,” he said, and he twitched his head in the direction of the front of the line.
As you passed the other two guards, a minotaur with a russet coat so rich and dark it almost looked the colour of blood, and a tall tiefling with purple skin and one horn missing, the half-orc tossed them a wink, and they both shook their heads in synchrony. Before you were out of earshot, the tiefling called out to you, “Watch out for that one, stranger! He’ll charm you into bed before you’ve put your question to the wagon master!”
“Unlikely!” you yelled back. “He’d have to work a lot harder than that.”
They both laughed, and you shot the half-orc a look to find him already grinning at you. “That so?” he asked, and you nodded. He let out another easy chuckle and then said, “So, you’re hoping to travel with us?”
Read the whole thing, and gain access to all my previous monthly stories, over on Patreon right now!
I wanted to pop by and let everyone know that there WILL be a Part 3 to Heart-break.
I am really enjoying the story. But it is going to be posted on Patreon first, as always. And expect it to be published either sometime in the next few hours or possibly tomorrow.
All depending on how the editing goes. I've already finished the chapter, I just want to make sure I'm happy with it.
Its around 6.5k words long this chapter. And yes, there will be a Part 4. Which may be the final chapter to the series. Again, depending on how the story goes.
Those Opal Eyes [Dragonborn (Paarthurnax) x Female!Reader feat. A poor elf]
Content Warning: Smut
Do I do a Mindflayer or Orc next, I don’t know.
Also let me know if you want me to make a series of this because honestly I miss writing full series of stuff.
Another story I'm splitting into two because this looks fine as it is, revisiting it.
CURTAINS!!!
Many in this profession - collecting gold in exchange for petty killings - are cold-blooded killers or cheats. Others are survivors of massacres or desperate impoverished willing to sacrifice their hearts to save themselves, chasing the cries of those who dared wrong them always feeling near, yet always out of reach.
You, ranked high enough to be sought by very lords and leaders of the realms for a faceless phantom to kill their enemies, are none of these things. Rather you were a little mouse, born of a forced union of human and Drow, that stabbed her way to save herself. Along the way, you found you liked the taste of blood, and with no heart or compass, you found yourself here. Sitting with your feet on rotted tables, sharpening your knives until someone comes by looking for answers or a job.
The Shadows of Bavellia, is the institution’s official name. Many would believe it to be the name of an opera — you wish sometimes it was — but once they go inside they find nothing but ruthless murderers.
One day, the bustling of drunken lowlifes is broken when an enormous sack of gold, seducing you with the promise of eternal comfort, drops right next to your ankles.
Ears twitching to ease your minute surprise you look up from sharpening your newly acquired dagger. Standing there, fiery eyes glistening from the torches, is a high elf, haughty as can be. Adorned in gold and silver from head to toe, importance, elegance, and status radiate from him like sunlight. Snow white hair sometimes billows about his shoulders, his jawline sharp to signify intelligence and vice. Hardly recognizing your Drow features his eyes demand your acknowledgement, which you provide in sitting up and nodding to him, giving as much a bow as you can manage from your seat.
“Top of the morning, milord,” You croon dryly. “What is the job today?”
He flicks his wrist, his bodyguard - a mighty Orc adorned in warlord armament - slapping down a rough sketch. Sliding it towards yourself you look it over; a long haired, handsome Dragonborn in mighty armor, twisted horns shooting from his scalp.
“Kill him.” The high elf demands. “Rip his heart out and deliver it to me.”
Without much else he turns on his heels, his bodyguard in tow as he shoves the others from his way before the doors slam shut behind them, leaving only the scent of citrus and linens in his wake.
“Not much to go on,” You hum, picking up the sketch to examine it. That elf must have been thorough before coming here - the job is described on the back.
This Dragonborn, charged with the mass deaths of other high elves in their realm, escaped his prison sentence and has managed to slay all who came for him for vengeance. You, a “lowly cloak-and-dagger scum,” as the elf described you, are the last resort, a being he couldn’t possibly know. Do this job well enough and you’ll be guaranteed a high position in his realm, and every wish you have granted.
Mostly that means becoming a royal/imperial concubine or servant of the royal family in general. They see no need to employ you into military, especially the “higher races.” A half-Drow like you will never be treated with the esteem of even being a cockwarmer to a king, not to say you seek such... desecration. So you’ll accept the gold, but carry on your work; you’ll never submit to anyone.
