You are a bounty hunter and there's a lizardfolk bandit you've been hunting for days. Finally you've got him cornered and a brief battle ensues. He's big and muscular but strangely slow, and the fight is over in mere minutes. He falls to the floor and looks up to see the tip of your blade held to his throat.
"I appear to have been bested." He says, golden eyes glinting. "How terrible!"
You tie him up and take him to the town to recieve your payment. To your great annoyance, the townspeople claim you have the wrong bandit and refuse to pay you, so you release him and storm over to the tavern for a drink. You've barely taken a seat when the lizardfolk appears and sits down on the floor beside you. The barkeep looks amused.
"Who've you got there?" He asks.
"I don't know him," you mutter, but the lizardfolk only chirps and puts his scaly head on your thigh.
"She beat me in combat," he tells the barkeep. "In my culture, it means I am now at her command. She owns me."
"Yeah? Tell me why I've never heard of this," you scowl. "I don't need anyone slowing me down."
"I can be useful. Give me a command." His tail wags like that of an overly excited dog.
You hand him a coin with a sigh. "Get me a room for the night from the inn across the street. If you run off with my money I will find you."
He nods and strides away, returning a few minutes later with a toothy smile.
"Lead the way," you mumble, hunched against the cold as you follow him across the street.
You're surprised to find that he has not only secured you a room, but a tub of hot water too. You definitely didn't have the coin for that.
"What do you think?" He asks.
You shrug out of your outer coat. "Get in here and close the door."
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!
Could you perhaps do a short writing about a lizardman? Sorry if you need more details, I just wanted to throw the idea out there!
Eggs for Dinner
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Pairing: Briskar (Lizardfolk) x Gender Neutral Reader
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“Not much further, my love.” Briskar’s black tongue flicked at the air, his smooth head raised to the sky to scent at the breeze that blew over the two of you. His head was like a monitor, his snout long and his eyes wide, bright and intelligent as he regarded the woodlands around the two of you. Briskar was a soft grey colour with black lines running over the back of his head and down his back to the tip of his whip like tail. His muscly tail was coiled around the rock as he held out his clawed hand for you to take, his neck rippling as his tongue continued to taste at the air. Thankfully, he wasn’t dripping venom with the idea of food yet. It was always a pain to clean up.
You took his hand and Briskar tugged you up to stand along side him on the rocky face of the cliff, “How far away are we now?” You huffed as Briskar’s claws dug deep as he steadied you both on the rock when a particularly strong gust brushed over you both.
“They’re on the ledge above.” He hissed with a delighted noise, “Are you sure you will be able to catch them?” Briskar’s claws tucked your scarf tighter around your neck, “They are quite large. They are Giant Rock Birds after all.”
“I’ll be able to catch them, I promise.” You chuckled as you took the rope from your bag and tied it around your waist and then to the rock which Briskar’s tail was wrapped around.
The leather bag was filled with rope and you stood firmly as you snatched Briskar’s tail and waist, tying some coils around it before attaching him to the rock as well. Your Lizardfolk boyfriend licked at your cheek before he bared his claws and turned to scramble up the final part of the cliff face. You watched from the bottom with the thick leather sheet clutched between your arms, held out ready to catch the treats Briskar wanted so badly. He reached the top and you shook your head as Briskar’s tail coiled and snapped happily, his clawed hands reaching for the first large egg. He held it between his hands and hissed happily.
“Are you ready?” He asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be!” You shouted back as you readied the tarp.
“Here it comes, sweet thing.” Briskar chittered before he dropped it over the edge, flinching as it plummeted towards you. With a huff, you caught the egg in your leather tarp and grinned as you wrapped it in a skin and tucked it into the net bag you had to carry between you both down the mountain. Briskar’s tail snapped against the stone before he started to drop the others, one at a time, into your grasp.
“That is the last!” He called as his muscled body span around and he crawled back down the stone, his tail curling over boulders that bulged out of the rockface, keeping him safe. His mouth was now dripping with venom, and you stepped back as a string of it dripped onto the floor by your feet.
“Hey, come on, stop drooling on your food!” You called as he hissed and chuckled again, descending the cliff. It was then that a great howl sounded from the sky, and you both fearfully looked to the sky as the Rock Bird circled, talons exposed, before the mother dived towards Briskar.
“Drop Briskar!” You cried as the bird launched herself at him. Her talons smashed against the stone, but Briskar’s neck went black in defence as he flipped and hissed, exposing pointed teeth, the bacteria ladened saliva dripping over his neck as he hopped and bit at her ankles. The bird screeched and swooped away.
“Quickly, love!” He hollered as he jumped down the stone and untied you both, grabbing the eggs as the mother dove you both again, “I WILL NOT LET HER HAVE OUR DINNER!”
“JUST GIVE HER THE EGGS BACK BRISKAR!” You cried as the bird screamed over you both again.