Memorizing the details, you nod once, collecting your arsenal, securing your gold, and making way for Whitevale.
__
Something an expert must never do is dress in their assassin’s gear going into a town. Rather they must act and look like a regular traveler, observing and replicating the words and mannerisms of whomever provides the most believable cover. It’s taken you... well, not long to master the art.
You also chose not to lie about your origins. Sobbing about watching your mother be killed from afar as she was drawn and quartered by the Drows that ripped her from home always got you somewhere in town. You’ve made change as a barmaid many a time, learning valuable information on potential bounties and where you might find them.
You wonder how the old Dwarf in Wellsbridge is doing. Still hammering away, you should hope.
Under the guise of searching for an old friend, you asked a local farmer if he’d seen a Dragonborn about. Much to your surprise, he had an answer, and now here you are, idly sipping on a rough ale and making small talk with the elf barkeep. You already forgot his name.
“You’re a rather interesting woman,” He comments as he slides you another by your request, the first being on the house because of his generosity. “You look like you’ve been through your fair share of battles, but you’re entirely on your own. Surely you’d have a party with you, yes?”
“I don’t like company.” This isn’t a lie; people have only slowed you down when you tried adventuring right after escaping that cesspit.
“That we have in common. T’is why I settled down here: people are only good until all they look forward to is money.” He retrieves your empty tanker, putting it aside. “Tell me, are you on a quest now?”
“I’m looking for someone,” You reply, giving the tavern another onceover. No sign of him. “You seen a Dragonborn around?”
“Oh, yes!” He lights up, and relief in not having to trudge around the realms settles your brain. “Paarthurnax, good friend of this town. You know, he singlehandedly drove off a Deathknight last harvest moon. Ever since we’ve been indebted to him, and we’re not the only ones he’s saved.”
A hero.
“Pray tell, why are you looking for him?” He tilts his head, ears twitching. “Wish to join his adventuring party?”
You put on a smile, innocent and ambitious. “I wish only to meet him.”
“Tonight’s your lucky night, then - he should be here soon. Went on a massive quest in The Wilds - something about a bugbear getting a bit too frisky with some goblins - and sent a letter announcing his return.” He fiddles with a clean tanker. “I tell you, he makes me miss adventuring.”
You decide some light humor, to keep from seeming too off. “Maybe if he spurns me we can go together to kill some Kobolds,” You jeer, finishing your second ale.
His eyes glisten as though you’d just proposed to him, ears perking up and turning a shade of pink at the tips. “Why, the thought pleases me! Take a job from the board, pick up our weapons, and make names for ourselves...” You immediately regret everything. “Ah. But my duties lie here. Perhaps when I have some more hands, we will be able to make that come true. For now, I will simply look forward to you being a regular here.”
Your regret subsides. Though you feel nothing for this elf, it seems he feels something for you. So perhaps if anything, he’ll be an amusement should you return to this town. Honestly, the image of the pair of you wrapped in silk sheets is... oddly appealing.
You gulp down an amaretto, provided on the house again because you about beguiled him. “Do you want to lay me?” You ask.
Taken aback, he tilts his head, cheeks matching his ears. “Er... Well...”
“No holds barred, I’m leaving tomorrow evening,” You mention. “This may be the last time in a good while you see me.”
“Yes!” He yelps. Well, you suppose now is as good a time as any.
Reaching up, you undo some of the ties of your tunic, your cleavage casting a spell on him whilst vaguely reflected on the bottles behind him.
“If you wish to love me,” You lower your voice into a seductive hum, “best make it quick.”
“Ah, Byørjn!” He calls, and within moments a blue orc with a broken tusk is at his side. “Watch the bar, please.”
Byørjn takes one look at you and huffs through his nose. “Found yourself a mate already? Good, now perhaps you can focus on getting more hands around here.”
“I’m an adventurer,” You hum as barkeep is behind you, slinking his hand into yours, “I’ll inspire him to do even more than that.”
“Don’t wear each other out.” Byørjn rolls his eyes, replacing barkeep behind the bar. “And keep quiet, t’is reaching midnight.”
... Oh. Now you remember.
Barkeep’s name is Ysh’lann.
__
You remember the beds always being warm, especially when you chose not to spend a night alone. Not to say you’d fuck every creature in the realms that asked, but rather you fuck solely for entertainment and because sometimes, a good round of sex will bring back a high you’ve chased since long ago. Intercourse isn’t a blank canvas — there’s always something there, be it love, hate, control, or oblivion itself.
Nevertheless, it’s an act that, at the moment, has you stark naked, spread out on a nice, soft bed, watching Ysh’lann undress. Sometimes he’ll pause, enraptured by your body, before his erection becomes unbearable, and he has to free himself so it doesn’t hurt. The adoration for you is palpable, and definitely something you’ve experienced before and thus treasured; you will let him live for this solely.
It isn’t the sex you want. It’s what the romance stories describe, how it will bond two souls in a physical declaration of love, that you yearn for. But most of all, you want to feel... at all.
What lays inside, you pray, is not a ruthless killer, but something as simple as a broken doll needing but one missing piece. If you can be fixed along this journey, you’d gladly face Shar and walk backwards into Mystra’s awaiting arms.
“You are so beautiful.”
You blink out of your thoughts at his words, watching as he crawls on the bed with you, softly holding your face. He caresses under your eye with his thumb, his hand falling slightly so his fingers can trace your lips. To your frustration, it rouses no emotion, no love or hate - only the carnal instincts to fuck. Realizing this, that in spite of his genuine adoration and desire to love you, you can feel nothing for him, brings the deep sorrow you’ve dreaded accommodating every time.
Ysh’lann’s hands rise up, holding your head and pulling you into a kiss. Ever receptive you lean into him, and he lowers one arm around your back, carefully rolling so he’s on top, you resting beneath him.
Momentarily he pulls back. “Are you comfortable?”
You nod, and he smiles, kissing you again, holding you in his arms. Reciprocating despite your emptiness, you softly cup his forearm, playing with the fine hairs as your free hand tangles in his wheat gold locks.
Pulling back again, he softly rests his forehead on yours, shuffling to wrap your legs around his waist, his shaft teasing your wetness.
“I won’t ask you not to leave me,” He whispers, softly touching noses. “But... I would be overjoyed if you were to return, and we could go on our own adventure...”
He pushes, gingerly, inside, and an uneven gasp jolts your chest slightly. Not because it hurts, but because he fits so well.
“We’ll make a name for ourselves, protecting villages and saving entire kingdoms...” He whispers, caressing your face as he moves at a perfect, eased pace. “When we’ve made enough money we can settle down, and I will marry you.”
A tear slips into your hair.
“We’ll live a happy life, adventuring, even if it doesn’t involve fighting monsters. Our home will be warm, our children playing by the fire.” He leans down to kiss you. “If it’d be alright, I’d like you to die of old age before I do. So then I can hold you in your final breaths, surrounded by our children, and their children’s children and more.”
He’s not lost in the act of sex - his entire focus is on you. How he reaches for your heart but knows somehow he can’t quite hold it. For a moment it’s like he’s aware this will never happen, for you’ve no love to give him. And he doesn’t blame you for any of it.
He’s just overjoyed to at least show you the love he has to give.
By the gods, why am I cursed with this...?
“It’s alright...” He murmurs, holding your face. “But for now... I will embrace you, treat you the way you should be - and perhaps one day, your heart will beat for me, true.”
Sinking into him, you tug him back down into your kiss, sharing in the landscape of wayward, ancient dreams.
__
The light of dawn, spilling elegantly through the curtains, greets you like a long lost friend. Stirring, very slightly sore, you sit up, the covers falling from your shoulders, hand falling to your belly. Last night left sort of a mess on you, him not wanting to risk locking you in, but you don’t really mind.
...
No.
Pulling your hands back — you’d just realized them reaching for his throat — you instead ensure the blankets are on him properly. Still sleeping peacefully, he holds a soft smile on his lips, sometimes shifting to find your warmth. Apprehensive you shift away, leaving him to cling to your pillow in his unconsciousness, until you’re standing.
“Sorry...” You meander to retrieve your clothes. “A man like you deserves a woman with unending love... An empty shell like me...” Your eyes fall to your quivering hands. “... Can’t love anyone...”
Shaking your head of the tragic soliloquy, you ensure your weapons are well fastened. Turning, you tiptoe to the door-...
“Hey.”
Jumping slightly, you whirl around, only to meet his soft smile as he sits up, the sunlight illuminating his body with grace.
For a moment he’s wordless, standing and approaching you. Poking your tongue out slightly you try to avert his gaze, not wishing to be pulled back in, and allowing your flights of fancy to take you where you cannot be retrieved. You cannot love this man, and pretension is too cruel...
With tender fingertips he lifts your chin, holding your face with both hands and kissing you with that same familiar sweetness. Guilt weighing on your heart, you wrap your arms around to his back, his skin soft beneath your palms. As if sensing the battleground in your chest he pulls back, his deep coal eyes calming you just with a gaze.
“You deserve to be happy, too.” He brushes your hair behind your pointy ear. “I will never forget you, nor will I hate you...”
You rest your head on his chest. “You... You’re better off forgetting me...”
“Perhaps, and maybe I’m a fool, but...” He pauses to kiss your head. “If ever you are cold, or lonely, then please come back. Even if your heart has not changed, I will love you until my heart is a slave to time no more.”
“... Your heart will have a home,” You murmur. “But I have no home to give it... You will only torture yourself.”
He pulls you into a brief kiss. “We will both find where our hearts belong. But until then, would you be willing to...?”
Your memories of last night set your cheeks softly alight. “If I should ever return, then we shall take to this room, and give each other a respite from this unforgiving cold...”
“Until then... Live a long and happy life.”
“You as well...” You make a decision, and press two fingers to his forehead. “Memorias Erasia.”
He collapses onto the floor, thankfully hitting nothing on the way down, and you stop yourself from releasing a deep sigh, knowing it won’t help.
Eventually, however, that too disappears. As you look away, leaving and closing the door behind you, the previous emotions fade with definitive memories. His name, the sweet words he whispered in your ear; the very essence of him fades away. What you’re left with in turn is simply the knowledge you’d been entertained for a night, and thus when dear barkeep wakes and returns you can search again for the Dragonborn.
“Now... I just need to occupy myself a little longer.”
Hi there I was wondering if you could do a mercenary leader (monster of your choice ) x reader? Ex: reader is at a tavern and suddenly mercenaries barge in with a paper in hand( it's a job from a guild and the prize it's lots of money) celebrating their finished job. reader is trying to do her job as a waitress/waiter and gets annoyed with how loud they are, they get annoyed and mutters smth of annoyance under their breath not going unheard by the leader, he makes it his job to go to the tavern every day to annoy them , they dont say anything bc they don't want to loose their job and doesn't want to get in trouble with dangerous mercenaries the rest is up to u, u can also choose if it's nsfw or sfw but if it's snfw could u add some fluff aftercare?
This took longer to publish for some reason, I blame writer's block.
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Service With a Smile
There was no doubt that you had met a great number of different people.
It was part of your job: to keep an amicable smile whilst surrounded by dirty, rambunctious travellers, of all sorts of groups and races, human or not. Service with a smile was one of the few sayings you had grown to loathe within the years of performing as the barmaid, but there were few things you did quite relish.
You got free meals and a permanent residence in one of the many inn rooms, not having to worry about finding either one when the end of your shifts came rolling through, leaving you dragging yourself many times in the early hours of the morning back to your bed. It had many perks and swindles to have an evening job, but at least the pay was good.
Another thing was how you got to speak to so many different people: on travels to vanquish and destroy. You liked to believe you had grown a good job at people watching, deciding what individuals or groups of people were like before even speaking to them, wondering if they were all strangers or held prolonged friendships.
This night was the same as all the others: messy and unruly to say the least. The smell of all kinds of stuffy, heavy alcohols had melded into one, a powerful stench that seared into the back of your nose and unsettled your empty stomach, watching people laugh and cheer, others more than those who were quieter. It was a good reason to rejoice for some, hence the piles of copious coins on one's table, the calling for more drinks their way.
"Table 15 is asking for another round." Your boss and closest friend, a small halfling simply named Pen came through, heaving empty mugs in her callous fingers. "One said they were asking for the pretty one."
You snorted, finished wiping the mugs you had just cleaned, turning back to her. "You sure they weren't asking for someone else?"
Pen's laugh was sturdy and proud, slapping your back a bit too playfully rough, "I know for sure they ain't talking 'bout me!" She jabbed her thumb in the direction of the large group. You could count six of them. "The Dragonborn over there, he said it."
You glanced at them, and indeed, found the one she was referring to. Dragonborn were always the ones you were charmed by the most, and he was certainly holding your interest.
"Fine. I'll get their orders." You wiped your sweaty palms into your apron, striding towards them and trying to hold as much confidence as possible. The smile on your face twitched the corners of your cheeks, the closer you reached them. The six of them were a mixture of different people indeed: the Dragonborn, a dwarf, two humans, a halfling and a burly orc woman. Certainly could've been a group of friends, or maybe not so much from the beginning of their journey.
The dwarf had been the closest to watching you come towards them, elbowing the Dragonborn in the ribs, muttering something with a gruff chuckle, all eyes moving to look over at you.
You rounded the table to stand beside the Dragonborn, silently and subtly taking him in. He was as large as all the others of his race – even whilst sitting down - but instead of usually seeing those of red and bronze scales, his was a gentle cobalt hue, iridescent under the heavy chainmail and furred cloak, his taloned fingers resting idly on the table, toying with a bronze coin.
"What can I get for you all?" You smiled brightly to the rest, eyeing the piles of coins of all shapes and sizes on their table. It could've amounted more to how much you and the others working in the tavern got paid and more. How they even managed to get paid this much was still a wonder to you, and you questioned with humour whether you had fallen into the wrong profession.
"Another round of ale, lass." The orc replied warmly, flipping two gold coins your way, smiling with mirth as you scrambled successfully to catch them. "Anything for you, boss?"
The Dragonborn brought your attention back to him, his eyes reaching up to meet yours. Warm, outwardly spilling confidence through his amber eyes. You had been taken even further aback by the warmth of his soothing, deep voice. "Your name would be one."
Oh. You could feel your cheeks rush with warmth, clutching your apron, eyes quickly averting from his on you and nothing else. You told him your name with a murmur, nervous he wouldn't hear you, but he reclined back in his chair, humming to himself. "A Gentleman Jim's will do me fine."
You move back to the bar before you find yourself just standing there frozen from his languid gaze, hurrying to gather their drinks before they could complain. Whether they would be interesting as the amount of money they had between themselves could purchase all the alcohol in the tavern and nearby ones close by.
But, oh, did you not realise how rowdy six people could be. It was both fascinating and irritating, to say the least how these people could bring the most amount of your blood to boil, only now did their common sense slip with the more drinks they ordered, their loudness strangling your ears and those around you.
"If you're not going to say anything, I will." Pen was already showing signs of wanting to kick them out the moment they ordered their fourth round, fist clenched as if ready to load the beat-down herself personally. "You wanna do it? Or shall I?"
What kind of question was that to ask? Of course, you wanted her to do it and not yourself. What would they think when they saw you, trying to look all high and mighty, asking them to either quieten down or politely leave? It was hard enough being meek and timid, but it didn't help you were already moving towards them, wrangling the right words together in your mind.
Their laughter slowly quietened at the sight of you again, the same dwarven man cheering as if recognising an old familiar friend, about to begin slurring for more drinks when you interrupted him. "I'm sorry for interrupting your evening, but some other customers are starting to put complaints in of your table being slightly too loud—is it possible if you could quieten things down or—"
"Hey look, boss, the pretty one is back!" One of the humans piped up, pointing so obviously at you as you stood rigid from the sudden outburst. You glanced to the blue Dragonborn, noticing how he was doing nothing but slowly watching you and the burning sensation of warmth and embarrassment reach your face. There was nothing but amusement washed over his features, his mug to his lips, hiding the smirk as he took another heavy sip.
"Sir, if you could please tell your friends to quiet things down—or, I'll have to ask someone to escort you—"
"Was she the one you wanted for the evening, boss?"
"I don't think she's that keen, are ya, Princess?" Another snickered. It bubbled within you: twisted and hotly, your anger boiling over until finally-
"I'm sorry!" Your words cut the entire group off, almost forgetting that you had still been standing there. Your face grew hotter, fingers clenched. "I will not stand here and listen to you talk of me as if I am some type of property. I will not ask again politely; quieten down or pay and leave."
There were mutterings from other patrons in the tavern, averting to resume back to their drinks and entertainment elsewhere, yet it didn't feel like their many eyes would leave you. Instead, they seemed to be lecherous and mocking, laughing at your outburst.
"Damn, no need to get all hotly for a little laughter. Do you not even know who we are or what we did to earn this money?" The Dwarf slurred aggressively, swinging his mug around, froth piling to the table the more he spilt. You hesitantly took a step back, all anger and frustrations simmering as you stared a provoked man in the eyes.
"That's enough, Vesper." The Dragonborn's calming voice pulled all confrontations to cease, instead, it was enough to call him the voice of reason, had he been doing something instead of just watching it all unfold. "Leave the lady to do her job."
'Vesper' as he was known, grumbled disjointedly, crashing his drink down with a shock that only you jolted and none of his friends, words muttering into one jumbled mess, slouching into his chair. You didn't speak or anyone else did, as you slowly and awkwardly removed yourself from their table, retreating behind the bar.
"Well, I sure as hell didn't expect that to come from ya." Pen roared earnestly, resuming to pack the dishes away.
"Yeah, me neither." You looked up in mortification, looking to the back of their group's bitter merriment, simmering into calmness for the rest of the evening.
-
You had profusely apologised to Pen the following morning, steam that had risen to your face and never left when you could feel the heat from last night. You barely slept that night, replaying your words so heated that even you had been scalded by your harshness.
Pen forgave you without you even having to apologise, finding the whole ordeal rather amusing. "If you wish to make it up to me, you could always work a few hours this morning, means fewer hours to work for the evening?" She suggested.
You didn't need to be told twice.
Having scrubbed the tables from the sticky liquids of heavy alcohols, the tavern had already begun to refill with old and new faces, taking tables to themselves or with others, enjoying their breakfast with the small and quiet start to the morning.
Had you not been working this early, you would've found yourself at the market, collecting food and appreciating the sharp cooling air, the breeze of the coastline near to lift your spirits. I shall do that this evening if I can. You promised yourself, a pout forming on your face. Though I don't have anyone to come along with me.
"Someone's at the bar, do you mind getting their order?" Pen's voice carried you out of your thoughts, removing yourself from the dirty dishes as a distraction as you agreed, hurrying to the bar.
"Good morning! What can I get started for—"
Your bright smile suddenly dropped to a visible frown, eyes quickly averting from the face with scales of beautiful blues. His amber eyes were trained on you, smiling through them and flashing a pointed white smile.
"What? Not who you were expecting to show up?" He inquired with a chortle, taking a seat at the bar, resting his great axe against the wood. You eyed him carefully, eyes squinted. "Not with your crew this morning?"
"I decided to give them a lie-in this time around. It's only fair after making them wander for weeks without a proper bed."
"Why is that the case?"
"There were cases of undead moving in the area—I'm surprised you never heard of the tales," he shook his head with a laugh. "Suppose it's natural for you townsfolk to not hear much unless it came from travellers like myself."
I suppose, though usually most never come back to tell of their deeds. "Well then, I suppose you got rid of them?"
"We did, the drunken upheaval was the reason for it." He rested his clawed fingers on the wood, closer to you than you predicted, and you didn't know whether to remove yourself from him or stay where you were. "Which brings me to why I'm here. To apologise for what happened last night. It was wholly disrespectful for my party to talk of you like that."
You watched him with no words coming to your head, heart fluttering as if some love-sick teenager was being charmed by him. You wished to spit some hateful remark, to curse him and his friends out for treating you like nothing, but it was hard to gather your thoughts when he seemed so genuine.
"You're forgiven." You sighed heavily in defeat, crossing your arms around your chest. "Can I get you something to drink now, sir?"
The Dragonborn had smiled so smoothly, earning your fingers to tremble around the cup you held, ready to drop at any given choice under his beautiful gaze. "Ale will do be good, thanks. And the name's Tarak."
-
The Dragonborn had returned almost every day, his charming gaze and worthwhile words were always twisted with sweetness, in hopes of getting you flustered beneath your cool demeanour. There had been times he was almost cracked the barricade, yet there was some relief in thinking that you had succeeded. He was the one who would greet you day by day, already sitting by the bar or the nearest table, waiting for you to show up to do your shift. You would go to him, straight-faced as normal to take his orders, yet Tarak would try to go about finding more about you.
"How long are you working today?"
"What are you doing after your shift?"
"Do you want to go..."
"I'm sorry," your sentences would always begin with this line, averting your gaze to avoid his own. "I need to continue with my job."
He sighed, almost out in defeat, the longing look he gave you was far from what you expected. "Very well. I shall see you later."
Night had fallen like the previous nights: as busy as all the other evening shifts had been, where you tried to find yourself occupied elsewhere, thoughts running far behind compared to the tasks at hand.
Despite how much it pained you to be surrounded day in and out by Tarak, he made a sudden disappearance one morning, saying something along the lines of "hordes" and "gnolls north from here".
You didn't say much of it, uttering good luck whilst you were preoccupied, only now coming to realise you had found you had regretted it.
He had been gone for weeks and you dreaded you had regretted your aloofness.
Your mind was a haze, when you nearly crashed into the side of Pen, arms heaving with what felt like millions of plates stacked on top of each other.
"Whoa, whoa—slow things down." Pen's hands were on your shoulders, slowing you to a halt, relieving your grip as she took the heavy plates from you, diverting you for a moment as to not make a fool of yourself in front of the many patrons.
You stilled to calm your breathing, steadily yourself as you were taken aside, away from the prying eyes of others, Pen's concerned gaze on you and only you.
"Tell me what's wrong?"
How could you put it properly into words? 'The same guy who kept coming in who would ask a barrage of questions has suddenly gone missing and I don't know how to feel about it—to put it simply.' "I'm fine, Pen, I'm just... feeling the effects of exhaustion."
"You can call it quits this evening if you want, I can pull someone else in to take over-"
"That won't be necessary," you tried to smile, averting your gaze with hazy embarrassment. "I don't wish to burden you with my lack of energy."
Pen looked at you long and hard, neither of you speaking in fear she was trying to judge your truth to your words. “You can go take a few minutes to grab some fresh air if you want?”
Perhaps that was a better option? “Yeah, I’ll be back. Thanks, Pen.”
The rush of cooling air was a relief to your senses, finally separated from the crowded full of judgemental eyes. If it taught you anything, being relieved of a break was a given opportunity if given and you had to appreciate it greatly.
You exhaled shakily, shutting your eyes to enjoy the sounds from inside, relief settling when you knew it could give you some time to enjoy not being in there, the hot and stuffy room full of people, drinking merrily into the ends of the night.
You dreaded to think what Tarak was doing or if he had found work elsewhere. Was he doing okay? Or had something taken the worse and he had been gravely wounded, or dead?
No, he’s fine. He doesn’t need to be entrapped in this place at all times. He is his own person, free to travel wherever he pleased-
“There you are.”
Your head snapped at the sudden warm voice, startling you out of your thoughts, now preoccupied with the towering figure beside you. The Dragonborn was as to how you remembered him, dressed warmly for the chilly night, the smell of pine and ale strong yet surprisingly soothing on him, dragging you to be closer to him.
You scoffed almost out of shock, mostly out of disbelief. “Where have you been?”
Tarak laughed warmly, taking in your appearance, smiling at the warm blush on your cheeks, your eyes shyly avoiding his gaze. “Aww, did you miss me so?”
You huffed, crossing your arms to hide the chill across your bare shoulders, “You were gone for some time. I was wondering whether those gnolls had finally had a meal to finish.
He found your words amusing, chuckling. “They were the easier ones of groups we had dealt with. Though, I’m sure my group had many complaints.” He seemed to draw himself closer to you, and for the first time, you didn’t shy away from him.
The brass of his leather brushed against your hand, nearly startling you. “I suppose I can ask you this finally: are you free this evening?”
Your mind drifted to Pen, alone surrounded by rowdy customers. “I have work,” you began, and when you saw the hope dwindle in his bright eyes, your heart sang. “Though… if you can wait for a couple more hours, I shall be finished. We can finally arrange our little meetup.”
“It was going to be something a bit more—if that was completely okay with you.” Tarak seemed the one flustered now, rubbing the back of his scaly neck, chuckling bashfully. “It’s totally up to you, though.”
“A date.” You couldn’t remember the last time you had been on one, but it didn’t seem so bad. “Sure, I like the sound of that.”
His eyes lit up once again, like a roaring flame shimmering with life. “I will be waiting for you then.”
You leant up and kissed the side of his cheek, earning the Dragonborn to grow flush with your sudden confidence. “I look forward to it.”
idk if requests are open but i got this idea and wanted to send it in before i forgot-
Rich dragon/dragonborn who is an avid collector of artist!reader's paintings. They're always at any exhibitions they can go to, they get first dibs on commission slots- just this dragon being the reader's best patron. This isn't that weird since dragons are known to latch onto a certain thing for their hordes, but what the reader doesn't know is that the dragon also wants them, to be the "centerpiece" of the their horde. (not yandere, just pining-)
Dragon could be any gender, gn for the reader :D thx again, i love your drabbles and art ;3; <3
Yup! Still doing requests! It has felt like a fun little heartfelt collaboration between me and the requesters and I have been really enjoying telling stories together! I just hope I have been doing a good job and people are happy with what I have written for them! Since people are still asking if I am doing requests, I think that’s a good sign! ^v^ )9 This is such an adorable idea and I am really touched that you shared it with me! I shall try to do it justice. ;u; )
skldflksklf and thank you again for the compliment I feel so spoiled everyone is so kind ahhhhhh
Female Dragonborn (Amaltheia) x Gender Neutral Reader (Sfw)
You had prepared iced tea and shortbread for your first lone gallery showcase. It wasn’t a large collection, but you stood in the center all the same, beaming with pride. Standing amongst the paintings in the gallery, you were more radiant than any of the pieces you have created.
It was something that clutched at her heart, wanting more than anything to have yours. To see you painting in the garden of her estate, gently rendering the delicate rose petals as you study them with keen interest. The cool winter months spent inside beside the hearth, reciting poetry and snuggling close.
It was these romantic revelries that caused her to act as she did. Dressing up as a member of staff of her own house, but doing this gave her more freedom to be able to interact and flirt than if she came as herself. You beam when you see her, “Hello Amaltheia, is the Master of your house intending to buy up my whole gallery this time around?” She grins back at you wolfishly, her sharp pearly whites flashing for just a moment before she bows her head. “I can’t say for sure,” she growls, “But if she did that now, you wouldn’t have much of an exhibit to showcase for the rest of the weekend. I shall try to fend her off the best I can until it’s over.” You laugh and Amaltheia’s tail swishes back and forth. Watching how your eyebrows raise and your eyes crinkle, your face wholehearted partaking in joy and mirth. That was one of the things she loved about you so dearly, you were an emotional and lovely soul that she couldn’t help but feel attracted to.
“I have to thank you and your Master again,” You say as you start pouring Amaltheia a cup of tea, “Without your support I don’t think I would have even been able to make it as far as I have in my career.” Amaltheia gives a snort but takes the cup gently from your hand, “I am sure you would have flourished all the same. Even without her help.”
“I’ve come to think of you as a friend,” You murmur, your voice suddenly turning soft as Amaltheia perks up to catch the words, “You’re always so kind to me, I wish there was a way I could repay your kindness.” Amaltheia swallows hard, her golden eyes shifting. There was a pang of guilt that pulsed against her heart, but she decided to ignore it for just a little while longer. “Then, as friends, would you allow me to treat you to dinner after the show? I am sure after today you will be tired.”
You laugh, though your voice holds nervousness in it. “I said I wanted to repay your kindness, not for you to feel as though you owe me some--”
“I don’t!” Amaltheia balks, cutting you off quickly. “I have also. . .” An awkward grumble rolls in the back of her throat as she tries to formulate words. “I have also. . . grown very fond of you. Think of it as. . .” her shoulders shift and she sighs, “An apology,”
“An apology?” You echo, your expression turning inquisitive, “Whatever do you have to apologize for?”
Amaltheia gives a soft crooked smile, “It is a little complicated, but I shall try to give you an explanation over dinner. . . that is, only if you feel comfortable in accompanying me.”
You think about it for a moment before you smile, “I hope you don’t mind a tired artist keeping you company then. Dinner sounds delightful, I actually wasn’t sure what I was going to eat when I got home,”
Her tail thumps against the floor, nervous, but a very much elated gesture.
